PRESENTED
TO
The University of Toronto
BY
6
THE JOURNAL
OF
SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
VOLUME XIII.
EDITED BY WM. T. HARRIS
ST. LOUIS:
G. I. JONES AND COMPANY.
18 7 9.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by
WM. T. HARRIS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
/SOW
CONTENTS
PAGE
Algorithmic Division in Logic, George Bruce Halsted, 107
Cottage Hymns, William Ellery Charming, 346
Fichte's Criticism of Schelling (Tr.), A. E. Kroeger, 225
Hegel on Komantic Art (Tr.) Wm. M. Bryant, 113, 244, 351
Hegel on Jacob Boehme (Tr.), Edwin D. Mead, 179, 269
Hermann Grimm on Raphael and Michael Angelo (Tr.), Ida M. Eliot, 51, 289
Kant's Anthropology (Tr.), A. E. Kroeger, 281
Letter on the Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas (Tr.), . . Thomas Davidson, 87
Matter and Method of Thought, Meeds Tuthill, 372
Schelling's Academical Lectures (Tr.), Ella S. Morgan, 190, 305
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant, J. Hutchison Stirling, 1
Science of Education — Analysis of Pedagogics, Editor, 205
Spatial Quale, Wm. James, 64
Spatial Quale — An Answer, J. Elliot Cabot, 199
Time and Space considered as Negations, Bayton Spence, 337
Von Hartmann on Darwinism (Tr.), H~ I. D *>Arcy x 139
World as Force, John Watson, 151
Notes and Discussions, , 215
(1) Professor Caird replies to Dr. Stirling; (2) Dr. Spence on Volun-
tary Motion; (3) Two Sonnets; (4) H. K. Hugo Delff's Writings.
Notes and Discussions, 320
(1) Karl Rosenkranz; (2) C. E. Appleton; (3) Dr. Stirling and Pro-
fessor Caird; (4) American Journal of Philology.
Notes and Discussions, 398
(1) Dr. Stirling and Professor Caird; (2) Philosophy at Johns Hopkins
University ; (3) Hegel's ^Esthetics ; (4) Immanuel Hermann von Fichte ;
(5) Associations of Tone and Color; (6) Raphael's School of Athens;
(7) Weeds.
Book Notices, 222
(1) Elmendorf's History of Philosophy; (2) The Ultimate Generali-
zation; (3) Lander's Imaginary Conversations ; (4) Benard's L'Esthet-
ique de Hegel ; (5) Sittenlehre fuer Schule und Haus.
Book Notices, 322
(1) Theism — a Baird Lecture, by Robert Flint, D.D. : (2) A Candid
Examination of Theism, by Physicus; (3) Phantasie als Grund-Princip
des Weltprocesses, von J. Frohschammer; (4) The Foreknowledge of
God, by L. D. McCabe, D.D. ; (5) Symmetrical Education.
iv Contents.
PAGE
Book Notices, 422
(1) The Principles of Science, by W. Stanley Jevons; (2) Anti-
Theistic Theories, by Robert Flint; (3) Philosophische Schriften, von Dr.
Franz Hoffmann— Vol. VI. ; (4) Thought, the great Reality, by W. H.
"Wynn; (5) Kant's Ethics: the Clavis to an Index, by James Edmunds;
(6) The Geological and Geographical Distribution of the Human Race,
by Nathaniel Holmes ; (7) Three Home-Talks, by R. R. ; (8) Organon of
Science, by John Harrison Stinson; (9) Die Vorurtheile der Menschheit,
etc., by Lazar B. Hellenbach; (10) Ueber die Bedeutung der Einbil-
dungskraft in der Philosophie Kant's und Spinoza's, von J. Frohscham-
mer; (11) On a Foundation for Religion, by George H. Ellis; (12) Prin-
ciples of the Algebra of Logic, by Alexander Macfarlane; (13) The
"World's Progress : a Dictionary of Dates, G. P. Putnam's Sons ; .
(14) Discorso di Filosofla di Francesco della Scala (F. Dini) ; (15) Lu-
cian und die Kyniker, von Jacob Bernays ; (16) Mind and Brain, by
Henry Calderwood ; (17) Mind : a Quarterly Review of Psychology and
Philosophy; (18) Philosophische Monatshefte; (19) O Positivismo,
Revista de Philosophia; (20) Revue Philosophique de la France et de
l'Etranger; (21) La Filosofla della Scuole Italiane, Rivista Bimestrale;
(22) Zeitschrift fuer Philosophie und Philosophische Kritik.
Books Received, 336
THE JOURNAL
OF
SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Vol. XIII.] January, 1879. [No. 1.
SCHOPENHAUER IN RELATION TO KANT. 1
BY J. HUTCHISON STIRLING.
The discussion of this relation will, it is hoped, be product-
ive of not a little that may prove at once determinative of the
one and illustrative of the other. The following is a transla-
tion of the entire section (23), which opens in page 85 of the
third edition of Schopenhauer's work, " Ueber die vierfache
Wurzel lies Satzes vom zureichenden Grunde"
REFUTATION OF THE PROOF GIVEN BY KANT FOR THE A PRIORI NATURE
OF THE NOTION OF CAUSALITY.
The exposition of the universal validity of the law of Causality
for all experience, its a priori nature and consequent limitation to
the possibility of experience, is a main object of the Kritik of Pure
Reason. Nevertheless, I cannot agree with the proof given there of
the a priori nature of the proposition. It is, in essentials, as fol-
lows: " The synthesis of the maivy of particulars through imagina-
tion that is required for every empirical perception — this synthesis
gives succession, but not yet any determinate one : that is to say,
it leaves undetermined which of two perceived states is the prior,
not only in my imagination, but in the object. Determinate order of
this succession, however — and through such order alone the contents
of perception become experience, or, what is the same thing, such
order alone gives authority to judgments objectively valid — this
1 As preceding and conditioning- this paper (which, however, is quite independ-
ent), attention is invited to the article, " The Philosophy of Causality : Hume and
Kant," in the Princeton Reciew, for January, 1879.
XIII — 1
2 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
order, then, results alone from the notion of pure understanding
named cause and effect. The axiom of the causal relation, there-
fore, is condition of the possibility of experience, and, as such, given
us a priori." (See Krit. d. rein. Vera., 1. Aufl., S. 201; 5. Aufl.,
S. 246.)
According to this, then, the order of the succession of the changes
of real objects shall be perceived to be an objective one only first of
all by virtue of the causality of these. Kant repeats and illustrates
this proposition in the " Kritik of Pure Reason," particularly in his
"Second Analogy of Experience" (1. Aufi., S. 189; vollstlindiger
in der 5. Ann., S. 232) ; and, again, in the conclusion of his '"Third
Analog} 7 ," [ ?] which passages I beg every one to read over again, who
would understand what follows. He maintains everywhere here that
the objectivity of the succession of the impressions, which objectivity
he explains as its agreement (the succession's agreement) with the
succession of real objects ; that this objectivity is perceived only
through the rule according to which they follow one another — that
is to say, through the lav of causality ; that, consequently, the
objective relation of consecutive appearances to sense remains fully
undetermined through my mere perception, inasmuch as I only per-
ceive then the sequence of my impressions, and the sequence in
my apprehension authorizes no judgment as regards the sequence in
the object, unless my judgment support itself on the law of caus-
ality ; seeing that, moreover, I might, in my apprehension, cause
the succession of the perceptions to proceed as well in quite a reverse
order, as there is nothing which determines it as objective. In
illustration of these propositions, he adduces the example of a house,
the parts of which he is able to consider in any required succession —
as, from above downwards, or from below upwards ; where, there-
fore, the determination of the succession would be merely subjective,
and not realized in any object, because dependent on his will and
pleasure. And, as a contrast, he brings forward the perception of a
ship driving down stream. Here he perceives the ship ever lower
and lower, and he cannot alter this his perception of the succession
of its various positions. Hence, in this case, he deduces the sub-
jective suite of his apprehension from the objective suite in the
sensible phenomenon ; and this latter suite he names, accordingly, a
Begebenheit — an occurrence, an event, a something that has taken
place or happened. Now, against this, I maintain that both cases are
noways different ; that both are occurrences ; that the perception of
both is objective — that is to say, it is a perception of changes of
real objects, perceived as such by the subject. Both are changes of
the position of two bodies in each other's regard. In the first case,
one of these bodies is the corporeal frame proper of the observer
himself, or, rather, only a part of it, namely, the eye ; and the other
is the house, in respect of the parts of which the position of the eye
is successively altered. In the second case it is the ship alters its
position in respect of the stream, and the alteration, therefore, is
between two bodies. Both are occurrences ; the only difference is
that, in the first case, the alteration proceeds from the body of the
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 3
observer himself, whose sensations are, indeed, the starting-point of
all the perceptions of it — it itself, nevertheless, being an object
among objects, and, consequently, subjected to the laws of this ob-
jective corporeal world. The movement of his body by his own will
is for him, so far as he is purely perceptive, merely an empirically
perceived fact. The order of succession in the change misclit be as
well inverted in the second case as in the first, had but the observer
as well the power to draw the ship up stream as to move his eye in
an opposite direction to the first one. For it is from the succession
of the perceptions of the parts of the house depending on his own
will that Kant concludes it not to be objective and not an occurrence.
But the movement of his eye in the direction from roof to cellar is
one occurrence, and the opposed movement from cellar to roof a
second one, quite as much as the movement of the ship. There is
no difference here whatever ; just as — in regard to its bein°; an occur-
rence or not — there is no difference whether I pass by a rile of soldiers
or they pass by me ; both are occurrences. If, from the bank, I fix
my eyes on a ship passing near it, it will presently appear to me that
it is the bank moves, taking me with it, while it is the ship stands
still. I am, of course, wrong here in regard to the cause of the
relative change of place, seeing that I ascribe the movement to* the
wrong object ; but I perceive objectively, and correctly enough nev-
ertheless, the real succession of the relative positions of my body to
the ship. Neither would Kant, in the case adduced by him, have
believed himself to find a difference, had he reflected that his body
is an object among objects, and that the succession of his empirical
perceptions depends on the succession of the impressions of other
objects on his body, and is, consequently, an objective one — ■ that
is, takes place with respect to objects immediately (though not medi-
ately), independent of the will of the subject, and can, consequently,
A r ery well be perceived without the successive objects that impress his
body standing together in a causal connection.
Kant says : Time cannot be perceived ; therefore, no succession of
impressions can be empirically perceived as objective — that is to
say, as alterations of the sensible phenomena, in distinction from
alterations of mere subjective impressions. The objectivity of an
alteration can be cognized only through the law of causality, which is
a rule in accordance with which states follow each other. And the
result of his allegation would be that we perceive as objective no
sequence in time whatever, except that of cause and effect, and that
every other sequence of sensible phenomena perceived by us is de-
termined thus, and not otherwise, only by our own will. I must allege
against all this that sensible phenomena may very well follow on one
another without following from one another. And this noways
prejudices the law of causality. For it remains certain that every
change is the effect of another, so much standing, a priori, fixed ;
still it does not follow on that one only which is its cause, but on all
others which are simultaneous with this latter, and with which it (the
effect) stands not in any causal connection. It is perceived by me,
not only in the series of causes and effects, but in a quite other one,
4 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
which, however, is not, on that account, any the less objective, and
very easily distinguished from any subjective one dependent on
my own will — as, for example, that of my phantasmata. The suc-
cession in time of occurrences which stand not in causal connec-
tion is what we call chance (ZufalV), a word derived from the Zusam-
menfallen — the falling together, the encountering, the contingence of
what are in no connection — just like n) <Tu/j.j3eftr]z6<; from au'iftabsiM.
(Comp. Arist. Anal., post. I. 4.) I step out of doors, and a tile r
falling from the roof, hits me ; there is no causal connection be-
tween my stepping out and this falling of the tile ; nevertheless, the
succession — namely, that my movement preceded that of the tile —
is objectively determined in my apprehension, and not subjectively
by my own will ; which otherwise, indeed, would rather have reversed
the succession. In the same way the succession of the notes in a
piece of music is objectively determined, and not subjectively by me
who listen to them ; but who will say that such musical notes follow
each other according to the law of cause and effect. Nay, even the
succession of day and night is, beyond doubt, objectively perceived
by us, but these are certainly not apprehended as cause and effect,
the one of the other ; and, in regard to their common cause, the
world, until Copernicus, was in error, without the correct perception
of their succession in any way suffering therefrom. And by this,
too, let it be said in passing, is the hypothesis of Hume refuted ; in-
asmuch as the oldest and wholly exceptionless succession of clay and
night has, for all that, never misled any one to conclude, through
custom, that the one is the cause of the other.
Kant says, in the same place, that an impression manifests object-
ive reality (that, of course, means is distinguished from mere phan-
tasmata) only by this : that we perceive its necessary connection with
other impressions, as in subjection to a rule (the law of causalit}' - ),
and its place in a determinate order of our impressions as in relation
of time. But of how few impressions do we know the place given
to them in the causal series by the causal law ! And yet we can always
distinguish the objective ones from the subjective ones — real objects
from phantasmata. In sleep, the brain being then isolated from
the peripheral nervous system, and thereby from external impres-
sions, this distinction is impossible to us ; and, therefore, in our
dreams we take phantasmata to be real objects, and only when we
awake, only when the sensible nerves and the external universe with
them return into consciousness, only then do we perceive our error ;
at the same time that, even in dream, so long as it is continuous, the
causal law maintains its right- — -only that an impossible material is
often imposed upon it. Almost we might believe that Kant, in the
passage concerned, had stood under the influence of Leibnitz, how-
ever much in his whole philosophy he is opposed to the latter, when
we consider, that is, the quite similar expressions of Leibnitz in his
Nouveaux Essais sur I'Entendement (Liv. IV, ch. 2, § 14), as, for
example, " la verite des choses sensibles ne consiste que dans la liaison
des phenomenes, qui doit avoir sa raison, et c'est ce qui les distingue
des songes. Le vrai criterion, en mature des objets des sens, est la
/Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 5
liaison des plienomhies, qui garantit les verites de fait, a I'egard des
-choses sensibles liors de nous."
In regard to this whole proof of the a-priori and necessary nature
of the law of causality from the circumstance that only through
jneans of it do we perceive the objective succession of changes, and
that it so far is a condition of experience, Kant has manifestly fallen
into an extremely surprising error, and one so palpable that it is only
to be explained as resulting from his pre-occupation with the a priori
part of our knowledge, which has caused him to lose sight of what
everybody else must have seen. The only correct proof of the
a priori nature of the law of causality is given by me in section 21.
This a priori nature is verified every instant by the immovable cer-
tainty with which every one, in all cases, expects from experience
that it will take place in accordance with this law — that is, through
the apodeictic validity that we attribute to this law — a validity which
distinguishes itself from every other such founded on induction — as,
for instance, the (empirically known) laws of nature — by this : that it
is impossible for us even to think of this law's undergoing an exception
anywhere in the world of experience. We ma} r think, for example,
of the law of gravitation some day ceasing to operate, but not of this
taking place without a cause.
Kant, in his proof, has fallen into the opposite error from Hume.
This latter, namely, called mere following, all following from ; whereas
Kant, again, will have it that there is only following from, and no fol-
lowing but that. Pure understanding, undoubtedly, can alone com-
prehend following from, but mere following as little as the difference
between right hand and left, which difference, like mere following, is
only to be apprehended by pure sense. The sequence of events in time
can certainly, though denied by Kant as cited, be empirically cog-
nized, just as well as the side-by-side of things in space. How, how-
ever, something follows on another in time generally, as little admits
of explanation as how something folloivs from another ; that cognition
is given and conditioned by pure sense, as this by pure understanding.
But Kant, in holding the objective succession of sensible phenomena
to be known only by the clue of causality, falls into the same error with
which (Kr. d. r. V., 1. Aufl., S. 275) he reproaches Leibnitz, that,
namely, " he intellectualizes the forms of sense." As regards suc-
cession, m} r view is this: From the form belonging to pure sense —
time — we derive our knowledge of the mere possibility of succession.
The succession of real objects, the form of which is this same time,
we cognize empirically, and, consequently, as actual. The necessity,
however, of a succession of two states — that is, of a change — we
cognize only by the understanding, through causality ; and that Ave
have the idea of the necessity of a succession is even already a proof
that the law of causality is not empirically cognized, but a priori
given to us. The proposition in general of the sufficient reason ex-
presses, as lying in the innermost of our cognitive faculty, the basal
form of a necessary connection among all our objects, which are but
subjective states of our own ; it is the common form of all such states
•or objects, and the sole source of the notion of necessity — a notion
(3 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
which, as such, has absolutely no other true meaning or authentica-
tion than that of the appearance of the consequent when its ante-
cedent is given. That in the class of objects now under considera-
tion, where this proposition appears as the law of causaht}', their
time-sequence is determined by it, depends upon this : that time is the
form of these objects, and, hence, the necessary connection here takes
on the shape of a rule of succession. In other shapes of the proposi-
tion of sufficient reason, the necessary connection which it every-
where prescribes comes to us in quite other forms than time, and,
consequently, not as succession ; preserving always, however, the
character of a necessary connection, whereb}' there is manifested the
identity of the proposition of sufficient reason in all its shapes — or,
rather, the unity of the root of all the laws the expression of which
is said proposition.
Were the controverted allegation of Kant correct, we should rec-
ognize the actuality of the succession merety from its necessity ; this,
however, would presuppose an understanding that embraced all the
series of causes and effects at once — that is. an omniscient under-
standing. Kant has committed the impossible to the understanding,
only to stand in less need of sense.
Kant's allegation that objectivity of succession is alone known
from the necessity of the sequence of effect on cause, how can it be
reconciled with that other (Kr. d. r. V., 1. Aufl., S. 203), which
holds the empirical criterion of which of two states is cause, and
which effect, to be merely the succession? Who but sees here the
most evident circle?
Were objectivity of succession only known from the causality, it
would only be thinkable as such, and just nothing but this; for,
were it anything else, it would have other distinctive characters by
which it might be known, which is just what Kant denies. Conse-
quently, then, Kant being right, we could not say, " This state is
effect of that one, and, therefore, follows it ; " but the being sequent
and the being effect would be one and the same thing, and the dictum
tautological. And from this abolished difference between following"
and following from, Hume would be again vindicated as right when
he held all following from to be mere following on, or denied the dif-
ference to exist.
Kant's proof must be limited in this way, then, that empirically we
merely cognize actuality of succession : but as in certain series of oc-
currences we cognize, in addition, necessity of succession as well,
and even know, before alL experience, that every possible occur-
rence must have a determinate place in some one of these series ;
so there follows at once from this the reality and a priori validity of
the law of causalty, for which validity the proof assigned in section
21 is the only right one.
With Kant's doctrine of objective succession being only possible
and cognizable from causal connection, there runs parallel the other
of simultaneousness, namery, being only possible and cognizable
from reciprocity, as expounded in the "Kritik der reinen Vernunft,"
under the title, "Third Analogy of Experience." Kant goes so far
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 7
here as to say "that the simultaneousness of sensible phenomena,
not reciprocally influencing each other, but separated, as it were,
by a void space, would be no object of a possible perception"
(that were a proof a priori of there being no void space between
the fixed stars); and " that the light which plays between our eyes
and the bodies in space [an expression which foists in the idea as if
not only the light of the stars affected our e} r e, but our eye it] brings
about a community between us and them, and in this way proves the
simultaneousness of the latter." This last statement is even em-
pirically false ; as the sight of a fixed star noways proves that it is
now in the same time with the spectator, but at most that, years
ago, frequently only thousands of years ago, it was in existence.
For the rest, this doctrine of Kant's stands or falls with the former
one ; only it is much easier to see through it ; besides, the nullity
of the whole notion of reciprocity has been already discussed in sec-
tion 20.
With this examination of the Kantian argument in question, may
be compared, should it so please the reader, two earlier attacks on
it, namely, that of Feeler, in his book " Concerning Space and Caus-
ality" (S. 29), and that of G. E. Schulze, in his "Critique of
Theoretical Philosophy (vol. 2, p. 422, seq.).
Not without much misgiving have 1(1813) ventured to bring
forward objections to a leading doctrine — ■ received as proved, and
still repeated in the latest authorities (e. g., Fries, Krit. der Vernunft,
Bd. 2, S. 85) — of the man whose depth of intellect I admire and
venerate, and to whom I owe so much, and so much that is great,
that his spirit might say to me, in the words of Homer:
Ay/.bv o aii to', dri diffhiK'wrj iXoVj vj Ttplv iizJjev.
On these extracts from Schopenhauer I venture to comment
as follows : In the first sentence I object to the expression
"its a priori nature, and consequent limitation to the possi-
bility of experience." Restriction to the possibility of expe-
rience does not follow from apriority as apriority ; and
neither does Kant advance the claim for apriority as apriority,
but only for his own peculiar apriority. Schopenhauer is
not fortunate in the passage he selects from Kant in exposi-
tion of the relative theory. As I have had occasion to imply
more than once elsewhere, the second analogy of experience in
the " Kritik of Pure Reason" is the most confused and un-
satisfactory piece of writing in the whole of Kant's works ; and
if this be so with the section in general, it is equally so with
the selected passage in particular.
He "who consults the "Prolegomena" will find that Kant
8 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
fairly settled at last into two judgments for the process in-
volved in a causal inference. We first say to ourselves,
When (or if) the sun shines, the stone warms. There are as yet
but two unconnected subjective impressions of this heat and
that light. Each is but a separate feeling in our sensory.
When we add the second judgment, however, we have con-
nected the two feelings in a single inference, which inference
is now objective. But it was the category of cause and effect
enabled us to effect this. We possess this category, and,
such facts coming to us as the conjunction of light and heat,
we feel or see that this conjunction, as an example in point,
falls under the rule of cause and effect; and we say, object-
ively and necessarily, The sun ivarms the stone. I object
to this that the explanation is not competent, but a failure ;
for unless we knew, saw, or felt that the light preceded the
heat — unless we knew, saw, or felt that the light must pre-
cede the heat — we could not have subsumed the facts as a
case under the rule. Kant, of course, was quite aware that
the synthesis in imagination of the elements of a perceptive
act is really syntheses, each distinct in its own character, each
a perceptive act ; but he thought each also contingent, and, in-
deed, not yet a 'perceptive act proper, till a category acted.
He overlooked the fact that this could not be so with at least
the synthesis (A B) in causality. That category could act
only when there was a recognized first and a recognized second.
Kant, then, only invents a necessity to explain a necessity
which he must still assume. Nevertheless, in the two judg-
ments referred to, Kant brings what he holds on causality to
an articulate shape at last, and we now readily grasp it, and
see what he means. It is now explicit ; it was only implicit
before. One wonders, then, that Schopenhauer, with so
much that was better before him, should have confined him-
self to what was worst.
The section in question, for example, takes up not less than
two dozen pages ; and if Kant had but had his materials well
in hand — causality being alone concerned — he might easily
have made one or two pages suffice. As he says himself, his
materials for his peculiar work at any time are, first, time and
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 9
space, as the two pure or a priori phantasms of sense; and,
second, the elementary notions of the understanding, as
already functions of unity to the various perceptive multiples
supplied by these two pure sense-forms. Now, in the case of
causality, had time really possessed a multiple typifying the
intellectual multiple of antecedent and consequent, an ade-
quate schema or frame-work for receiving the correspondent
successions of the actual things of sense might have been put
too'ether without difficultv, and so the whole transcendental
rationale been easily accomplished. But in point of fact, at
least as I believe, Kant found himself much perplexed precisely
about a multiple in time that would tit such a succession as
antecedent and consequent (cause and effect). He was cer-
tainly disposed, in the first instance, to find the mere succes-
sion of time sufficiently to answer. The progressus of time
was a necessary one, he said ; its course was necessarily from
one moment to another-; and each moment referred itself nec-
essarily to a preceding one. It presently struck him, I doubt
not, however, that there were in things themselves more
time-successions than one. There were simple successions —
as, the very letters in the word "succession" — and there
were also causal successions — as, sun and heat, cloud and
shadow, wind and wave, frost and ice, etc. Now, the sound
u, or the letter w, though it follows the sound s, or the letter
5, is not the effect of the sound s, or the letter s. Volume I
is not the cause of volume II, or II of III. Evidently, then,
if Kant's scheme were applied to all successions in time, we
should soon have some very pretty examples of the fallacy,
non-causa pro causa. We assume Kant to have been long
puzzled here, and to have been at last convinced of the fact
that even tilings, if his a priori frame-work were to fit them,
or they it, must have a, ride themselves already beforehand, or
they must in themselves be such as to correspond to,the schema
applied. But to admit as much was to admit a rule, a neces-
sity, already to exist in that for which, precisely in conse-
quence of its subjectivity and contingency, rule and necessity
were the wants ! When this occurred to Kant, in what a
dreadful quandary (qu 'en dirai-je) he must have found him-
10 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy.
self — his whole immense system on the topple because, of a
single miserable particular ! Yet such evidently was the state
of the facts. If any successive sensations were to be con-
strued into the schema and category of Causality, the one of
O •/ %J *
them must be already known to be such that it is always A,
as the other, similarly, that it is always B ; and that, in the
succession A B, B can never stand before A, nor A after B.
(WW. II, 164.) In all such cases, my apprehension itself
is bound down to a certain order in the very sensations it
takes up. What preoccupied Kant, no doubt, was (his one
problem) the consideration that elements of sense cannot have
necessity. Still, it must have occurred to him, and did occur
to him, that the categorical rule requires its sensuous antitype,
which, in the case of causality, must be already a rule (a fixed
order) ; and it is only at last in the " Prolegomena" that he
comes to the distinct proposal of his two judgments, the one
with a rule subjective and the other with a rule objective : 1,
when (or if) the sun shines, the stone warms ; 2, the sun
warms the stone.
With such source of perplexity as this before him, it is no
wonder that, in the section in question, he only seems to
stumble from one confusion to another. He confounds mere
Wechsel with Veranderung for example, and, though appre-
hension evidently means with him, for the most part, only the
subjective synthesis in imagination, he also uses it for the
objective synthesis after action of the schema and category.
What disturbs the reader most, however, is Kant's endless
windings in statement and restatement of the necessity that
binds the effect to the cause not being- in things themselves, or
in any qualities of them, but necessarily in us, consequently,
and in qualities (categories) of us. Whatever change
there may be in the words, this one proposition seems to
recur ever again, in unchanged identity : that necessity can-
not be in things of sense, but must be in categories of the
intellect. The jaded reader, confused and desperate, can
only mutter to himself, " And so mast be because must be."
But, even without denying the necessity of the category,
are we not to ask, when the category of causality makes choice
/Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 11
of certain sensations for its action — are we not to ask after the
grounds of its choice, and if we find these grounds to lie in a
sensuous rule prescriptive of which sensation shall be irreversi-
bly first, and which irreversibly second, shall we not say, Here
in this rule is already all the necessity that is wanted ; your
laborious a priori contrivances are all useless, and if anything*
is to be explained, explain to us, first of all, if you please,
this first rule itself? Of course, Kant replies, Do you not see
that what you call the sensuous, and I the subjective, rule can
not contain necessity, but must be followed by an objective rule
which does? We know — we may suppose him to continue —
not things in themselves, but only the affections they occasion
in us ; and if you are ever to reduce such mere ghost-world to
law, order, and objectivity, you must receive it into a neces-
sary time and space of your own, presided over by necessary
notions of your own. But the rejoinder is prompt: We
know an actual outer space, an actual outer time, and actual
outer objects, all of which are not as you say, but are things
themselves, and very fairly perceived by us in their own
qualities ; it is, in fact, their necessity we see, and not any
necessity in us — call it subjective, objective, or how you
please.
But if this be the nature of the section as a whole, the par-
ticular paragraph quoted by Schopenhauer has, as said, an
unsatisfactoriness of its own. It states (what virtually, of
course, amounts to the "two judgments") that, in the first
instance, the order in a sensational multiple is indifferent, but
that, in the second instance, when received into the a priori
machinery, it is necessary. 2 Otherwise, says Kant, there
would be a mere sport of my own subjective fancies, and
any assumption of objectivity would be no better than a
dream. Consequently, he adds, there must be an a priori
which prescribes conditions and rules to the a posteriori (of
sensation) ; and causality belongs to it. This is what we
2 That, of course, is the one flaw : it is not the case, and, even for the action of
the category, cannot be the case, that in causality the order of the "sensational
multiple" is "indifferent."
12 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
have seen already : the two main assumptions of Kant (as
derived from Hume), and his own inference from them. As
thus: 1. We only perceive our own subjective affections.
2. Subjective affections are only contingent. 3. The neces-
sity, consequently, that appears in them, and is required for
them, has an a priori source. The reasoning, as we have seen
before, is that, as this is so and that is so, such and such
must be, simply because it must be ; it utterly breaks up and
vanishes, of course, the moment it is shown that neither this
nor that is so. This, however, is not what Schopenhauer
sees here. On the contrary, he takes up the whole passage
in a wrong sense — a sense which he would never have
dreamed of imputing to Kant, had he not completely missed
Kant's general conception. That general conception is simply
this : Sensations only exhibit subjectivity ; accordingly, as
required, the categories — all the categories — shall bestow
on them objectivity. Schopenhauer has actually read that
passage of Kant as if it declared all objectivity to be bestowed
by the single category of causality alone — a blunder that,
surely, would be astounding in even a first-year's student of
Kant! In the particular paragraph, Kant, of course, has no
thought but of causality and causal multiples ; he has not the
most distant conception of enunciating it as a general rule for
all sense-multiples that they can get objectivity only from
causality. He firmly believes at this moment, Ave may say,
that his reader knows perfectly now — knows nothing more
perfectly now — than that all the categories are there for no
other purpose than to infuse necessity into the contingency of
sense ; and he would have been completely astounded and
confounded by his reader lifting his face to say : So, all objec-
tivity is given by causality alone. Lieber Gottf he would
have thought to himself, what is quantity there for, or quality
there for, or substance there for, or modality there for? Is
not every one of them wholly and solely there for no other
purpose than to produce objectivity? It is really marvellous
that Schopenhauer should have fallen into a blunder so egre-
gious as this. But not content, even yet, he adds another —
which, as being ludicrous, is worse. He actually supposes
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 13
Kant to hold that, in all syntheses except the causal one, we
can make the members follow in what order we please. This is
what he understands Kant to mean by the subjectivity of a
series, none such being - objective but the causal one. Any
quantitative series — a row of bricks, a tile of soldiers, herrings
on a spit, strung beads or strung counters in the school-ma-
chine, set chess-men on the chess-board, or draughts on the
draught-board — can be counted in different directions without
displacement of the individuals. It was exactly in this way
Kant regarded the various series in the faces of *a house ; he
never dreamed that it would be supposed he called these series
subjective, and merely under control of his own good-will and
pleasure. Even had they been subjective, no such control
would necessarily have belonged to him ; but they were not sub-
jective. A stable house was as objective to Kant as a drifting*
ship — only, for a beginning in surveying the house, he was not
bound, as he was bound in surveying (causally, not quanti-
tatively) the successive positions of the ship. The quantita-
tive series of the house he could count along or across, up or
down ; the causal chain of the ship's movements he could only
count down — without, of course, in either case, any power
to displace a unit. Schopenhauer has no authority from Kant
to apply the wor.d " Willkuhr ' : in regard to our supposed
control over what is subjective ; nay, in the passage referred
to by Schopenhauer (as regards the house), I do not even find
the word " beliebig." (See paragraphs 3 and 4 of the second
analog//.) Still this latter word might have been used with-
out error. I can count series in the faces of a house in any
discretionary order. I cannot displace these series, however;
they are not there at will of mine. Schopenhauer has alto-
gether wrong notions of subjectivity and objectivity. What
is sensible, empirical, actual, seems to be wholly his idea of
what is objective ; while phantasmata at will in imagination
loom to him as all that is subjective. Such a blunder in
Kant's regard is simply boyish. What is only sensible is sub-
jective to Kant ; and so far as we can say empirical or actual
of anything that has not yet undergone action of a category,
such empirical and such actual are also subjective. Nothing
14 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
is objective to Kant that is without necessity. What is sub-
jective, again, though necessarily only affection, is not by any
means necessarily at will. Schopenhauer, again and again,
commits the implied misreadings of Kant.
The reader must understand that what is given above as the
gist of the relative passage from Kant has been executed
from the text itself, without reference to the rendering of
Schopenhauer, and that he may depend upon it as accurate.
The imperfections of the passage have been allowed ; but what
it says is this : That a posteriori elements being all subjective
and contingent, they can and must procure objectivity and
necessity only from our own a priori categories, of which
causality is one. Schopenhauer's rendering, on the other
hand — and it constitutes his "objection" to causality in
Kant — is that Kant holds the category of causality alone to
be the minister of objectivity !
Schopenhauer's first words in interpretation of the text
which, summarized from Kant, underlies the challenge before
us, are perfectly correct. " The order of the succession of the
changes of real objects shall be perceived to be an objective
one only first of all by virtue of the causality of these." That
is the true and genuine Kant. About the end of the middle
third of the " refutation," too, we have similar correct words .-
" Only through means of causality do we perceive the objective
succession of changes." But what ojves the correctness is,
that " succession," in these two sentences, is limited to one
of "changes." Elsewhere the statement, when it occurs to be
made, is generally made without any such (accidental) guard ;
and implies, consequently, that those successions of sensible im-
pressions which have undergone causality are alone objective,
and that all other successions of sensible impressions — as,
those of a house — are subjective. That is the main under-
standing of Schopenhauer in reference to Kant's process of ob-
jectivity ; and that is what Schopenhauer, in the same reference,
believes he has mainly to fight. All the categories being min-
isters of objectivity, and nothing but such ministers, it is an
extraordinary mistake, especially in a passed Kantian expert,
to attribute objectivity to causality alone. But all Schopen-
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 15
hauer's subsequent words express such mistake, quite openly,
directly, and unmisgivingly.
The allegation that follows is this: "Kant explains objec-
tivity to be agreement of the succession of impressions with the
succession of real objects." So far as it is intended to mean
that agreement with sensible objects conditions the objectivity
of our impressions, this is peculiarly objectionable. It repre-
sents a leading mistake of Schopenhauer's : that objectivity,
namely, means only empirical perception. For objectivity, it
seems enough to Schopenhauer to point to real objects, actual
objects, sensible objects, empirical objects — as if the fact of
such sufficed, without question of their constitution or genesis.
But it is this question is Kant's whole business ; and objectivity
means, with him, necessity. Of course, wherever this necessity
appears, it is in consequence of a category curdling, so to
speak, subjective impressions into objectivity (in the usual
sense), in time and space. Schopenhauer does not well follow
all this ; thinks Kant attributes objectivity to causality alone ;
and, in considerable disconcertion, ventures to talk loudly of
other "actual' objects. Of course, the sentence will be
quite correct if by " real objects " there be understood (with
Kant) objects that have already undergone a category ; but
that is no understanding of Schopenhauer's. Neither does the
completion of the sentence, "that this objectivity [this agree-
ment, that is] is perceived only through the law of causality,"
at all help matters. The next sentence, too, only makes pecu-
liarly glaring the false ascription to Kant in regard to causality.
Schopenhauer has only misread a confused sentence of Kant's
(the fourth of the original paragraph cited), and taken it to
be general, whereas it was only special. Leaving what con-
cerns subjective impressions a moment, we pass now to the
house and the ship.
All that Kant means by these is this : In the object house
(not my subject), I can take its constitutive multiple, its parts,
in any direction, in any order, — begin and end in whatever
direction or order I please. As regards the multiple of
the phenomena connected with the ship, again, the facts are
otherwise. There the order (as to where the beginning is to
16 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
be put) is uot indifferent, but necessary and fixed. The con-
clusion is that, while it is the category quantity has made
(out , of the impressions), the object house, it is that of caus-
ality has functioned in the case of the ship. Kant, perhaps,
does not mention quantity, but no intelligent reader requires
that it should be mentioned. Very certainly, however, Kant,
although he dwells on the indifferent order in the multi-
pie of the house, never calls it "subjective." The house,
as a house, has already undergone the action of quantity,
and the multiple, in its case, is no longer subjective. All
that Kant wants to illustrate is, in multiples, the different order
under different categories, and he has no idea of calling the
one subjective and the other objective. It would precisely
stultify him, he knows, to do so. There is no question here
of the subjective judgment and the objective judgment, which
two judgments precede or fall under every one category. That
is a distinction, as I have said, that becomes prominent in the
"Prolegomena ; " and no one need, to his own confusion, refer
to it in connection with Schopenhauer, for Schopenhauer, as I
believe, never consciously or unconsciously had this distinction
of judgments in his mind. No; Schopenhauer has no idea
of the processes here but this simple one : that Kant affirms
the induction or introduction of objectivity into subjectivity
to be due to one category alone — the category of causality.
It is this alone he combats. The very mode of his combat
shows the grossness of his mistake. To Kant, the multiple
connected with the house is quite as objective as the multiple
connected with the ship ; but that he attributes to the cate-
gory of quantity, and not, laboriously and supervacaneously,
like Schopenhauer, to the various causal relations of the eye
in movement. That is a particularly acute device of Schop-
enhauer — Kant never could have denied that! He never
would have denied it. It is quite certain that the eye and
the house may be so mutually regarded ; but any such con-
sideration is quite beside the distinction Kant would demon-
strate between the order in multiples under quantity, and
the order in multiples under causality. But Schopenhauer
is quite innocent ; he is sure that the house, as also every-
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 17
thing else actual, is objective, and an object ; and, turning
the tables on Kant, he will demonstrate as much by appli-
cation of Kant's own scale! "Both cases' are "occur-
rences" — that he will "maintain." That any man should
attempt to criticise Kant in such profound ignorance of all
that was cardinal and characteristic in Kant ! Surely it is be-
yond even a tyro in the study to believe nothing " objective '
to Kant that was not an " occurrence." Schopenhauer means
no more (by his whole section) than that the house series is as
objective as the ship series — that it is not subjective; how
it would have surprised him to have been answered by an
instant, if somewhat astonished, "Of course!' Both series
are subjective affections, struck into objectivity, in time and
space, by categories. But the category that functions in the
one case is not the category that functions in the other.
The one is quantity, and the other is causality. And that
means that, in the one series, you can take its terms indif-
ferently first and second ; but, in the other, you can take
them only necessarily first and second. Or here the terms
follow from one another ; while there they follow on one
another. But though all this was so to Kant, he would cer-
tainly have acknowledged the movement of the eye to be an
occurrence ! On the whole, Schopenhauer's misapprehension
and perversion of the very elements, rudiments, and A B C of
Kant's doctrine, here and elsewhere, is scarcely credible.
Schopenhauer's first sentence in report of Kant is : " The
synthesis of the many of particulars through imagination,
that is required for every empirical perception — this synthesis
gives succession, but not yet any determinate one ; that is to
say, it leaves undetermined which of two perceived states is
the prior, not only in my imagination, but in the object."
Kant's own words are these: "To all empirical perception
there belongs the synthesis of the many of particulars through
imagination, which is always successive ; that is, the impres-
sions in it always follow one another. The sequence, however,
is, in imagination, as regards order (what must precede and
what must follow), not at all determined, and the series of
the units of the sequent impressions may be taken just as well
XIII— 2
18 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
backwards as forwards." Kant then goes on to say that if
such order is to be determined as that of an antecedent that
precedes, and a consequent that follows from it (" an order,"
says Kant, " according to which something must necessarily
precede, and when this is given, the other must necessarily
follow"), this can only take place on action of the category
of cause and effect. Kant has no thought here of the objective
series of units that follow on one another ; he addresses himself
only to the series of units that follow from one another. His
expressions are confused and imperfect, but that is really the
import he means them to carry. He never dreams of declar-
ing all sequence in imagination subjective till the one cate-
gory of causality has acted ; though his doctrine certainly is
that all such sequence — however " sensibly," "empirically,"
or "actually' introduced — is subjective till a category,
any one of the twelve, has acted. Schopenhauer represents
Kant as saying "it leaves undetermined which of two per-
ceived states is the prior;" but the actual expression is,
" must " be the prior. Kant had no difficulty with the is; he
knew impressions could come to him only in their own " act-
ual " series, and these series he could not put otherwise; but
that did not make them objective. It was the category made
them objective, the category that was brought into play as in
agreement with the special series of actual impressions — that
is, these series were themselves different, and demanded dif-
ferent categories to suit. Some series, for example, might be
regarded in any order ; others, only in one.
But besides the capital mistake of Schopenhauer, another
emerges here which (already referred to) is scarcely less
glaring. It is that the synthesis " leaves undetermined which
of two perceived states is the prior." even " in my imagina-
tion." Impressions in my imagination, so long as they are
subjective, shall be at command of my own will — to be set
here or set there, like pebbles on the beach, just as I please !
But there is no such absurd doctrine as that in Kant, who
knows, as everybody knows, that our imagination, be its
power of action what it may, is passive to the order of its
impressions, and cannot but be passive. Kant is, really, as
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 19
much subdued to "actuality' as Schopenhauer, or anybody
else. One would like to absolve Schopenhauer here, but we
fear the facts will not allow us. For example, "the succes-
sion of the perceptions of the parts of the house " are spoken
of as "depending on one's own will;" one "might cause
them to proceed in quite a reverse order." But Kant, when
he said he could count or survey the various series of units in
the surfaces of a house in what order he pleased, never meant
it to be supposed that he had these series or surfaces under
his own control — that he could actually dispose these series
or surfaces in his imagination under whatever modifications it
occurred to him to make. " The result of Kant's allegation
would be that we perceive as objective no sequence in time
whatever, except that of cause and effect, and that every
other sequence of sensible phenomena perceived by us is
determined thus, and not otherwise, only by our oivn will."
There we have the two errors — both unmistakable. "Sub-
jective — dependent on my own will;' "subjectively — by
my own will." There are other such expressions, but a single
illustration of Schopenhauer's will, perhaps, be definitive here.
It is the illustration of the tile. " I step out of doors," he
says, " and a tile, falling from the roof, hits me; there is no
causal connection between my stepping out and this falling of
the tile; nevertheless, the succession, namely that my move-
ment preceded that of the tile, is objectively determined in
my apprehension, and not subjectively by my own will, which
otherwise, indeed, would, rather, have reversed the succession.' "
Here we see ao;ain both mistakes. But as regards the latter
of them, had he possessed the power, he says, which Kant
attributes to him, he would have escaped the blow of the tile,
for, naturally, he would have made it fall first! This needs
nothing to confirm it, but it throws light on what may be
further illustrative. In his endeavor to equalize house series
and ship series, Schopenhauer says the latter would have been
quite as the former, had we " only possessed the power to draw
the ship up stream." That is an odd thing to say, but could
he ever have thought of it, if the supposed pliancy of impres-
sions in the imagination had not been vividly before his mind?
20 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
It is quite in consequence of similar conceptions that Schop-
enhauer feels doubt as to how Kant places himself in the em-
pirical world. " Neither would Kant, in the case adduced by
him, have believed himself to find a difficulty, had he reflected
that his body is an object among objects, and that the succes-
sion of his empirical perceptions depends on the succession of
the impressions of other objects on his body, and is, conse-
quently, an objective one — can very well be perceived without
the successive objects that impress his body standing together
in a causal connection." That sentence is absolutelv frightful.
Kant never reflected that his body was an object among objects ;
had he done so, he would have been in a moment aware of an
infinity of objects beside him, but not in any causal connee-
tion ! Was Kant, to Schopenhauer, merely a fool, then?
And in what a silly sense it is that objects are objects to
Schopenhauer ! " Don't you see that the contents of the em-
pirical world are objects?" he says. "Ah, yes ; so they are,"
replies Kant, with a smile, " once they are formed.'''' Nay, is
the reader prepared to hear that this Schopenhauer, who so takes
up Kant for his supposed exclusive causality, has himself no in-
strument of objectivity whatever but this same causality? His
whole theory of perception is that we know only our own sub-
jective states, but that these are thrown as objects into time
and space solely by the action of causality. Absolutely, that
is all. That is, very fairly, the whole philosophy of Schopen-
hauer. Schopenhauer has causality for his single weapon —
he limits himself so ; and because of this same limitation (but
only imputed by himself) he would pillory Kant, who has
actually eleven others ! By and by Schopenhauer objects the
brain to Kant, as if this latter, ignorant of his own body, was
equally ignorant of physiology and the nervous system !
When Kant mentions connection in subjection to rule as the
principle of objective reality, Schopenhauer exclaims, "But
of how few impressions do we know the place given to them
in the causal series by the causal law ; and yet we can always
distinguish the objective ones from the subjective ones, real
objects from phantasmata." Again, he says: "Were the
controverted allegation of Kant correct, we should recognize
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 21
the actuality of the succession merely from its necessity ; this,
however, would presuppose an understanding that embraced
all the series of causes and effects at once — that is, an om-
niscient understanding." These two passages are really based
on similar considerations with those that refer to the body
and the brain. It is an objecting of empirical fact in what we
may call its secondary laws. Actuality signifying objectivity,
it is quite true that Kant recognizes actuality only from neces-
sity — meaning not only causal necessity, however, but cate-
gorical necessity in general. All our colors and other feelings
become objects in time and space through the categories, saj^s
Kant. All our colors and other feelings become objects in
time and space through the category of causality, asseverates
Schopenhauer. 3 One wonders how, in any sense or in any
application, the latter should think the advantage to lie with
him. Kant holds that he can know the a posteriori necessity
only by possessing, first of all, an a priori necessity; and he
cannot imagine any prejudice to result to the independence of
the former secondarily, in consequence of being preceded by
the latter. The laws of physics are not necessarily non-exist-
ent because of the laws of metaphysics. He cannot see that,
though the latter prescribe form, it is any contradiction that
the former should prescribe matter. Though the causal law
is a priori, he says, knowledge of the causal process is not
a priori. No; "to that there is required the cognition of
actual forces, which can only empirically be given." We may
3 That proposition, Schopenhauer's own, his whole philosophy, falsely as-
cribed to Kant, is Schopenhauer's object of special reprobation in Kant! For, of
course, colors and other feelings are successions; and what Schopenhauer spe-
cially condemns is the proposition (falsely called Kantian) that successions be-
come objective through causality alone. Eeally, that is the single proposition of
Schopenhauer himself — impressions become objects in time and space only
through causality! It is but fair to point out that, in Schopenhauer, the causality
is only the reference by us of the subjective impression to its own self as causal
object ; whereas, in Kant, the necessity considered is that among the impressions
themselves in their own series. That is Kant's one (relative) problem, which one
almost doubts Schopenhauer ever to have seen. And yet, when he gives his
views of succession, he says : " The necessity of a succession of two states [in the
object, namely — not in my subject] — that is, of & change — we cognize ouly by
understanding, through causality."
22 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
think, says Schopenhauer, " of the law of gravitation some
day ceasing to operate, but not of this taking place without a
cause," In what way shall we say that Schopenhauer differs
from Kant in such references? Passing over that Schopen-
hauer is, in regard to an exclusive causality, alone the sinner
he would make Kant, surely they both talk of the empirical
world as conditioned by the a priori world, though perfectly
cognizant, both, of the independence of the former on its own
side. Surely, too, they both — Kant always, Schopenhauer
when thetic — view the a posteriori as not only subjective, but
contingent, and the a priori as the source of objectivity and
necessity. Yet Schopenhauer objects to Kant that, to know
the necessity of the a priori, he would require to be, a pos-
teriori, omniscient ! How of his own knowledge in the case
of causality, and in the case of gravitation? But, returning,
it would have made no difference to Kant, as regards the house
and the ship, had he reflected that his body was an object
among objects. It is precisely in that state of mind, indeed,
and precisely from that position, that he makes the illustra-
tions. Still, though his body was an object among objects, he
was quite unable to perceive that " the succession of his em-
pirical perceptions," depending "on the succession of the
impressions of other objects on his body," was, " therefore,''''
an objective one. It was precisely because that therefore did
not, and could not, in that manner, exist, that he was led to-
inquire at all ; and the result of his inquiry was to establish it
on quite another basis. Kant is quite at home — no plowman
more so — in that empirical world, once it is formed. But
how it is formed, that is his single trouble ; how contingent
subjective sensations can become necessary objective percep-
tions. Schopenhauer seems positively to overlook the very
problem in point, and to tell Kant the impressions themselves
are nil the objectivity he need seek. And, for that matter,
indeed, Kant is much more under the authority of the actual
than Schopenhauer himself, who objects the want to him. It
Avas precisely because, from its nature, he could not draw the
ship up stream, and precisely because, from its nature, he
could see the house in any way, that he applied one category
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 23
there and another here ; he (Kant) would never have thought
of " only " the power to " draw the ship up stream ! '
The remark of Kant that is taken next, in regard to time
itself not being perceived, is also mistaken by Schopenhauer.
Kant's words occur in the second paragraph of the second
analogy. Like most others in this place, they are not exact.
Still, they mean that, if we saw a thing in itself, that thing
would impose on us all that we saw, and consequently that, if
time were such thing, and no mere show of sense, we should
be compelled to accept all facts in it at its own simple dicta-
tion. All is otherwise, however, on the other alternative, and
all empirical multiples in time are only contingent and sub-
jective till acted on by a category. From these facts Schop-
enhauer's inference is: "Therefore, no succession of impres-
sions can be empirically perceived as objective — that is to say,
as alterations of the sensible phenomena in distinction from
alterations of mere subjective impressions. The objectivity
of an alteration can be cognized only through the law of caus-
ality, which is a rule in accordance with which states follow
each other. And the result of his allegation would be that we
perceive as objective no sequence in time whatever, except that
of cause and effect, and that every other sequence of sensible
phenomena perceived by us is determined thus, and not other-
wise, only by our own will." The main and accessary errors
here have been alreadv signalized ; and these errors are here,
notwithstanding the verbal correctness of the phrase " the
objectivity of an alteration,''' 1 etc. — an accidental guard which
has been previously noticed. I would only point out that it
is very absurd to suppose Kant not to admit " alterations of
sensible phenomena " while as yet subjective, and, so to speak,
crude. The phenomena of both house and ship, even while
as yet without category, alter to Kant " sensibly," according
to their own conditions, and independent of him. All manner
of lights, shades, colors, may " sensibly" alter on the retina,
long before we have made objective perceptions of them. So
of the other senses. The enormity of Schopenhauer's error
is made peculiarly glaring by the subsequent words : " The
sequence of events in time can certainly, though denied by
24 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Kant, as cited/ be empirically cognized, just as well as the
side-by-side of things in space." Of course, it is from the
position of Kant that we talk of anything " sensible" being
still "subjective." Schopenhauer, who knows only his own
subjective states, ought, in consistency, to be as Kant. On
the contrary, as we see here, for anything to be objective, it
is enough for him if it is only sensible : " Objective — that is
to say, alterations of sensible phenomena in distinction from
alterations of mere subjective impressions !"
But Schopenhauer, for his part, " must allege against all
that " the fact " that sensible phenomena may very well follow
on one another without following from one another ! " Why,
does not Kant say the sensible phenomena of the house follow
on one another without following from one another? More
than that — this blunder of Schopenhauer's is so very gross ! —
is not Kant always aware that what his twelve categories sub-
sume may be very well named just so many different succes-
sions, all of which, when subsumed, are objective? Schopen-
hauer makes considerable play with the distinction of following
on and following from. Hume, he says, made all following
only a following on; Kant, ex contrario, made all following
only a following from; and both were wrong ! This, however,
is true neither of the one nor the other ; and only Schopen-
hauer is wrong. The truth has iust been said as regards
Kant; and of Hume, it is easv to know that he acknowledged
following from to be the cardinal principle of reason itself,
though unable to refer its origin to anything but instinct
naturally, or anything but custom p)Jtilosop)hically.
The illustration from the musical notes, which we have next,
is good in itself, but, as it is now superfluous to say, inap-
plicable to Kant. As for that of day and night, it is wholly
inept. So little is it inept to Schopenhauer himself, never-
theless, that he even seems exultingly to say it does to
death both Kant and Hume. I observe Mr. Caird, also, seems
to accept the illustration from Schopenhauer, and to regard
it as, at least, of some value. It belongs to Reid, though,
and is no property of Schopenhauer's. Reid says (Works, p.
627) : " It follows, from this definition of a cause, that night
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 25
is the cause of day, and day the cause of night. For no two
things have more constantly followed each other since the
beginning of the world." But, despite Reid, it is, as said,
only inept. How terrible soever it maybe thought, I have no
hesitation in affirming that it would hardly have drawn a glance
from either Kant or Hume. To object a mere alternation of an
indifferent first and an indifferent second, that had each its
sufficient reason in a common third something — to object such
mere alternation to either Kant or Hume — is wholly to mis-
understand both. Kant's first words under the third analogy
(reciprocity) are these: "Things are at the same time, or
together, if, in the empirical perception, the apprehension of
the one can reciprocally follow on the apprehension of the other
(which, in the case of causality, is impossible). Thus, I may
carry my observation first to the moon and afterwards to the
earth ; or, reversewise, also, I may carry it first to the earth
and then to the moon ; and, just because of this — just because
the perceptions of these objects may reciprocally follow each
other, I say they exist at the same time, or together." In
the alternation of day and night, these do not, indeed, exist
together, as the moon and the earth do (} r et, absolutely, they
are always only side by side), still it is impossible to make of
their succession an irreversible A B, for, even to Reid, B A is
equally tenable ; and, without such irreversible succession, it
is impossible that the category of causality should act — a
consideration which (however fatal to Kant's scheme for pro-
curing a necessity which the scheme itself already presupposes)
effectually defends him from the objection in review. How
much Schopenhauer is submitted to the one strange error
comes well forward here, also. " Nay, even the succession of
day and night is, beyond doubt, objectively perceived by us,
but the}^ are certainly not apprehended as cause and effect, the
one of the other." From these words it is again made plain
to us that, to Schopenhauer's belief, Kant held there could be
no objective perception except under the relation of cause and
effect. What extraordinary delusion ! Kant had never the
faintest idea of the relation of cause and effect in connection
with the succession of day and night, and yet, very certainly,
26 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
that succession was to him, also, " objectively perceived.' '
Causality apart, had not Kant actually eleven other agents of
objectivity?
The immediately following Avords but bespeak the same
blunder : We distinguish objective perceptions from mere
subjective phantasmata, in many cases, he says, where caus-
ality is not in place. Kant, of course, though with more con-
sistent ideas as to the relative distinction, would have only
cried to that, "I should think so." He would also have quite
agreed with the quotations from Leibnitz ; thinking, at the
same time, of a good many other sources of liaison (or " rule " )
besides causality, and wondering, perhaps, at the slowness to
the ordinary distinction between reality and dream.
Kant, as we have seen, reasons always in this way: Sense
is, and can be, only contingent ; there must be categories. But
again, there is necessity in sense ; consequently, categories
are. Schopenhauer, for his part, as we know, too, has only
one category — causality; and his reasoning in its regard
simply is that we attribute apodeictic validity to the law of
causality because we find we must. There is certainly anal-
ogy between the reasonings, so far as the fulcrum in each
seems must be because must be. Still, we wonder what grounds
Schopenhauer can find in this for proceeding to fling at Kant
the reproach of an " extremely surprising and palpable error."
Kant's proof (from necessity) is at least much more feasible
and full than his own.
Schopenhauer, very properly, ascribes following from to
the understanding, and following on to sense ; but the dis-
tinction is Kant's own. It is the product of the very Tran-
scendental Reflection by which Kant would, in correcting
Leibnitz, refer him to the Transcendental Topik, where sense
and intellect are assigned each its place. Leibnitz conceived
time and space as intellectual results of the conditions and
actions of things themselves. If things acted so and so on
one another, he thought, then, the conceptions of space and
time, or of things in space and time, were but logical conse-
quences. Plainly, then, Kant's reproach was true — that Leib-
nitz " intellectualized ' what were only "forms of sense ; '
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 27
for time and space are perceptions, and not mere conceptions.
Kant's action, on the other hand, is different. With him,
intellect certainly enters into perception ; but it does so only
in its own quality. It simply gives focus, as it were, to the
nebula of mere sense. Rather, then, Kant's act might be
called, not an intellectualizing of sense, but a sensualizing of
intellect. Even that, as a reproach, however, would be quite
unjust. Plato already, in the " Theietetus," showed how
intellect was necessary to sensation in order to make percep-
tion of it ; and all modern theories about the acquired percep-
tions of sense concern nothing else. In point of fact, there is
no man more open to complicated reproaches of this kind than
Schopenhauer himself; who, with what theory he advocates,
can only, and does only, convert sensation into perception by an
intellectualizing (rather, as explained, sensualizing) use of the
single category of causality. And this, certainly, is strange ;
Schopenhauer is the single person in this world who " intel-
lectualizes the forms of sense " (rather, " as explained," etc.)
by "the clue of causality," and he makes it a reproach to
Kant ! Of course, this reproach, though but another sample
of the main blunder, would have had a certain relevance, had
Schopenhauer said "clue," not of causality, but of all the
categories. It is not the fact, either, as we have already seen,
that Kant " denies " the " sequence of events in time " to be
"empirically cognized." Kant's action is simply to supply
necessity to the empirically cognized sequence of events in
time. He tells us, again and again, that the sequence of the
shining of the sun and the warming of the stone is empiric-
ally cognized (but, of course, only subjectively), even before
action of the category.
When Schopenhauer says, further, " how something follows
on another in time generally, as little admits of explanation as
how something follows from another ; that cognition is given
and conditioned by pure sense, as this by pure understanding,"
we recognize again only Kant's own Topik, and are surprised
it should be introduced as a principle from elsewhere for —
the correction of Kant. It is beyond doubt, also, that Schop-
enhauer, in the sentence quoted, does not more certainly
28 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
characterize sense and understanding as, so to speak, quarries,
each absolutely sui generis, and each simply inexplicable, than
Kant himself does. Kant accepts understanding at the hands
of ordinary school-logic without a question, and he similarly
accepts from sense, not only its inexplicable, general a priori
forms, but its equally inexplicable, endless a posteriori mat-
ter. In neither respect is there any attempt at deduction on
the part of Kant. Certain materials being given us, he only
attempts to show in what manner they are wrought up. He
knows nothing of their ivhence, nor asks. Ignorance in that
respect is a discrimen proper and peculiar of the very position
of Kant. Schopenhauer, as we have seen above, though op-
posing Kant, only makes the same avowal. But what was
consistent in Kant is, again, inconsistent in Schopenhauer; for
the latter, unlike the former, is understood to deduce the
universe. We conceive of Schopenhauer, even from the out-
side, that, being allowed the bare fact of will, he is able,
methodically and step by step, to derive from it all the other
infinite contents of the whole huge universe, the a-priori
unities of the understanding, and the a-posteriori multiplici-
ties of special sense as well. It at once chills and disappoints
us, then, to hear Schopenhauer so soon speaking of sense and
understanding, which together are the world, as both inexpli-
cable, and we wonder what it can be he demonstrates out of
will.
Schopenhauer proceeds now to a formal statement of his
views on succession. They are as follows : 1. From the form
belonging to pure sense — time — we derive our knowledge of
the mere possibility of succession. 2. The succession of real
objects Ave cognize empirically, and, consequently, as actual.
3. The necessity in a change we cognize only by the under-
standing through causalitv. 4. That we do cognize this neces-
sity is the proof that causality is a priori, and not empirical.
5. All our objects are subjective states of our own. 6. Con-
nection among these is bestowed wholly by the principle of
sufficient reason. 7. This principle is basal form of necessary
connection, lying in the innermost of our cognitive faculty. 8.
This principle is the common form of all our objects. 9. It
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 29
is the sole source of the notion of necessity. 10. That, the
antecedent being given, the consequent appears — this is the
very meaning and authentication of this notion of necessity.
11. Time is the form of the objects in which the principle of
sufficient reason becomes the law of causality. 12. The time-
sequence of these objects is determined by this principle or
law. 13. Hence, connection here takes on the shape of a rule
of succession.
One wonders when one reads these propositions. Incon-
sistency seems the burden of every one of them — inconsist-
ency as regards Schopenhauer with Kant ; inconsistency as
regards Schopenhauer with his own self. The first two propo-
sitions — the correction in regard to "actual' beinsr borne
in mind — are literally Kant's own. Then, (3) that we cog-
nize necessary connection in the relation of cause and effect
only through a law of causality, that lies in the understanding
— if that proposition is not Kant's, what proposition is? It
is, in brief, Kant's answer to Hume. Only Kant does not
think it enough to state it, he must reason it as well. Ac-
cordingly, he is at pains to demonstrate — in connection with
the subjectivity of impression and the apriority of time and
space — the fact of the understanding being constituted by an
organic system of functions (categories), each of which (caus-
ality included) is, through imagination, combined with time
into an a priori schema or frame- work for reception (with regu-
lation and consolidation) of the contributions of special sense.
That is a full, general statement of Kant's one object; and,
though I hold it to be, on the whole, unreal, and a superfeta-
tion merely, surely, in its amplitude both of purpose and
plan it contrasts very strangely with the simple assertion of
Schopenhauer; which, nevertheless, is meant by him utterly
to subvert it ! It is enough to Schopenhauer that the caus-
ality of his own understanding refers his own subjective im-
pressions to their own selves as their own causes. That
is to him an act of perception. Functions of the under-
standing, schemata of the imagination — all of them he will
explode. He retains only one function of the understanding
— causality; but, simply appending to it the word " intui-
30 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
tive," he feels himself thereby authorized to lecture Kant —
severely — on the absurdity of introducing elements of reflec-
tion j-nto the sensuous act of perception. Nor does it at all
appear inconsistent to him, immediately thereafter, and in the
same connection, to bring in himself all those reflections with
respect to position, relative distinctness, organic movements
in the eye, etc., which, constituting what are called the
acquired perceptions of sense, are so current and common
nowadays with the psychologists of every country ! 4 So little,
indeed, has he made himself at home with what is central in
Kant — the theory of perception, namely — that in the section
preceding this " refutation " (p. 80) he has these words,
which, as quite inapplicable, are utterly unintelligible : " Per-
ception, with Kant, is something quite immediate, and takes
place without any assistance from the causal nexus, and, con-
sequently, from the understanding ; he directly identifies it
with sensation!" Forgetting how much he himself, but a
moment ago, demonstrated the power of reflection in per-
ception, he would hold causality, with Kant, as being but
an affair of notions and reflection (not even called " intui-
tive"), to have no application to sense. He says, also, in
the same place (p. 81), that Kant puts causality only in con-
nection with the thing in itself, and so " Kant, then, must
leave quite unexplained the origin of empirical perception ;
with him, as given by a miracle, it is a mere affair of sense —
coincides, therefore, with sensation!" One can only hold
one's hands up. Is this the Schopenhauer who, as a Kan-
tian expert, was deferred to even by a Rosenkranz? 4. The
necessity of causality is the proof of its being a priori. Here
again, what is mere assertion with Schopenhauer has, with
Kant, at least the light of rational references. Schopenhauer,
too, who, when with only his own materials before him,
attributes the conversion of subjectivity into objectivity to
causality alone, urges everywhere, with all his might, as
4 His whole position, indeed, as regards perception, is, in effect, that of the real-
ist; and it is impossible to reconcile it with that of the subjective idealist, for
whom, to say nothing of the unreality of time and space, there do not exist even
the things in themselves which existed for Kant.
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 31
against the materials of Kant, that to conceive objectivity
dependent on causality alone, is manifest absurdity ! 5. The
subjectivity of all our sense-objects is also, of course, a
proposition signally Kantian. Schopenhauer himself calls the
distinction involved, Kant's "greatest merit." By all true
philosophy, however, it ought, very specially, to be de-
nied. 6. Sufficient reason is alone the principle of connec-
tion. Causality being with Schopenhauer one of four, is
with Kant one of twelve. Guarded so, the proposition may
be passed as Kantian. With the same guard where necessary,
propositions 7, 8, and 9 may be similarly passed. 10. Neces-
sity, with Kant, means twelve categories, and not one only;
consequently the appearance of the consequent on the given
antecedent is not Kant's sole authentication of necessity.
Nevertheless, causality being alone in view, the proposition
may be esteemed Kant's. But it is necessary to remark that,
so far as it is only succession that is in reference, all Schopen-
hauer's objections in such reference come back on himself.
We have also to point out to both Kant and Schopenhauer
that, if necessity here means only, and is alone authenticated
by, the appearance of B on the appearance of A, then the whole
question depends on the peculiar nature of A B — or, what is
the same thing, on A B being, not a mere succession, but a
change. This is the vital point of view, but it is not enter-
tained by either. Kant, indeed, has his subjective judgment
to represent it ; but here in Schopenhauer, the names apart
(antecedent and consequent), there seems to be consideration
only of one appearance after another in time. That, as
said, ought to bring Schopenhauer down on his own self. It
reminds us of what we shall presently see, that Schopenhauer,
erroneously conceiving Kant to make the mere order in time
a criterion of the causal action, is particularly loud in disap-
probation. Here, however, he seems to say the m'ere fact of
A being followed by B is the sufficient proof and guarantee
of the necessity of the relation. "The notion of necessity
has absolutely no other true meaning or authentication than
that of the appearance of the one when the other is given."
Elsewhere, too, he seems to attribute to the time-order itself
32 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
some portion of the causal efficacy. One moment, he says, is
parent of the other. Propositions 11, 12, and 13 may be passed
pretty well without comment. We shall not even object that —
some of the last averments bein£ contrasted — time would seem
now to determine causality, and again, causality time ; but, in
a concluding reference to these deliverances on succession, we
must decidedly accentuate this that, as the entire scheme of
Schopenhauer but repeats, so far, the scheme of Kant, one is
minded to look back with more than surprise on the so-called
" refutation."
But, to pass further, the sentence that follows is this : "Were
the controverted allegation of Kant correct, wc should recog-
nize the actuality of the succession merely from its neces-
sity.'" It is difficult to see how Kant's machinery can be
open to that charge. The succession in Kant, so far as it is
actual, is supposed to be recognized only as matter of special
sense, disposed in the a priori sense-forms. It is so, also, that,
as we have just seen, it is regarded in the scheme of Schopen-
hauer. Then, according to both, it is the understanding that,
through its law of causality, adds necessity. Kant, no more
than his critic, needs an " understanding omniscient of the
whole series of causes and effects at once." It is enough for
Kant that he has, in the a priori forms (space and time), an
a priori matter such that the law of causality subsumes it.
There is no reason for objecting to Kant, when occupied in
forming the world, the series of empirical causes in the world,
once it is formed. These depend on the contributions of
special sense, for which we have to wait. One wonders why
Schopenhauer should object to Kant here, any more than to
himself. One gets to think, indeed, that Schopenhauer is more
bent on objecting for the sake of objecting, than on looking
to the truth of the case, even in relation to himself. Consider
his almost sneering severity to Kant for introducing into the
act of perception forms of reflection ! Such forms constitute
for all philosophers the special instruments for the. conversion
of sensation into perception. As we have seen, Schopenhauer
is quite as others here — only he forgets his adoption of the
rationale of the acquired perceptions, and he arbitrarily names:
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 33
causality, as used by himself, "intuitive." As for Kant, he
is perfectly consistent ; he says (Prol., p. 45) : "All our per-
ception takes place only by means of the senses ; the under-
standing perceives not, it reflects only." Of course, Kant's
whole categorical scheme is for perception, is there to give
sensation focus; but it is still understanding, not sense. It
is precisely Schopenhauer himself makes the understanding
perceptive ("intuitive"). A moment ago, too, the same
Schopenhauer blamed Kant for identifying perception with
sense !
What Kant is employed on in the next reference is that,
despite the apparent contemporaneousness of certain effects
and causes — as, heat in the room and in the fire, the dint in the
cushion, and the bullet on it — the cause is always " dynamic-
ally ' first. "Accordingly," says Kant, but with only this
in his mind, " the time-sequence is certainly the only empir-
ical criterion of the effect in relation to the cause " — that is,
taking any actual case of causality, you distinguish the effect
from the cause, empirically, by its relative place in time.
But "mere succession' (following on) is "the empirical
criterion of which of two states is cause and which effect."
This is what Schopenhauer makes of it, and he cannot recon-
cile it with the other " allegation, that objectivity of succession
is alone known from the necessity of the sequence of effect on
cause ! ' " Who but sees here," he adds, " the most evident
circle?' Accordingly, the statement of his next paragraph
is one of astonishment, that, with Kant, following on should
now be equal to following from, and Hume, by his very an-
tagonist, vindicated !
Kant's proof is next to be "limited," etc., and Schop-
enhauer's own proof substituted for it. The whole of
Schopenhauer's claim in the averment, however, is simply
Kantian; "empirically we only cognize actuality of suc-
cession, but in certain cases we cognize " necessity " as well,
etc., "so there follow at once from this the reality and a
priori validity of the law of causality." Schopenhauer,
having utterly reprobated the case of Kant, only holds it up
to him again as the very thing he should have done !
XIII — 3
34 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Schopenhauer now remarks on Kant's doctrine of reci-
procity ; but what is said refers, for point, to another section,
wheijp we find, as hitherto, only failures to understand. For
instance, when Kant talks of things being separated by a
wholly empty space, he means an absolute vacuum of exist-
ence, a cleft absolute, and not the participating empty spaces
of the astronomical heavens. This, then, we pass.
For wind-up, now, we have, on the part of Schopenhauer,
only expressions of veneration for Kant, and deprecating
apologies. He appends a line from Homer, intimating that,
like the goddess in the case of Diomede, Kant had purged for
him his eye-sight. Diomede was, in consequence of the oper-
ation, to be able clearly to distinguish god and man ; but
Kant's influence on Schopenhauer has been to make appear
before the eyes of this latter, not Kant's own plain self, but
the most extraordinary and contradictory hermaphrodite of
god and man that it were possible even to dream. 5
Samples, then, enough of the aylhq which Schopenhauer
thanks Kant for removing, we have seen to remain ; but these
samples are very far from exhausting the supply. There is
nobody whom Schopenhauer boasts himself to know better
than he knows Kant, and it is certainly hardly possible that
one man should know another worse. There are eleven
other categories besides that of causality, and in regard to
each of these Schopenhauer is as ignorant as in regard to the
latter. Without very well knowing what they are for, and
how they are to act, he rejects them all, with the single excep-
tion of causality, which, nevertheless, as we have seen, he will
accept only on his own terms — terms involving capital mis-
takes only as to the terms of Kant. That is, Schopenhauer
rejects all that (" theoretically" ) is really good in Kant — sug-
5 In the foregoing, as well as in what follows, other portions (besides the one
translated) of the hook in question, and, also, Schopenhauer's chief work, "Die
"Welt als Willeund Vorstellung," are occasionally in allusion. It is particularly
in the latter work that Schopenhauer reprobates Kant's introduction into percep-
tion of forms of reflection. Notwithstanding this reprobation, it is the same
Schopenhauer quotes approvingly, the -M>uq 6pa of Epicharmus, and similarly re-
fers to the authority of Plutarch for the necessity of mind to sense. See the former
work, about page 80.
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 35
gestion, namely, in regard to collection and tabulation of the
categories as the concrete contents of pure thought. But,
en revanche, he loudly and fervently accepts from Kant all of
Ills that (with " theoretical " reference) is either questionable
or of no account. As any one may understand without much
reflection, it is only an abuse of the commonest common-sense
to tell us we do not perceive actual outer independent things
in an actual outer independent space and time ; but it is just
this telling that Schopenhauer receives from Kant with the
most extravagant Gratitude. That is to him the foundation
of the imperishable glory of Kant — that time and space are
only subjective spectra of our own, and objects, or what are
called things, only apparent projection into these spectra of
our own subjective affections. These, nevertheless, are but
samples of Kantian contributions that are, really, of no ac-
count. Equivocal contributions, again, are what concerns
theology ("scholasticism") in Kant, the various refutations
of the arguments, ontological, cosmological, and teleological,
for the being of a God. Naturally, in his " enlightenment,"
namely, Schopenhauer is specially thankful for these. In
practical reference, he accepts from Kant the absoluteness of
will, but rejects — scornfully — the categorical imperative, and,
with it, free will, though praising the (worthless) distinction by
which Kant would save it ! In fact, he accepts from Kant — his
own whole philosophy indeed ! — only the " Maja" only what
Reid scourged as the " ideal system ; " all the rest he rejects ;
and yet he declares " his whole exposition is merely the com-
pletion of the Kantian transcendental idealism ! ' (Op. cit.
pref . )
But said dyh'jq in Schopenhauer is not limited to Kant. In
other references as well, there seem partial scales over his eyes
which isolate his vision into compartments of that empty-space
separation which — naturally ! — he so signally misunder-
stands in Kant. His different views, that is, seem each in an
independent, unparticipating world of its own, absolutely
without relation to anything else. Take his scheme of per-
ception, for example, a scheme on the credit of which he is
perpetually glorifying himself, claiming here for himself, in-
36 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
deed, almost as much glory as for his refutation of Kant's
categories — a large portion of it consists of these inferences to
whien are due what we call here the " acquired perceptions of
sense " — organic sensations of the e}^ itself, misty or clear
appearance of the object in itself or relatively, etc. But
it is only on the ordinary understanding of an external world
that such theory of acquired perceptions is really practica-
ble or consistent, and it denotes inextricable confusion in the
mind of Schopenhauer that he should still attempt to adopt
such theory while no objects exist to him but his own subject-
ive sensations. Besides these acquired perceptions, there is,
in Schopenhauer's general theory, only one other leading point,
and it is the one on which he lays the greatest stress. We
possess a priori the category of causality, he says, and by
virtue of its possession we refer our subjective states to their
causes ; and thus it is that an objective world is at once re-
alized around us. It is hardly possible to suppose anything
weaker — unless, that is, there be an outer reality. I have
the subjective affection of sweetness or of greenness, and my
category of causalhVy compels me to refer these to a cause. To
what cause? There is nothing but themselves. Is it to the
sweetness as cause I am to refer the sweetness as effect, or am
I to refer the oreenness as effect to the greenness as cause ? To
what as causes are the subjective affections to be referred?
If we have only subjective affections, as Schopenhauer avers,
then the category has nothing else to refer them to but their
own selves. That any man should start with the material of
subjective affection only, and should so lightly, easily, and
confusedly see it grow into the formed world around us,
through the category of causality, and the acquired percep-
tions of sense alone ! Such philosophizing is the very Capu-
chinery of thought.
Nor is Schopenhauer ever seen at any greater advantage
wherever else he philosophizes. Schopenhauer is not a phi-
losopher, but a litterateur; and, as a litterateur, he is, on the
whole, quite legitimately a subject for admiration. He
is thoroughly educated, and, as it is called, well-read — an act-
ual expert in several languages and literatures, ancient and
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 37
modern. He has, in the same direction also, gifts of his own.
He is really, as it is said, brilliant — expressing himself well
always, and possessed of no little ingenuity and wit. Still, even
here, I know not that he can offer contributions of any ob-
jective value. A sally in a sentence will not repay the read-
ing of a volume. Altogether, it is difficult to see for what it
was that the neglected Schopenhauer looked forward to com-
pensation at the hands of our grandchildren. Our grandchil-
dren will certainly gain no good from his weak, bungling at-
tempts at philosophizing ; and there is really not enough of
possible literary profit to tempt expenditure of time upon him.
That the Pessimists should regard him as their father and
founder, may be natural enough ; but still, surely, they are
men on their own account, and need not be, or are not, at all
indebted to any standing-ground borrowed from him.
Schopenhauer's deliverances in regard to Fichte, Schelling,
and Hegel may be referred to as in no small degree determina-
tive of his relative level. Had he known Kant, he would have
known them. That he did not know them is the convincing
proof that he did not know Kant. And he did not know them.
He contrasts his own " completion of the Kantian transcen-
dental idealism," of which we can now judge, with " Fichte's
humbug." An opinion of Schelling's is a " Curiositm," a
" leichtfertiges In-den-Tag-hinein-Schwatzen, which deserves
no place among the opinions of earnest and honest inquirers."
And, as for Hegel, it seems impossible for him to find words
opprobrious enough ; he absolutely foams at the mouth on
thought of the bare name. When " one's mind, with Hegel's
insane word-collocations in regard, in vain martyrs and ex-
hausts itself in the attempt to think something," the result is
"disorganization of brain;' for "what is Hegelei else," he
asks, " than empty, hollow, disgusting Worflcram? ' And so,
" out of a common head, nay, out of a common charlatan,
there is made," he sneers, " a great philosopher ! " — a great
philosopher who, in truth, he repeats, is but "an arrant
quack ! "
Now, Fichte and Schelling may not have succeeded ; but,
surely, it was at least a great and suggestive problem they
38 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
took in hand. Nor less certain is it that as much — with
whatever righteous additional emphasis — can be said for
Hegel. Like Plato's " Kepublic," the system of Hegel is to
me, in a certain sense, only a poem, only an ideal ; but that
ideal is the ideal (and idea) at last of a completed philosophy.
Aristotle has, in a certain way, " gropings " after a like ob-
ject ; but, as disjunct, whatever they be in themselves, they
may, on the whole, be named "blind;" and no man but
He<rel in this universe has produced for this universe what
may prove the key — terms of explanation that at length come
up to need. And Schopenhauer, whether he accepted it or
not, ought, at all events, to have seen as much.
But, Schopenhauer apart, how many see this, even now?
"Who sees that a touch converts Kant into Hegel, and yet that
the latter, after all, is to the former very much as reality to
dream? Who sees that? and it has been already shown in
many ways. In one other way, and at its shortest, perhaps,
let it be shown once again now.
Kant's one peculiar act subjectively is Hegel's one peculiar
act objectively. That one peculiar act in both (Kant's one
peculiar act, consequently) is the Notion of Hegel. Consider
Kant's theory of perception ! So considering, is it not mani-
fest to you that Kant's one act is, through categories, Begriff
(the Universal), to reduce the manifold or multiple of sense
(the Particular) into the Unity of Apperception, Self-con-
sciousness (the Singular) — and what is that but the Notion
of Hegel ?
Hoiv that notion is explanation at length, how it is the key
of the universe, this is not the place to demonstrate. We
may say, however, that had but Schopenhauer caught a
glimpse of this, had he but caught a glimpse of the transfor-
mation now witnessed — and, necessarily then — of the consid-
erations involved, we should have been spared much. Nay,
had he but caught a glimpse of Kant's one act, the theory of
perception, as namable thus — Begriff, with Kant, is that
mental act which, combining the particulars of sense into
unity, isolates and individualizes them into separate, single,
and distinct, but correlated, objects, or entities, in time and
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 39
space — is it conceivable that he would have so belabored the
full Kant, and exalted in disparagement his own poor, meagre,
warped, and piecemeal self?
So far, however, as blindness to either Kant or Hegel is
concerned, it is only fair to Schopenhauer to regard him as
but, of many sinners, one ; at the same time that, at least in
the latter case, excuses are not wanting. Heoel in dialect
and dialectic is, for every ordinary reader, utterly unintelli-
gible. So it is that we see how very unsatisfactory — after so
many years — the general study still remains. Readers who
can quite as easily satisfy themselves in regard to the meaning
of a Hume or a Berkeley, as in regard to the meaning of a
Scott or a Dickens, naturally lose all patience with a Hegel,
in whom not one sentence seems to have sense, and eagerly
meet the spite of baffled countrymen of his own, who would
be glad to think the ?mused already used up and clone with.
But the truth is far otherwise. If the key has been found for
the casket of Hegel, and its contents described, it is quite cer-
tain that the public has never yet seriously set itself to apply
this key, or examine these contents. Something to stimulate
or assist seems still to be wanting. Much, of course, lies in the
very temper of the time. It is out of the materials of that
easket, however, that we are to build the bridge which, leaving
the episode behind, leads to the long epic of the race. Hegel's
act is, probably, as the opening of the final seal into the con-
sciousness of man. It is very interesting to hear him tell
Goethe (on whom such ideas never dawned) that " where he
[Goethe] places the Inscrutable and Incomprehensible, pre-
cisely there Philosophy dwells — precisely thence draws vindi-
cation, explanation, and deduction." Hegel's work shall be
now dead, and yet how many are there in existence who can
form any conjecture here of what Hegel means? America, at
present, is perhaps the very loudest in despair (see Princeton
Hevieiv for March and May) ; and yet, in all probability, it is
precisely America that is the place of hope. What Ave may
call academic accomplishment has seized the Germans. They
desire only learnedly to state; but what they state is, but too
often, external merely. How many statements have there not
40 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
been of Schopenhauer, to go no further, and which of them
shows even a glimpse into the truth of his relation to Kant?
Nay, which of them has ever tested and compared with their
own selves the various pieces in the machinery of this very
Kant? Certainly not, in either case, any of them that I know.
As it is in Germany, so it is in England. We, too, are con-
tented, if we shall but appear learnedly to state. We master
not the proposition, but only what is said of it by all that host
of imposing foreign names, who, empty nut-shells for the most
part, are themselves but mocked by similar shadows. The
«' literature of the subject," bless you ! what is the " subject "
itself to that? Exhibiting not one tittle of evidence in proof,
we assume to know the last and supreme formula, and to be jus-
tified, accordingly, in treating all others as de haut en has. We,
too, are academically decorous ; writing words so soft, uninci-
sive, unimpressive — putty-like — that they leave the reader
vacuous. But all this is otherwise in America, where the true
fuel finds itself at least fairly alight. In America, and not in
England, it is that there are Kant clubs, and Aristotle clubs,
and scores of young men meeting weekly to initiate them-
selves, with boundless appreciation, even into the adamantine
Hesrel.
But, be all that as it may, the ignorance of Schopenhauer
in regard to his own great contemporaries shall be the con-
cluding trait in the portrait we would draw of him ; and we
may now explain what it was that gave this operation itself
occasion. It lay in the essay on the " Philosophy of Caus-
ality," engaged to write which, it was recollected that Schop-
enhauer was very specially referred to by Mr. Caird, as well
in connection with Kant as with the particular subject named ;
and, accordingly, the necessity of consultation was obviously
suggested. One or two earlier allusions to Schopenhauer
may, indeed, be found on my part ; but it was now only that,
by direct examination, I enabled myself to speak at first
hand — with what result may be now judged.
But the reference itself, even in relation to Mr. Caird, de-
mands a word. It concerns " Schopenhauer's Objection to
the Deduction of Causality," and occurs at page 456 of "A
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 41
Critical Account of the Philosophy of Kant." In regard to
this objection itself, we have already, presumably, light enough ;
and may, allowably, therefore, venture to judge of the manner
in which Mr. Caird views it.
Mr. Caird's relative eleventh chapter, headed, "The Prin-
ciples of Pure Understanding," opens with Kant's simple dis-
tinction between his mathematical and his dynamical categories
(a distinction which, as the essay on the "Philosophy of
Causality" shows, is pretty well Hume's). The former
(quantity and quality) evidently enter into, and form part of,
objects themselves ; while the latter (relation and modality)
concern — that (relation) the modes in which objects exist in
reference to each other, and this (modality) the modes in which
they exist in reference to our minds. And what is meant is
obvious. There is no difficulty in seeing that extension and
intension are in houses, paints, syrups, etc. ; while, substanti-
ality, causality, and reciprocity concern the existence of things
in each other's regard, and possibility, actuality, and necessity
the same existence as respectively differing in validity for the
mind (what is possible is less valid than what is actual, etc.).
That the two classes should be also contrasted as ' ' intuitive
and discursive," and, again, as " constitutive and regulative,"
is plain at a glance, at the same time that these terms make
the general interest unmistakable.
What Mr. Caird observes here is "that this distinction is
now transferred to the Principles of Pure Understanding, and
it therefore becomes important to determine its exact mean-
ing." The transference spoken of is, simply, that the cate-
gories, as further discussed, are discussed in the classes the
distinction gives. That the distinction itself, once made,
should be found to continue, seems as little calculated to give
pause, as its meaning (inherence versus relativity) to puzzle.
All that requires now to be understood is that the categories
give rise to certain " Grundsatze '.' " This German word may,
certainly, be translated "principles;" but it is important
that these principles should be seen to be in the form of prop-
ositions, main or fundamental propositions, which are succes-
sively named " axioms," "anticipations," "analogies," and
42 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
" postulates." In short, there is nothing to call specially for
remarly, whether as regards the transference (which, as said,
is only a continuation to be expected and taken without note),
or as regards the " distinction," which Kant himself (and
surely with reason) thinks it enough merely to mention. Mr.
Caird, however, considers it necessary to enlarge here into a
copiousness of remark and illustration, in the midst of which
one finds one's self uneasily on the quest for relevancy.
For example, we find it said: "The distinction, as drawn
by Kant, may be stated as follows : it is possible to represent
or imagine objects without determining them as existent," etc.
This, of course, is only an edge, so to speak, of the l^^-note
which pervades a paragraph. It will suggest, however, that
the distinction in question is regarded as turning essentially
on the determination of existence as such. Now, can it be
taken ill of any one who pretends to any Kantian acquirement,
should he ask, with a sort of wonder, What, pray, has that got
to do with the intrinsic properties of objects as against their
extrinsic relations? Kant is quite as willing " to determine
objects as existent " in the case of his mathematical categories,
as in that of the d} r namical ones. The ridge between the two
slopes is not at all the consideration of existence. Kant has
no idea that his illustrations in reference to a house, degrees
of resistance, degrees of heat, etc., will be supposed to con-
cern imagination only, while drifting ships, indenting bullets,
warming stones, etc., shall be exclusively determined as " ex-
istent." Both classes of objects are constructed in the imag-
ination, and in precisely the same manner; they differ only
in the categories to which they owe objectivity. But, more
than that, both classes of objects are equally determined as
existent.
Another distinction, or rather, another wording of the same
distinction, which immediately follows is to a like effect. In
the Kritik of Pure Reason (WW. II, 760), Kant has a
foot-note to his table of " Grundsiltze ,' '' which runs thus:
"All conjunction is either composition or connection. The
former is a synthesis in which the individuals do not neces-
sarilv belong the one to the other. For example, the two
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 43
triangles into which the diagonal divides a .square do not,
considered per se, belong to each other. Of this nature is the
homogeneous synthesis in everytHing that can be mathemat-
ically regarded. Such synthesis, also, is either one of aggre-
gation or one of coalition, the former referring to extensive, and
the other to intensive, magnitudes. The second conjunction,
■connection, on the other hand is a synthesis in which the indi-
viduals necessarily do belong the one to the other — as, accident
to substance, effect to cause. This synthesis (as seen from
the examples) is heterogeneous, and yet conceived as a priori.
This conjunction, now, I name dynamical, as not being dis-
cretionary, but depending existentially on the individuals in
it. This dynamical conjunction, lastly, is also capable of a
twofold division — into, first, the physical one of objects
mutually ; and, second, the metaphysical one of objects in
their relation to the mental faculty."
There is nothing shadowed out in this note but synthesis as
under each of the four categories — quantity, quality, relation,
and modality. It serves no purpose but to allow Kant the indul-
gence of his passion for words and phrases that shall be felici-
tously distinctive ; and, certainly, there is enough here in that
kind to please any one. Hume opposes conjunction to connec-
tion, but Kant opposes composition to connection, and subor-
dinates both as species under conjunction as genus. Then each
species falls into two sub-species. Composition (mathematical
synthesis or conjunction) is either the aggregation of extensive
magnitudes, or the coalition of intensive magnitudes ; while
connection (dynamical synthesis or conjunction) is either
physical (relation — substance and accident, cause and effect,
action and reaction) or metaphysical (modality — possibility,
actuality, necessity, etc.). Then the terms in the different
syntheses, naturally, are also necessarily different. Under
composition, for example, they are like in kind (homogene-
ous), but they do not necessarily belong to each other (in th e
sense of the one being existentially due to the other — as, the
effect to the cause). Whereas, under connection, again, they
are different in kind (heterogeneous), and yet do necessarily
belong the one to the other (in the sense of being existen-
44 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
tially due, etc.). There is not an atom of difficulty or ambi-
guity in the entire passage ; and that individuals here are
existentially due, and there are not existentially due, the one
to the other, has not the slightest reference to distinction
between objects as existent or non-existent.
Mr. Caird, apparently, however, does not so readily find
himself at home in the passage. The paragraph (pages 440—
442) constitutes his relative commentary, and it is to the
effect as follows : " Homogeneous elements which do not nec-
essarily belong to each other," he conceives to refer to that
peculiarity in quantity according to which "it can be in-
creased or diminished without limit ; all that is determined by
these principles, therefore, is, not that you must combine any
element with any other, but that if you do so, you must do it
in a particular way!' Now, all that Kant means, so far, is
only, as we have seen, a synthesis of like to like, which
"Ukes'' are still indifferent to one another, and do not cause
one another. The particles of any stone are such. Surely,
then, Mr. Caird either sees something quite dissimilar to this,
or only conveys this with such left-handedness as sets hope-
lessly at fault. And what follows is worse. When Kant
only wants it to be understood that the connection of sub-
stance and accident, cause and effect, may be described as a
" synthesis of heterogeneous elements which belong to each
other," Mr. Caird seems suddenly lost in a labyrinth, in which,
coherency there is none. There is still, to be sure, external
cheerfulness of speech ; but the internal uneasiness is revealed
by this little foot-note: " Cf. Spinoza, 1. c. In the above
account of Kant's doctrine I have been obliged to introduce
more of my oavii interpretation than usual ; I could not other-
wise get a distinct meaning out of Kant's words." And, no
doubt, this is accurately the nature of the case here and else-
where. Mr. Caird, unable " otherwise to get a distinct mean-
ing out of Kant's words," onlv all too often sees into them
tropes. A simpler passage than what we have translated it is
surely impossible to find anywhere, whether in Kant or an-
other ; and it is not easy to express one's surprise that it
should have been so perverted or sublimed, so disfigured or
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 45
transformed. Nor are the neighboring passages different.
" Relation of imagination to knowledge," "Freedom of the
imagination due to abstraction," "Limitation of knowledge
by imagination," etc. — these, too, can but seem to us, as it
were, bones of the hippogriff, instead of the simple articula-
tions of Kant; and we are reminded of the "crabs, goats,
scorpions, the balance and the water-pot," which, according
to Mr. Emerson, " lose all their meanness [here, meaning]
when hung as signs in the Zodiac."
The truth is that Kant has a peculiar plan of his own to
propose, and it is only misseen when the beams of his work-
shop are extended into the firmament. These vessels and
utensils are all, very specially, his ; and it has neither consist-
ency nor meaning to lift any one of them out of its own lim-
ited perspective. No doubt, points do crop up here and there
in Kant that may profitably receive a general application, and
where names may be in place (hardly ever Spinoza's) ; but,
for the most part, that is not so, and we only lose ourselves
when we leave the very homely bounds of the critical manu-
factory. Consider the mischief that results, too — chimeras
of the brain offered as problems to the schools, and an idle
babble endlessly protracted! "Notice: No admittance ex-
cept on business." By this placard we know what is sui
generis, and on its own account ; and by just such placard is
the Kantian gateway overhung and guarded. It is idle to ap-
proach such eminently private workshop as though it were a
eosmical treasure-house, and each plain implement were to be
taken up with the child-like awe that only sees marvels of the
universe. But our object here is special, and we may, accord-
ingly, limit ourselves.
" This is Kant's general argument. There are, however,
a few inconsistent or ambiguous statements introduced into it,
and especially into that part which refers to the principle of
causality, which must be examined before we can fully justify
the above interpretation of it. Thus, at the beginning of his
discussion of the second analogy of experience, Kant distin-
guishes two cases : the case of such an object as a house,
where the sequence of our perceptions is reversible ; and the
case of a boat sailing [no, no, not " sailing," drifting; it is
46 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
the current, 'and not the wind, that is to be regarded as the
cause acting] down a river, where it is irreversible. We can
begin with either the top or the bottom of the house, but we
cannot see the movements of the boat except in one order.
[We might have seen it moving up, down, along, across, or in
anv direction, if " sailing," and not mere drifting at control
of the current, had been taken into account.] In the latter
case, therefore, as Kant argues, we give to our perception of
succession an objective value ; but in the former case we re-
gard it as merely subjective ; or, what is the same thing, in the
latter case we bring the sequence of our perceptions under
the category of causality, and in the former case we do
not." Mr. Caird, in writing this, supposes himself to be
approaching " Schopenhauer's objection," and no doubt cor-
rectly, as we now superabundantly know. Still, Mr. Caird
writes this from himself; he is not reporting from another.
This is not the oratio obliqua; these are Mr. Caird' s own
opinions. His reference to " inconsistent or ambiguous state-
ments," "especially' in what concerns "the principle of
causality," is direct; and equally direct is his intimation that
this inconsistency or ambiguity concerns Kant's statements in
regard to succession in the case of a house as contrasted with
succession in the case of a drifting ship. Further, this also
is direct : that Kant characterizes the one succession as sub-
jective, and the other as objective. Than this, there is no
other possible understanding here. But Mr. Caird conveys
the same ideas even more strongly (not more directly) else-
where. At page 454 he says: "Kant argues that the judg-
ment of sequence cannot be made except on the presupposi-
tion of the judgment of causality ; ' and at page 451 he had
already said: "Hume had maintained that the principle of
causality is simply the general expression of a subjective habit
of mind, which is due to the repeated experience of sequence ;
the post hoc is the reality which, by an illusion of the imag-
nation, is turned into the propter hoc: Kant answers that the
experience of the post hoc is itself impossible except to a
mind that connects phenomena as cause and effect." "The
judgment of sequence cannot be made except on the presup-
position of the judgment of causality ! ' " The experience of
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 47
the post hoc is itself impossible except to a mind that connects
phenomena as cause and effect! !' "No mind is capable of
the cognition post hoc that is not already capable of the
cognition propter hoc/ f / "
"Were such things here as we do speak about,
Or have we eaten of the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner? "
It was a fearful blunder on the part of Schopenhauer to
suppose Kant considered the succession of the house sub-
jective, and no succession objective but that of causality alone.
As we see, Mr. Caird fully indorses that blunder — the radical
blunder that is the theme of this essay; but then, further,
he out-Herods Herod. Schopenhauer, even making the pro-
digious blunder he did, was never so far left to himself as to
conceive the cognition of succession as succession only possi-
ble to Kant on presupposition of causality. Following on was
to him as much sui generis as following/rom. One vainly turns
the eye round and round in search of how and where Mr.
Caird could get even the dream of such things. Kant shall
have held it impossible to cognize the rows on his book-
shelves, the steps on his stairs, the laths in his Venetians, etc.,
endlessly, unless on presupposition of the category of caus-
ality ! Why, there are successions even necessarily in the
form ABC D, etc., which are not causal, and utterly inde-
pendent of causality in any reference. Everybody has heard
the chimes — at midnight, or whenever else. Ding-ding-dong-
ding, ding-ding-dong-ding ; it is quite certain that each chime
has its fixed place in the series — has at least the position of
a necessary consequent in the one direction, as of a necessary
antecedent in the other ; and yet causality has nothing what-
ever to do with either the sequence or the necessity. Ten min-
utes to nine must absolutely precede five minutes to nine ; one
o'clock, two o'clock ; Sunday, Monday ; May, June — in short,
every one moment of time another, just as every atom of space
is beside another, on this side and on that, and on all sides.
These are successions — necessary, too — and they are abso-
lutely independent of causality, whether as existent or as
cognized. Nor is it possible for any man to find Kant, at last,
otherwise than fully awake to all that these things imply.
48 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
Even Mr. Caird, in fact, only saves himself to himself here,
by resolutely looking away from all these homely considera-
tions (which are really all that Kant entertains), and having
recourse to that expedient of cosmical transelementation to
which there has been already allusion. It is in reference to
the unity of the universe, and the correlation of all its parts,
he thinks, that there is justification for Kant's (never made)
assertion that objectivity results from the category of causality
alone ! It is quite true that Kant will have the world a cor-
related unity ; but it is not true that he will have the causal
category as this unity's sole source. Every single category —
and there are twelve of them — is constitutive, as every single
idea — and there are three of them — is regulative, of this
unity. Kant, consequently, cannot even dream of making
cognition of succession, as such, conditional on presupposition
of succession causal. If Mr. Caird will consider Kant's own
illustrations of causality, he will find what a homely empirical
role that category is supposed to fulfill, and that, too, only
beside others which equally with it bestow unity, which
equally with it bestow objectivity, and so bestow objectivity
that even the succession in a house is not subjective ; and never
was either thought subjective or called subjective by Kant
himself. "Kant," Mr. Caird says (p. 457), "either forgets
or abstracts for the moment from the fact that whether we
say the sequence is due (as in the case of the house) to the
movement of our organs of sense, or whether we say that it
is due to the movements of the objects perceived (as in the
case of the boat) — in both cases we make a judgment of
objective sequence." Of course, it would be absurd seriously
to attempt to show that this sentence were quite as relevant
to the precession of the equinoxes as to Kant ; but is not the in-
fluence of Schopenhauer, to which it is wholly and solely due,
eminently regrettable? But there is no pleasure to me in this
duty that, parenthetically so to speak, has fallen upon me ;
and with these half-dozen hints — honest, as they must be —
I gladly leave it. 6
6 Only through ability to discern propter hoc, first of all, is it possible to discern
post hoc ! Were not the post of the house and the propter of the ship but a moment
ago independently and specifically side by side? To Kant himself, even in
Schopenhauer in Relation to Kant. 49
There is such a thing as a literal understanding of Kant,
in which the alphabet A B C D, etc., is the alphabet A B C D,
etc. ; and there is also such a thing as an oneiromantic under-
standing of Kant, in which W is a windmill, K a kite, and O
an owl. Or, there is an internal understanding of Kant,
and there is an external understanding of Kant. The internal
understanding smelts, melts, fuses all manner of earthy pro-
visional matter into a single diamond-point that mirrors
and comprehends all ; and he who possesses it sees all at a
glance, and can tell all in one word or a thousand. The ex-
ternal understanding, again, is academical, exegetical, formal;
and all Kant's distinctions — analysis, synthesis, axioms, an-
ticipations, analogies, postulates, paralogisms, antinomies, etc.
— verbally appear in it, one after the other, as a series of
frames that contain nothing, or that contain nightmares ;
while he that possesses it is accordingly conditioned. Such
things are exemplified, for the most part, by almost scores of
«' Introductions'''' sent in from all sides. And yet it is remarka-
ble that, always excepting Schopenhauer of course, all the Ger-
mans known to me who Avrite on Kant — Erdmann, Ueberweg,
Schwegler, Rosenkranz, Reinhold, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel,
Edmund Montgomery, al. — are, in the sense indicated, liter-
alisfs. One would have expected such teaching to have been
generally adopted ; but, no ; on the contrary, with the excep-
tion of Americans, most members of other nationalities who
affect the theme seem largely to disdain the letter, and even
to prefer, as we may surmise, the cabala of dream. In Eng-
land the very mention of German philosophy would seem to
repugn. It is only the neighboring island that shows any in-
terest in the subject. If any one will cast his eyes over these
periodical Kottabos's and ffermatltena's, or the more permanent
classical and philosophical works that issue from the press of
causalty, does not the subjective post hoc precede and condition the objective
•propter hoc? Is it not similarly situated with the categories as a whole? Is not
Kant's one problem to explain how the evident and unquestioned post hoc can
contain the mysterious and doubted -propter hoc? Or just consider this — if the
propter hoc precedes and conditions the post hoc, how did it ever occur to call the
house-series subjective?
XIII — 4
50 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Dublin, he will recognize that the life of learning and philos-
ophy — no longer to be found at Oxford or at Cambridge, at
Edinburgh or Aberdeen — is still vigorous in Ireland's Trinity.
While there are Thompsons and Jowetts, and such eminent
younger strengths as Bywater, England indeed cannot be said
to be without Greek, and philosophical Greek. (As for Scot-
land, though the veteran Dr. William Veitch, of Edinburgh,
is probably the greatest philological Grecian out of Germany,
the Scotch, on the whole, have no Greek.) Still, as intimated,
it is in Dublin that Greek, and philosophical Greek, may at
this moment be regarded as, through strength of mutual asso-
ciation, living. There quite a fire of genius would seem to
burn now. Maguire, Mahaffy, Monck, Graham, and a whole
host of others einulously wrestle with each other, and com-
municate to their countrymen quite a heat of learning and
philosophy. In the midst of such an intellectual life, Kant, as
may be supposed, has not been neglected. And yet (will it
be possible to forgive me?) I have experienced a certain dis-
satisfaction with most of the Irish works that I have seen on
Kant. They are too academical, too exegetical, too formal.
With those eternal Mill-references, and other such, they
have, somehow, an old-fashioned look. I would have men of
such real accomplishments, real endowments — more than for-
malists. It almost pains one to the core to think that such
a gracious, vigorous, and thoroughly equipped intellect as
Mahaffy' s should allow itself to remain, at least as regards
the best of German philosophy, so glaringly on the outside.
An article in the Princeton Review for July — which, by the
by, is the immediate occasion, and " only begetter," of the
directly preceding remarks — offers, in this connection, much
material for comment ; but I must simply allow it to take its
place on the kind earth, amid so much else that is to be used
as seed, according to Carlyle, or simply disintegrated as so
much chaff. And with this I conclude, trusting always that
something of a lesson has been read, not wholly inapplicable,
whether to Schopenhauer, or to Kant, or whoever else.
Raphael and Michael Angela. 51
RAPHAEL AND MICHAEL ANGELO.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF HERMANN GRIMM BY IDA M. ELIOT.
Skilled labor presupposes a nation ; aft, a nation and a man.
Skill, even when it rises to its highest excellence, can be ac-
quired ; art, even in its lowest forms, is inborn, and cannot be
gained through any amount of diligence by one who has not
possessed it at first. Skill is dependent upon the material
which it uses, and its highest triumph is to employ and display
this material in endless variety. Art is a child of the spirit,
and her triumph is so to control the material that it shall ex-
press intelligibly to others the slightest fancy of that spirit
which wishes to communicate itself. Art speaks from soul to
■soul ; the material is only the medium through which the com-
munication is made.
But some material is necessary to both skill and art, and
for this reason they are confounded by those who are not able
to recognize the spirit through the material. These same peo-
ple, however, have heard of art, and think that through study
they can acquire that discerning power which nature has de-
nied them. Nature alone can give this power, and so it hap-
pens that they suppose that art lies in the highly-wrought,
and that what is simple is mere skill. These people form the
majority in our day, and since their desire of seeing contin-
ually something new has created the supply, it has come to
pass that a number of workers have been called artists be-
cause, through work and study, they have succeeded in imitat-
ing those symbols of true art which can be seen in the work
of well-known artists. Also, they have used materials even
more skillfully than the artists themselves, while the real
artists, whose simple thoughts required merely a simple expres-
sion, are entirely overlooked for the present. But at last the
voice of those who understand and admire them will break
forth, and the vexation which the world experiences at finding
itself deceived by false imitation will prepare for these a so
much the more brilliant reception.
"V
52 The Journal of Speculative Philoso}jhy .
This is the natural course of events. For this reason a
Bernini could excite admiration after Michael Angelo ; for
this reason were so many real artists unknown, while false
ones shone forth in the glory of passing days ; but for the
same reason justice is not forever silent, and it finall} r sets the
real in the place of honor, while it does not need to thrust out
the false, whose own weakness has let it fall into obscurity.
For creative spirit lives forever, the material is transient ;
the spirit is strengthened and grows, while the thoughts of
mankind depend upon that first creative thought of the artist
as bees upon their queen ; the material, however, is consumed
like everything external — like clothing, which falls to pieces ;
gold, which wears away; and the body, which decays. Take
two golden statues, both melted down and destroyed, the one
of which was a work of art, the other a mere piece of work-
manship ; the latter has vanished without leaving any trace,
while the other can still be seen by the eyes through which the
soul of the artist spoke to the stranger soul, making it more
beautiful and noble than before, and other souls with whom it
shared the wealth it had received were richer for that reason.
The world is full of such unknown inheritances.
Praise, honor, and reward allure and satisfy the artisan, but
to the artist these are merely the symbols of the love of a
people to whom he feels himself drawn nearer by these.
Should he feel that these Avould put him farther off, he would
despise them. Both are striving for fame, but the artist de-
sires it only as a consolation which whispers to him lovingly
that his efforts have not been vain, which says to him that
from his works the spirit which he breathes into them shall
shine forth victorious.
To the artisan, fame is merely the giving him an opportunity
to sell his works at higher prices, and to increase their sale ; an
illusion, a deception,' which comes to his aid when he con-
vinces himself that, outwardly, his productions resemble the
works of an artist — that creature hated and envied by him.
But the letter is dead, the word is everlasting.
Though the work of the artisan is despicable when it pre-
tends to be art, it is honorable when it stays within its own
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 53
domain. It takes root in a nation, and has a fertile soil. We
need it ; it bounds our existence ; as physical beings we should
be nothing without it, just as we could not exist, spiritually,
without art ; and as body and spirit cannot be separated, so
with art and the work of the artisan — they go hand in hand,
they need each other, but they are not the same.
There is no art which has not by its side a similarly named
trade, as there is nothing which cannot be seen on two sides —
one its earthly origin, the other its spiritual place among cre-
ations, considered with regard to its beauty.
Beauty has no aim — it exists ; it is its own limit, as is the
work of the artist. The useful has an aim beyond itself, and
deserves its name only when it has attained its object. One
can imagine an artist who might work alone in a desert, and
finish a statue of perfect beauty without ever asking whether
any one will ever see it except himself and the daylight ; an
artisan who should work on alone is an anomaly ; a potter who
should make, at random, vessels for which there is no use.
These very utensils, however, which are used and then thrown
away, are worthy of a double consideration. Worthless in the
spiritual meaning during this usefulness, they become, after a
thousand years, monuments of vanished culture, and the spirit
of the nation speaks from them. It is so with the painting of
the Egyptians, and even the ornaments of the old Germanic
funeral urns. For the work of the artisan has a spirit in common
with the unconscious spirit of the nation, while the artist stands
above his people and his time, and what he produces is a symbol
of his own thoughts, which he throws to his people as a gift.
Wherever art is considered, the mechanical part must also
be considered : but one must distinguish between them, or else
each will be injured by confusion with the other. In order to
do this, one must be perfectly free. He only who, without
prejudice, listens to the sound of that voice which speaks but
in the silence of the inmost heart, will recognize at once
whether a work was created in devotion to beauty. He only
can tell if it Avas made by profane hands, useful to the artisan,
who possessed only keen appreciation of the weakness of the
public, and skill in successfully flattering it. In this connection
I need only allude to the theater.
54 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
The artist represents his ideal. This word, like all of those
which signify deep veneration when spoken by connoisseurs,
has become idle praise when uttered by those who care for art
only because they hope in that way to till the emptiness of
their souls ; and, therefore, one has a horror of using it. Let
us give to it its true content.
As long as we live and accumulate experiences we are con-
vinced that nothing upon earth is perfect. While, on the one
hand, Ave recognize in everything that has happened or is cre-
ated a manifestation of laws eternally true to themselves, on
the other hand we see that these laws are subject eveiywhere
to disturbances which we call chance before we recognize it,
and we discover that, on account of endless counteracting in-
fluences, nothing appears in that completeness of which its
conception renders it capable and towards which it strives.
The soul of man yields at last to the truth of this experience,
but is, however, not satisfied with the idea that it must be so j
a feeling, firmly rooted, insists that it was not so once, and may
be different in the future. Even with this consolation the soul
is not satisfied, but unconsciously, with creative activity, from
the pattern of what it sees and experiences, fashions a spir-
itual form of creation free from those disturbances, and this
serves as a double symbol of a higher existence that lies buried
in the past, and will rise again in the future. This invisible
self-created world we call the ideal.
No man, even the humblest, is without this possession.
There is no loss which would carry this with it. The ideal re-
mains man's peculiar property as an inalienable good, and
even when it seems to be dimmed and lost, it starts anew.
It is the land to whose soil Ave all cling, whose serfs Ave all are.
It is a slavery Ave cannot escape, whether Ave proudly recog-
nize through the bondage, the real blessing or Avhether with
obstinate denial Ave seek to tear ourselves away. In every
mortal is inborn the longing after his ideal. This may grow
weary, it may be almost destroyed, but eA r en should it come to
pass that it no longer is apparent in the individual, still will a
nation, as a Avhole, possess it and never give it up. Either it
dreams of a future grandeur or it laments a past one.
What corresponds to the ideal of a nation is called by men
Raphael and Michael Angela. 55
the beautiful, the good ; those who feel this more sensitively
than others, stand high in public esteem ; those who combine
in themselves and express the feeling of the whole nation are
the men whom one loves and honors. But those in whom the
reflection of the universal consciousness is so strong that it is
clearly mirrored in them, and that they give utterance to it in
music, language, or in some other way, till it, gaining for itself
its own existence, stands there as an embodiment of what the
nation considers good and beautiful — these men are the
artists, men who raise to the highest point the veneration of
the people. They show one's own soul in the truest sense,
one's longings in the most alluring way, and one's future and
past in the purest light. They repeat with convincing words
one's most secret thoughts ; they teach one to speak their own
language. They show one's character in completeness.
"Wherever they enter, every one greets them ; wherever they go,
all thoughts eagerly follow them ; and any work of theirs that
can be obtained is valued and kept as the greatest treasure.
With such feelings do we honor Goethe, Beethoven, Schiller,
and Mozart.
The artist stands in necessarily close relation with his
people. Should a nation stand as high toward other nations
as its artists stand toward it, then its rule is extended to a
wonderful decree . The Greeks take such a hioh rank.
Phidias, Homer, Sophocles, worked for all nations and all
times ; Corneille and Kacine sang for the French only ;
Shakespeare for all Germanic nations. Those were Greeks
and this one an Englishman, and the national characteristics
form a part of their personalities. We cannot imagine them
without the soil on which they stand. But for the blooming
earth on which it shines, the sun would be a dead mass of tor-
menting clearness ; but for its rays, the world would be a dark
wilderness, a formless, horrible obscurity ; one needs the other ;
only their contact causes life to arise. In the same way a na-
tion needs its artists. The recognition and esteem of men
gives to them their name and worth, but their word and work
give to the people the opportunity of loving and honoring
them. The artist stands between the finite and the infinite ;
56 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
where the two meet, he seizes the lightning, holds it fast, and
gives it everlasting duration. Everlasting, as long as men
live who understand him ; should the people who loved him
die out, his fame would vanish with his works.
That, however, is hardly to be imagined or feared. A na-
tion does not arise and die out like a species of animal that
appears and perishes. When a nation is powerful and great,
it has had a father and mother who produced it. We cannot
always trace out the combination, but often it lies clear before
our eyes. Nations always separate, and from the various
branches, which meet on different sides, spring new nations.
More wonderful still than the physical commingling of the
races is the spiritual unison of their styles of culture. From
Koman models was developed the comedy of the Italians ;
through France it passed to England ; there it enriched the
ground upon which Shakespeare's flowers grew. From the
union of Spanish, English, Italian, and classic elements arose
the strict national form in the tragedies of Corneille and Ea-
cine; from the Egyptian, the Greek sculpture arose; from
Byzantine lifeless attempts sprang the old Italian painting ;
later, with a fresh start, the old Italian art united with the
Greek in Raphael and Michael Angelo. From how many
sources sprang Goethe's and Schiller's works? Everywhere
there is contact ; everywhere great men stand upon foreign
shoulders. The most distant elements come together and
are united in them. They never gush forth as a spring from
the rock, but from a thousand channels their life streams, the
waters flowing together ; muddy at first, but in the course of
time getting clearer, and winning a name. At last they stand
in their own individual power, and each of their works bears
upon its face the name of the artist. Men all know that there
lives but one person who could create that.
But one thing is true : if artists produce works whose divine
beauty satisfies our longing, they themselves are, like all of us,
subject to those distractions which are the inevitable dowry of
human nature. They create the ideal — they cannot newly
create themselves ; they are only the priests — what they give
is greater than they themselves are. But thej^ are the only
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 57
-ones who try to present it, and so, although they have
an individual independent life, their works mingle with the
poetry of their lives, and the desire of mankind to see both
as an undivided whole is so great that — when all facts are
wanting — one tries from these works to trace back the per-
sonal experiences of the artist. Raphael's Madonna in Dres-
den must be a picture of the Fornarina ; Shakespeare's sonnets
are a new delight to the interpreter; Goethe's, Lessing's,
Schiller's writings are examined with conscientious eagerness,
and the whole nation takes part in bringing to light the
smallest personal allusions. It loves the man, it honors him ;
he must be no empty name ; it perceives with new delight,
from a thousand earthly trifles, that this man lived as all
others do, ate and drank, and while it draws him down to
the every-day life of the times, it rises to him, with whom it
feels itself now firmly united. Still, we can never learn the
things about the real lives of great men that are known only
by those who saw them daily, and who were in a position to
feel their influence. What we picture to ourselves is always
an imaginary scene, in which we ourselves unconsciously
play the most important part. We see their lives as Ave
would like to see them. With this feeling we involuntarily
arrange all our information, make prominent what pleases us,
and pass over what we prefer kept in silence ; and it is our
longing for an ideal which teaches us to do this.
The book which has started all these reflections into new
activity is " Guhl's Artist Letters." In two volumes the
author has given a long list of letters which have been written
by painters, sculptors, and, in part, by their friends and pa-
trons. The work begins with the old Italian masters, and ex-
tends into the last century. Everywhere the most significant
passages are quoted, each is accompanied by a commentary,
and, besides this, in a short introduction, the different artists
are characterized as a whole.
There are many there who have no claim to immortality —
whose activity was merely that of the artisan, without going
very deep. There are many who are true artists — Titian, Cor-
reggio, Murillo, Rubens — of whom I shall speak here no
58 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
further. But only two deserve the higher name of great men —
Raphael and Michael Angelo. This distinction is deeper than
one might at first think. Euripides, Calderon, and Racine were
great poets ; Sophocles, iEschylus, Dante, Shakespeare, and
Goethe were great men ; Alexander, Scipio, Hannibal, Csesar,
Frederick, and Napoleon, were that also ; while Tnrenne, Eu-
gene, Blucher, and Wellington were merely great generals.. A
great man is recognized as a universal force. His soul is so
great that it makes little difference through what medium he
expresses himself, while those who are great in one special di-
rection require comparison with their kind, and imply a lower
order from which they have risen. They were more capable,
wiser, more fortunate than their comrades, who always serve
as a measure for their greatness. But the great need no such
foil ; they are separated from the crowd of mortals, and lead a
peculiar existence. They appear like broken fragments of
another planet, fallen here and there from Heaven, according
to the will of Fate. Wherever they are seen, the light all
falls on them ; the rest stand in shadow. Related to one an-
other like the members of an invisible aristocratic family, they
stand close together before our eyes, as if in a brilliant cloud,
neither century nor nationality separating them. Raphael and
Phidias clasp hands ; Frederick the Great stands no nearer
than Caesar ; Plato and Homer no farther oft* than Goethe and
Shakespeare. An earthly immortality makes them seem liv-
ing, and involuntarily we lay everything of importance at
their feet and ask their judgment. They are strangers on
the earth, and yet the only ones entitled to live here ; happier
than the happiest, and yet more unhappy than the most
wretched among us ; for we do not foreshadow [the perfect as
they do, and therefore do not feel, as they, the yawning gulf
that separates us from it, over which neither bridge leads nor
wings can carry. There are a few who were taken by an early
death before the years when the torture of isolated work is felt,
but the greater number learned, through a long life, to know
the pain which they alone could feel and bear. I name, spec-
ially, Raphael, and Michael Angelo.
They stand toward one another as Achilles toward Hercules ;
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 59
as the resistless beauty which beams on all, toward the gloomy
force which conquers all ; as a short sunny spring toward a
long year that begins in storm and ends in tempest. Raphael's
works are like golden apples which ripened in an everlast-
ing sunshine ; one sees no painstaking in them, he seems to
have thrown them off* without labor ; and even when he repre-
sents ruin, or any frightful subject, his pictures have a clear
beauty in them, and never oppress the mind of the beholder,
who is lost in admiration.
But Michael Angelo's figures know nothing of those bright
realms ; they seem to move under a heavily clouded sky, to
dwell in caves, and each rolls his fate onward as if it were a
burden of rock, which strained all the muscles to the utmost.
Earnest, sad thoughts are pictured in their brows, as if they,
in their lofty eminence, scorned the smiling existence into
which Raphael sends out his creations. With each step they
seem to remember that the earth under their feet is an iron
globe to which they are chained, and they drag after them the
invisible chain with which the Divinity has fettered them to-
a gloomy destiny.
The life of no artist will at all compare with Raphael's in good
fortune. No struggles with poverty or hostility oppressed his
youth. When a child, as we should call him, he caused the
greatest hopes ; by degrees he fulfilled and surpassed them,
soon going over a distance which no one had anticipated.
Who would have believed that it was possible for Art to attain
such height? When Francesco Francia saw one of his pic-
tures for the first time, he laid aside his brush and died of
grief, that now there was nothing more to strive after. Quickly
the youth outgrew his masters ; from painting to painting we
can trace the more complete development of his genius. At
first one can hardly distinguish his pictures from Perugino's,
soon it is only Michael Angelo, whose superiority delights him.
They knew and honored one another, but did not love each
other. That was impossible ; but each had the other fre-
quently in mind. Although there was no outspoken rivalry,
perhaps there would have been one. Raphael died in the
bloom of his life. No diminution of power, no stand-still,
60 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
no mannerism is to be seen in him, as in Michael Angel o, who
viewed and represented the world in a grandiose way. The
human form was safe in his hands ; he knew how to make sigf-
nificant the slightest turns, to put beauty into every sinew,
whether tense or passively resting. Raphael's forms ex-
hausted the possibility of human motion, as the statues of the
Greeks that of human repose, as the poems of Shakespeare
exhaust the subject of human passion, or Goethe's poems all
aspects of loving. His works are wholly perfect. Any seem-
ing faultiness is only individuality, as the eccentricities of
nature do not offend ao-ainst her laws. When we look at these
works, our longing ceases and we desire no more. "We wish
merely to look ; our thoughts vanish ; the demands of fancy are
silent and are satisfied. There is no suggestion in them that he
was painting for others — that he had in mind o-old and fame ;
he seems to have sought for his own happiness while he was
working. The goddess of beauty offered him her lips, and he
kissed them; her form, and he embraced it. What mattered
it to him whether it were seen or not ; he did not stand upon a
stage opposite his beloved one, and go into raptures of delight
in order that others should be inspired to applaud. He en-
joyed life, and painted. His pictures show a study that to-day
is unheard of, but it seems to have been to him only a delight.
It pleased him to repeat a beautiful form three or four times
before he painted it ; to represent a body in many different
postures before he used it definitely in his pictures. All flowed
easily from his fingers; it was no work — as the flowers are
not any trouble to the rose-bush.. Whatever he touched
turned into beauty. His life broke off just at the height. He
did not fade slowly away ; of a sudden he was no longer there ;
he perished like a beautiful city that sinks into the sea with all
its wealth.
A magic charm surrounded him, and possessed all whom he
met. All who were with him felt this. Wherever he worked,
envy and jealousy ceased among the artists ; all were united
and arranged themselves under him ; all loved him. When he
went to the Vatican, more than fifty of them surrounded him,
and, accompanied by them, he went up the steps of the palace.
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 61
He, perhaps younger than most of them, was more beau-
tiful, more distinguished than all. And still we have no
trustworthy likeness of him. But who does not know him?
To whom could he be a stranger? When I stand before his
pictures, I believe I know him better than his best friends who
were with him ; and so have thought millions of people since
his death, when they have been in the presence of his works.
It is the most inspiring charm of fame to be known by all and
loved by all. Fame is something very different from praise
and recognized position. Those people are not famous who
are known only through the words and writings of others, but
those who are known personally through their own works,
and about whom people feel silently that they are great, and
their works indispensable.
Raphael enjoj^ed this fame as perhaps no mortal has done
before or since. He maybe compared to Alexander, who was
as young as he, and dashed through as brilliant a course, and
also died in his bloom. Byron's fame shines with dull light in
comparison with his. He also was, in his youth, the greatest
poet of his people, and others rendered homage to his supe-
riority. But, taken captive by the circle whose incense he de-
spised, yet still drank in, he grew weak from the first, and at
last fell a sacrifice to a double life, from which he had not the
power to escape. Alexander was a royal youth. He was not
limited to the sphere in which he was, but Raphael was an art-
ist, and never anything else. He might have tried for a car-
dinal's hat. We are not now to speak of what he might have
done, or how he might perhaps have changed in the course of
his life, but only of what he really did while he lived. From
the beginning to the end, by his conduct, he fulfilled the ideal
of an artist's life, and even his jealousy of Michael Angelo
does not impair his fame, but rather raises it. For whoever
stands so high must desire to be first of all, and can endure
no one above him.
What we know concerning the mutual relation of these art-
ists is not very clear, and is of doubtful worth. Verdicts
which great men pass upon their peers, even when they sound
harsh, have not the significance of the evil words with which
62 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
mediocre natures dispute about rank. If Michael Angelo once
angrily exclaimed that whatever Raphael knew of architecture
he learned from him, he did not wish by that to make Raphael
smaller and himself greater. Goethe might perhaps have said,
in the same way, of Schiller, " What he has become has been
through me ; " as -ZEschylus might have said of Sophocles, or
Corneille of Racine. Considered in general, the words are
false, yet under certain circumstances they would be justified
at the time, and would be rightly interpreted by those for
whom they were spoken ; for these, filled with the spirit of the
voice then present, would feel the truth of the thought which
was thus expressed.
There is no praise more sublime and touching than the way
that Vasari, Michael Angelo' s friend and pupil, ascribes Ra-
phael's supremacy over all artists, not mainly to his superiority
and the wisdom of his amiable conduct, but to the essence of his
beautiful nature. All painters, not merely the lowest, but the
greatest, who were anxious about their own fame worked un-
der him in perfect harmony. Discord and evil thoughts dis-
appeared before him. If he had need of the assistance of any
artist, the latter would leave his own work instantly and hasten
to him. He lived like a prince. All followed him to honor him,
and the pope, who received him like a friend, knew no bounds to
his generosity toward him. But that did not hurt his modesty.
No one reproached him for having collected treasures. With
what a natural grace he yields to Fra Giocondo, an old learned
monk, whom the pope had given him as an assistant when he
was made the chief director of the building of St. Peter's. The
letter to his uncle, Simon Ciarla, to whom he writes on the
subject, sounds like words from a very modest youth. He
writes that he hopes to learn from him, and to grow ever more
perfect in his art. So he wrote in 1514, when he was in his
thirty-first year.
In 1483 Raphael was born, in Urbino. His father was Gio-
vanni Sanzio, " pittore non molto eccellento ; ' " his first teacher,
Pietro of Perugia, " die era cortese molto ed amator de' vegV
ijigegni." The account of the large cartoons by Leonardo da
Vinci and Michael Angelo allured him to Florence, where he
Raphael and Michael Angela . 63
stayed till his father's death. His mother then needed him,
and he returned to Urbino, and there kept in order the do-
mestic arrangements. At all times he painted — in Urbino,
again in Perugia, and, before his visit to Florence, in Civitella
and Sienna. Vasari gives a list of quite a number of isolated
productions. Once more he went to Florence and, from there,
at last, to Rome. This was when he was twenty-five years
old. He died at Rome.
What a small range of places ! Urbino, Sienna, Florence,
Rome, and, according to Passavant, we may add Bologna. All
lie so close together that one might say that Raphael had
never gone from home. Michael Angelo's travels would have
been just as limited if flight had not driven him twice to
Venice. But at that time the center ot the world was Italy,
and that of Italy was Rome. This was the time when the
Romance nations still fashioned the destiny of the world.
Next to Vasari 's life of Raphael, I would rather read what
Rumohr writes of him in " Italian Researches." Rumohr's
style is perhaps the purest imitation of Goethe's manner of
telling things, as he was accustomed to do in his old age. If
we call Goethe's style easy, then we may call Rumohr's com-
fortable. He writes as if he were speaking, and he speaks
with the measured freedom of a man who is asserting what is
exactly true. Since he lived in circles in which it was consid-
ered poor taste to utter anything commonplace, his way of
thinking and expressing himself bears the mark of excellence
in its best sense. In the German language very little has
been written, concerning art, which can take the same rank as
his writing. Passavant often contradicts both him and others
who have made the life of Raphael an object of special study.
In general, the disputed points are about trifles, the decision of
which throws no peculiar light on the life of the artist.
The editor of the artist letters has in the introduction and
notes given everything that is of importance for the sympa-
thizing reader. There are not too many letters given. Style
and content always have something specially pleasing, which
one can discover in them even if one did not know who had
written them. Still, I must not omit here one criticism which
applies to the whole book.
64 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
All these letters contain nothing that is absolutely necessary
to our idea of the real artist ; they are very important sources
of information concerning the men — nothing; more. For this
reason, although much information and many observations are
recorded, so that we can accompany the artist in his life, still
these scraps of writing form no points which, in themselves,
are such land-marks of development as paintings or events of
a spiritual or political nature, under whose influence the life
has changed its direction. The intention of the book was
merely to give the letters and comment upon them, and this
is done in a superior manner. But those who, in this book,
see before them for the first time the whole activity and the
life of the artist might suppose that these letters are important
affairs, which they are not. To-day, indeed, the letters ex-
changed between Goethe and Lotta may be better known than
those of Werther, and the correspondence between Schiller
and Goethe may be more read than their works. This is a
false tendency. Whoever studies one of Raphael's paintings ,
with its surrounding relations, learns more of him than he can
learn from all of his letters. In these remarks I point out a
peculiarity of our time, for this age prefers to seek out the
most important of the secondary items, and in considering
these the spirit of the whole often falls into the position of the
unessential.
\_To be continued.']
THE SPATIAL QUALE.
BY WILLIAM JAMES.
Mr. Cabot, in his acute and suggestive article on the notion
of space in the July number of this journal, argues that, as it
forms a system of relations, it cannot be given in any one sen-
sation, and concludes that it is a symbol of the general relat-
edness of objects constructed by thought from data which lie
below consciousness. However Mr. Cabot may differ in de-
The Spatial Quale. (j5
t:iil from the authors whom he criticises, he and they are gen-
erically one ; for the starting-point of their whole industry,
in endeavoring to deduce space, lies in their regarding as the
fundamental characteristic thereof the fact that any one spa-
tial position can only be defined by its relation to other posi-
tions, and in their assumption that position, until thus defined,
is not felt at all.
Mr. Cabot begins his article with the Hegelian thesis that
extension has only negative predicates ; that it signifies only
the indefinite " otJierness'''' of all objects of perception to each
other. I am at a loss to see how such an inaccurate identifi-
cation of a species with its entire genus can ever have been in
favor. Otherness is not space; otherness is just — otherness,
and nothing else; a logical relation between ideas of which
spatial otherness supplies us with a very peculiar and distinct
sort of instance. The ground of its distinctness from other
kinds of otherness I hold to be the special form of sensibility
which objects spatially comparable inter se awaken in us ; and
I shall endeavor in the following pages to prove that this form
of sensibility — this quality of extension or spatial quale., as I
have called it — exist at the outset in a simple and unitary
form. The positions which ultimately come to be determined
within it, in mutual relation to each other, are later develop-
ments of experience, guided by attention. These relations of
position differ in no respect from the logical relations between
items thought of in non-spatial regards. If I say A is farther
to the left than B, my relating thought is the same as when I
say a nasturtium is nearer to vermilion than a rose. When I
say "An ox is larger than a sheep," my relating thought is the
the same as when I say "Napoleon was more ambitious than
Washington." The difference in the two cases lies wholly in
the sensible data on which the thought works. In the one
case these are spatial, in the other chromatic, in the third
moral ; and would be what the Germans call intensiv in a
foruth case, if I were to say, "Camphor smells milder than
ammonia."
It seems to me that the differences of opinion to which the
question has given rise, have arisen in the failure to discrimi-
XIII— 5
66 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
nate between the mere sensible quality of extensiveness, as
such — the spatial quale, as we may call it — and the subdi-
vision and measurement of this extension. By holding fast
to this discrimination, I believe that empiricism and nativism
can be reconciled, and all the facts on which they severally lav
most stress receive equal justice. Almost all those who have
written on the subject hitherto have seemed to regard it as
axiomatic that our consciousness of the whole of space is
formed by adding together our perceptions of particular spaces ;
that there can be no perception of any extent at all without
a perception of particular positions within that extent, and of
their distances and directions from each other. Extension
becomes thus what the English psychologists have called it, an
t < aggregate of co-existing positions," and we find intelligent
writers like Mr. Sully 1 speaking of " the fallacious assump-
tion that there can be an idea of distance in general, apart
from particular distances;" whilst Wundt similarly says: 2
" An indefinite localization, which waits for experience to give
it its reference to real space, stands in contradiction with
the very idea of localization, which means the reference to a
determinate point of space."
If all this be true, Mr. Cabot is perfectly right in saving that
we cannot be aware of space at all without being aware of it
as a distinctly apprehended system of relations between a mul-
titude of parts — without, in a word, performing a mental syn-
thesis. But that we are originally aware of it without all this,
can, I think, be easily shown ; and this vague original con-
sciousness of a space in which separate positions and direc-
tions have not, as yet, been mentally discriminated, deserves,
if it exists at all, the name of sensation quite as much as does
the color, " blue," or the feeling, " warm ;" especially since,
like " blue " or " warm," it seems a simple form of retinal or
cutaneous sensibility, involving no muscular element whatever.
I will try first to show that into our cognition of space there
necessarily enters what must be called a specific quality of
1 Mind, vol. iii, p. 177.
2 Psychologie, p. 480.
The Spatial Quale. 67
sensibility, sui generis, the spatial quale. This cannot possi-
bly be analyzed into the mere notion of order or relation.
Mill, Bain, and Spencer, who so strangely keep repeating that
space is nothing but " the order of co-existences," forget the
fact that we have co-existences which are arranged in no spa-
tial order. The sound of the brook near which I write, the
odor of the cedars, the feeling of satisfaction with which my
breakfast has filled me, and my interest in writing this article,
all simultaneously co-exist in my consciousness without falling
into any sort of spatial order. If, with my eyes shut, these
elements of consciousness give me any spatial feeling at all, it
is that of a teeming muchness or abundance, formed of their mu-
tual interpenetration, but within which they occupy no posi-
tions. For the " order of co-existences " to become the order
of space, the co-existences must, in the first place, be evenly
gradated, or ordered, in themselves ; and, in the second place,
their gradations must be enveloped in the unity of the peculiar
spatial feeling.
The mind can arrange its ingredients in manv orders. The
order of positions in space is evenly gradated in three dimen-
sions, but neither the even gradation, nor the three dimensions,
nor both together, suffice by themselves to constitute its spa-
tiality. We may have an evenly gradated order of luminosi-
ties from white to black ; of tints from yellow, through green, to
blue ; of loudnesses, of all intensities, of good and evil, and so
on ; but the position of any item in these orders, although it
may be metaphorically expressed on a spatial scale, is not
directly intuited by the mind as objectively existing in such a
scale. The order is reallv a logical one, constructed out of
the mutual relations of the various items by the mind, Avhich
compares them. It lacks the sensible matrix, so to speak, of
a unifying intuition, in which the}' lie imbedded as the equally
logical order of related positions lies in space. Just so we
may arrange items of experience in three dimensions ; tones
may be arranged on scales of intensity, pitch and timbre;
colors in the orders of hue, intensity, and purity ; and the en-
tire system of all possible color and tone, thus constructed,
have been symbolized to the imagination by cubes, pyramids,
68 The Journal of Speculative JP7iilosqphy.
spheres, and the like. But no one dreams that they exist as
such, for every one is conscious that the construction is a log-
ical one, involving a conscious comparison of remembered
items and their relations. These exist separately, and to the
system which they unitedly form there corresponds no sensi-
ble, unifying quality which the mind can immediately intuit
as a unifying background, like that yielded by space to the bi-
dimensional order of objective positions.
Space, then, as we know it, is something additional to mere
co-existence and mere continuous order. The space in which
items are arranged when they are intuited by us as objectively
existing in spatial order, and not simply so symbolically figured,
is an entirely peculiar kind of feeling, indescribable except in
terms of itself. Why should we hesitate to call it an ingredient
of the sensation yielded to us by the retina or skin, which in-
tuits the items? Every one will admit the degree of intensity
of a sensation to be a part of its sensible quality. The bright-
ness of the blue sky, as I now look at it, betrays its intensity
by pricking, as it were, 1113' retina. The extent of the blue
which I at this moment see, seems to be an attribute given
quite as immediately. A broad blueness differs from a narrow
blueness as immediatelv as a bright blueness from a sombre
blueness. I may, it is true, in the exercise of conscious com-
parison, identify this particular brightness and blueness with
a certain remembered number in a conventional scale of col-
ors, and then think of the neighboring tints as they evenly
shade away from this one. So I may, by taking thought, esti-
mate in square feet the breadth of the blue surface, and locate
by my imagination its position in that total system of real
spaces which I have learnt to know as the geographic world, but
which no single retinal sensation can ever give me all at once,
because no single retinal image is large enough. For the intui-
tion of a given objective space, with its peculiar quale, must
not be confounded with the notion of the total space, in which
that and all other particular spaces lie in determinate order.
The latter is a real construction out of separate, but related,
elements. The former is a sensation — given all at once, if at
all. Any space which I can take in at one glance comes to
The Spatial Quale. (>9
me as an undivided plenum. Were it built up, as the empir-
icists say, out of a vast number of perceptions of position fused
together, I do not see how its quality could escape retaining
something of the jerky, granulated character of its composite
source. The spaces we do construct by adding together re-,
lated positions — those, namely, which are too vast to be taken
in at one glance — are, in fact, presented, to consciousness in
this jerky manner. The thought of the space between me and
the opposite wall is perfectly smooth. The thought of the
space between me and San Francisco has to be imagined as a
successive number of hours and days of riding or railroading,
filled with innumerable stoppings and startings, none of which
can be omitted without falsifying the imagination. But if,
as the empiricists say, all our space consciousness were com-
pounded of innumerable ideas of motion and position, even the
shortest space we perceive ought to be as coarse-grained, if one
may so express it, as the distance from here to San Francisco.
We are thus forced to conclude that it is a simple, specific
quality of retinal or cutaneous sensation. The quality of much-
ness or vastness, which envelops the separate positions and
particular extensions which we learn to discriminate, clings to
them always, colors their order, and makes it the special kind
of order we call spatial. Qua order, the spatial order is truly
the product of relating thought ; but qua spatial it is a datum
of simple sensibility. In the individual's psychic history
the sensation, space, as a simple vague consciousness of vast-
ness, comes first. The Held of vision — or better, the sensation
of light — can no more exist without it than without its quantum
of intensity. But hist as the degree of intensity, to be cognized
as such or such a degree, requires a long education, involving
memory, comparison, and recognition ; so the quantity of ex-
tension, to be perceived — as a given number of feet, rods, or
miles — presupposes a like education. The standard of inten-
sity is the intensity of some remembered sensation which we
choose for our absolute unit. The standard of extension is
the remembered spatial sensation of vastness, or absolute size,
which we get when certain amounts of our cutaneous surface
are excited, or when on our retina we feel the image of our
70 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
hand, foot, and so forth, at a certain average or habitual dis-
tance selected as the norm.
The spatial quale is, then, primitively a very vague quan-
tum, but it is a spatial quantum. The word vague means that
of which the external limits are uncertain, or that which is
without internal subdivisions, or both ; in the technical lan-
guage of logic, that which is neither " clear" nor " distinct."
The vaguely spatial field of vision is made clear and distinct
by being subdivided. To subdivide it means to have the at-
tention called now to one point, now to another within its
limits and upon its borders. This is a process which, amongst
other things, undoubtedly involves different local sensations
at different points, and feelings resulting from muscular mo-
tion. Its result is the measurement of the field of vision.
We may admit the coincidences which Helmholtz, Wundt, and
others have shown between visual space thus measured and
the laws of muscular movement of the eye-ball ; we may even
allow that the measurement is almost exclusively due to an in-
tellectual elaboration of sensations of motion or innervation.
But for all that, we need not in the least suppose that the
spatiality of the thing measured does not preexist as a simple
sensible quality.
It seems to me that all our sensations, without exception,
have this spatial quale. I am surprised that Riehl, whose
article is in other respects so just, should regard it as an ex-
clusive endowment of the retina. What I mean by the spatial
quality is what Professor Bain so often refers to as the " mas-
siveness ' of a feeling. The squeaking of a slate-pencil is
less spatial than the voluminous reverberations of a thunder-
storm ; the prick of a pin less so than the feeling of a warm
bath ; a little neuralgic pain, fine as a cobweb, in the face, far
less so than the heavy soreness of a boil or the vast discom-
fort of a colic or lumbago. 3
3 Should any one object that such terms as "voluminous" and " massive," ap-
plied to sound and pain, are but metaphorical, and involve no literal spatial im-
port, we may ask him why this peculiarly spatial metaphor is used rather than any
other. Evidently because of some quality in the sound or pain which distinctly
reminds us of space. If we furthermore hold, as I do, that the onty possible
The Spatial Quale. 71
The vastness of the retinal sensation seems in no essential
respect, but only perhaps in amount, to differ from these.
It need not surprise us to find an objectively small surface
yielding, when excited, a more massive sensation than a much
larger, but less sensitive, surface. How disproportionately
great does the crater of a newly-extracted tooth feel ! A
midge buzzing against our tympanum often feels as big as a
butterfly. Degree of nerve-disturbance, and extent thereof,
seem to a certain extent to stand mutually in vicarious rela-
tion. The retina, then, by the mere fact of being excited,
gives us the feeling of extent, and it differs from other sensi-
tive surfaces only in the fact that we are able to fix our attention
successively on its different points, to discriminate their direc-
tions, and so to measure it.
If one should admit that the first two dimensions of space
may thus be called part of the simple retinal sensation, but
that the intuition of depth cannot be so given, I would not
only reply, with Stumpf, that we cannot feel plane space as a
plane without in some way cognizing the cubic spaces which
the plane separates, but I also would propose the following
simple experiment : Let the objector sit with closed eyes,
and let a friend approximate some solid object, like a large
book, noiselessly to his face. He will immediately become
aware of the object's presence and position — likewise of its
departure. The perception here seems due to the excessive
tactile sensibility of the tympanic membrane, which feels the
pressure of the air differently according as an object is near it
or not. To certain blind persons this sensation is a surpris-
ingly accurate revealer of surrounding facts, and a friend ot
foundation of an analogy is a partial identity in the analogous things, we must sup-
pose the voluminousness and massiveness in question to he, at least partially, the
same with spatial bulk. Now, the category of muchness is the only partial ingre-
dient common to all the several terms. But muchness is generic, and embraces
temporal, numerical and intensive, as well as extensive muchness. But that
peculiarity in the pain and sound which makes us call them voluminous is quite
different from that which would make us call them protracted, numerous, or in-
tense. They must, then, have some other characteristic which determines their
muchness as spatial ; and this, being otherwise indescribable, is what I call the
simple spatial quale
72 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
the author, making the experiment for the first time, discrim-
inated unhesitatingly between the three degrees of solidity of
a board, a lattice-frame, and a sieve, held close to his ear.
Now as this sensation is never used by ordinary persons as a
means of perception, we may fairly assume that its felt qual-
ity in those whose attention is called to it for the first time,
belongs to it qua sensation, and owes nothing to educational
suggestions. Now this felt quality is most distinctly and
unmistakably one of vague spatial vastness in three dimen-
sions — quite as much so as is the felt quality of the retinal
sensation when we lie on our back and fill the entire field of
vision with the empty blue sky. When an object is brought
near the ear we immediately feel shut in, contracted ; when
the object is removed, we suddenly feel as if a transparency,
clearness, openness, had been made outside of us. 4 And the
feeling will, by any one who will take the pains to observe it,
be acknowledged to involve the third dimension in a vasfue,
unmeasured state.
On the peripheral parts of the retina discrimination is very
imperfect, although practice may make it much less so. If the
reader will fix his eye steadily on a distant point, and bring
his hand gradually into the field of view, he will first see the
hand, and see it as extended and possessing parts, but will be
wholly unable to count the fingers. He will see objects on the
same portions of the retina without recognizing what they are.
In like manner if he turn his head up side down, or get into
some unnatural position, the spatial relations of what he sees —
distances, directions, and so forth — will be very uncertain,
positions and measurements vague ; but who will pretend that
the picture, in losing its order, has become any the less spatial ?
Just as the current psychologies assume that there can be
u o space before separate positions have been accurately dis-
* I may remark parenthetically, upon the thoroughly objective reference of this
uneducated sensation. The observer is not aware of his feeling as such, but of the
immediate presence or removal in space of an object. The blind persons whom
I have examined with reference to their use of this sensation were entirely igno-
rant that it resided in the tympanum at all. They did not know how they came
to feel the objects, but only that they were there.
The Spatial Quale. 73
tinguished, so they assume the perception of motion to be
impossible until the positions of terminus ad quo and terminus
ad quern are severally cognized, and their successive occupan-
cies by the moving body are perceived to be separated by a dis-
tinct interval of time. As a matter of fact, however, we
cognize only the very slowest motions in this way. Seeing
the hand of a clock at XII, and afterwards at VI, I judge that
it has moved through the interval. Seeing the sun now in the
east and again in the west, I infer it to have passed over my
head. But we can only infer that which we already generic-
ally know in some more direct fashion, and it is experiment-
ally certain that we have the feeling of motion given us as a
direct and simple sensation. Czermak long ago pointed out
the difference between seeing the motion of the second-hand
of a watch, when we look directly at it, and noticing the fact
7 •/ 7 o
of its having altered its position when we fix our gaze upon
some other point of the dial-plate. In the first case we have
a specific quality of sensation which is absent in the second.
If the reader will find a portion of his skin — the arm, for ex-
ample — where a pair of compass-points an inch apart are felt
as one impression, and if he will then trace lines a tenth of
an inch long on that spot with a pencil-point, he will be dis-
tinctly aware of the point's motion and vaguely aware of the
direction of the motion. The perception of the motion here
is certainly not derived from a preexisting knowledge that its
starting and ending points are separate positions in space, be-
cause positions in space ten times wider apart fail to be dis-
criminated as such when excited by the dividers. It is the
same with the retina. One's fingers when cast upon its peri-
pheral portions, cannot be counted — that is to say, the five
retinal tracts which they occupy are not distinctly apprehended
by the mind as five separate positions in space — and yet the
slightest movement of the fingers is most vividly perceived as
movement, and nothing else. It is thus certain that our sense
7 O
of movement, being so much more delicate than our sense of
position, cannot possibly be derived from it. A curious ob-
servation by Exner 5 completes the proof, that movement is a
5 Wiener Sitzungs Berichte, lxxii., Bd. in., Abth., \ 156. 1875
74 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
primitive form of sensibility, by showing it to be much more
delicate than our sense of succession in time. This very able
young physiologist caused two electric sparks to appear in
rapid succession, one beside the other. The observer had to
state whether the right hand one or the left hand one appeared
first. When the interval was reduced to as short a time as
0.044 the discrimination of temporal order in the sparks be-
came impossible. But Exner found that if the sparks were
brought so close together in space that their irradiation circles
overlapped, the eye then felt their flashing as if it were the
motion of a single spark from the point occupied by the first
to the point occupied by the second, and the time interval might
then be made as small as 0.015 before the mind began to be in
doubt as to whether the apparent motion started from the right
or left. On the skin similar experiments gave similar results.
We are accordingly compelled to admit a sensation of mo-
tion as such, prior to our discriminations of position in either
time or space. But motion, even in this primitive state, oc-
curs in spatial form. It thus follows that we have a feeling
of space, distinct enough at any rate for motion to be appre-
hended as such, before we have anything like the perception
of a s} 7 stem of related positions, distances, or directions.
This feeling of space, involving as it does no consciousness of
relations (though it may later evolve such consciousness), can
only be called a kind of sensation.
Whether the feelings of muscular contraction and innerva-
tion, or whether the vertiginous sensation yielded by the semi-
circular canals of the ear involve also a cognition of motion
of this "distinct," though not "clear," kind mav be left
an open question. It seems, at least, not improbable that
they do. G We should thus have a certain spatial quantifica-
6 I have not seen Cyon's late work on the semi-circular canals, but I cannot
believe him to have succeeded in proving these to be the principal space-giving
organ. That they give, when excited, a vague sense of motion through a vague
room is undeniable, and they make us acutely sensible of different directions and
velocities in this motion. I imagine they subserve the finished structure of object-
ive space more by their delicate discrimination of direction than in any other way.
Right and left, up and down, are elementary sensations. If we take a cube and
label one side top, another bottom, a third front, and a fourth back, there remains
no form of words by which we can describe to another person which of the re-
The Spatial Quale. 75
tion given as a universal datum of sensibility. These prim-
itive movement spaces may be at first wholly ambiguous.
Vierordt has, in fact, tried in a striking essay 7 to show that
we are originally not aware whether a given movement sensa-
tion is performed by us or by something else upon us. Ob-
jectivity and subjectivity, direction, extent, and all other rela-
tive determinations are subsequent intellectual acts, presup-
posing memory and comparison. But these latter functions
could never work their data into the spatial form unless that
form already clove to the latter as sensations.
To sum up briefly my thesis : I say that the feeling arising
from the excitement of any extended part of the body is felt
as extended — why, Ave cannot say. The primary retinal sensa-
tion is a simple vastness, a teeming muchness. The perception
of positions within it results from sub-dividing it. The
measurement of distances and directions comes later still.
The vastness is subdivided by the attention singling out
particular points within it. How this discrimination occurs
we shall see later ; but when it has occurred, every subdivision
thus separately noticed appears as occupying a separate posi-
tion within the total bigness. Several subdivisions of a sen-
sitive surface, excited together, fuse into a broader position or
bigger space than that of any one of them excited or noticed
alone, 8 but smaller than the total bigness which they help
maining sides is right and which left. We can only point and say here is right
and there is left, just as we should say this is red and that blue, without being able
to give an idea of them in words. Now when we move our heads to the left or
right new objects dart into those respective sides of the field of vision, and thus
the sides of this field have their intrinsic contrast augmented by the still intenser
contrast of the two feelings of direction in movement severally associated with
them. Up and down, and intermediate directions, have their differentiation in con-
sciousness improved in the same way. It may be also that our visual feeling of
depth, the third dimension, is re-enforced by an associated semi-circular canal feel-
ing of floating forward. Where the third dimension is abysmal- — as in looking up
to, or clown from, a height — the association of a swimming, floating, oT- falling ele-
ment is very manifest.
7 Zeitschrift fur Biologie, 1876.
8 The single sensation yielded by two compass points, although it seems simple,
is yet felt to be much bigger and blunter than that yielded by one. The touch of
a single point may always be recognized by its quality of sharpness. This page
looks much smaller to the reader if he closes one eye than if both eyes are open.
So does the moon, which latter fact shows that the phenomenon has nothing to do
with parallax.
76 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy.
constitute. A and B, two points simultaneously discriminated
by attention, are ipso facto felt as outside or alongside of each
other ; hut the amount of separating interval and the direction
are at first quite vague. It is only when a third point, C, has
been noticed, or rather a large number of additional pointts,
all outside of each other, that the comparison of their dis-
tances and directions fixes and determines the distance and
direction of A from B. We then feel A and B to be closer
together than B and C. We feel C to be in the same
direction from B as B is from A, and the like. And this
gradual education determines for the first time a system
of fixed positions within the total space. In a word, ac-
curate perception of any two positions as such, presup-
poses separate acquaintance with other positions. The map-
ping out of retinal space involves much experience ; the
mere perception of it as spatial, none. All these are ulti-
mate facts not deducible from anything simpler. He who
believes them is certainly to be called a " Nativist," or a
" Sensationalist."
It follows, from these propositions, that if a sensitive sur-
face is affected in its totality by each of many different out-
ward causes, each cause will appear with the vastness given
by the surface, but the several causes will not appear along-
side of each other, not even if they all excite the surface at
once. The olfactory and gustatory surfaces seem to be in this
predicament. Whatever excites them at all excites the whole
extent of them at once ; though, even in the tongue there
seems to be a determination of bitter flavors to the back, and
of acids to the front, edge of the organ. Spices likewise
affect its sides and front, and a taste like that of alum local-
izes itself, by its styptic effect on the portion of mucous mem-
brane which it immediately touches, more sharply than roast
pork, for example, which stimulates all parts alike. The
pork, therefore, tastes more spacious than the alum or the
pepper. In the nose, too, certain smells, of which vinegar
may be taken as the type, seem less spatially extended than
heavy, suffocating odors, like musk. The reason of this ap-
pears to be that the former inhibit inspiration by their sharp-
ness, whilst the latter are drawn into the lungs, and thus excite
The Spatial Quale. 11
an objectively larger surface. I will, however, not venture to
dogmatize on this point.
In like manner, a sensitive surface, excited everywhere
homogeneously, might only feel its total vastness without dis-
cerning positions therein. A foetus bathed in liquor amnii
discerns no one part of its skin more than another. But if
we wet a portion of the skin, the wet part is strongly con-
trasted with the rest, and, with the general contrast of excite-
ment, the contrast of local feeling simultaneously awakes.
Adventitious sensations, occurring on special points of a sen-
sitive surface, certainly call attention to the diversities of local
feeling resident in the points, and make us notice their sepa-
rateness in a way impossible when the surface was unexcited.
In the spatial muchness of a colic — or, to call it by a more
spacious-sounding: vernacular, belly-ache — I can with diffi-
culty distinguish the north-east from the south-west corner, but
can do so much more easily if, by pressing my linger against
the former, I am able to make the pain there more intense. I
cannot feel two local differences on my skin by a pure mental
act of attention, unless the local feelings are very strongly
contrasted indeed, and belong to quite distinct parts of the
body. But I can get the contrast of local feelings in spots
much closer together by exciting them, even though each be
excited in an identical way, as by compass-points. In cases of
this sort, where points receiving an identical kind of excite-
ment are, nevertheless, felt to be locally distinct, and the ob-
jective irritants are also judged multiple, — e. g., compass-
points on skin, or stars on retina, — the ordinary explanation of
psychologists is no doubt just: We judge the outward causes
to be multiple because we have discerned the local feelings
of their sensations to be different. Granted none but homo-
geneous irritants, that organ would then distinguish the great-
est multiplicity of irritants — would count most stars or com-
pass-points, or best compare the size of two wet surfaces —
whose local sensibility was the least even. A skin whose sen-
sibility shaded rapidly off from a focus, like the apex of a boil,
would be better than a homogeneous integument for spatial
perception. The retina, with its exquisitely sensitive fovea,
78 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
has this peculiarity, and undoubtedly owes to it a great part
of the minuteness with which we are able to subdivide the
total bigness of the sensation it yields. On its periphery the
local differences do not shade off very rapidly, and we can
count there fewer subdivisions.
But I believe that the psychologists, in making the judgment
of discrete cause, always depend on perception of discrete
position, have only stated half the truth. 9 I fancy that the
breaking up of the sensitive surfaces into positions depends
quite as much on our recognition of the heterogeneity and
multiplicity of simultaneously impinging sensations as the
latter recognition depends on our noticing the positions.
Positions which would not be distinguished if excited by
homogeneous stimuli have their local feelings awakened when
the stimuli show a strong contrast of quality. Whatever
emphasizes the quality of the adventitious feeling turns the
attention more exclusively to it, and makes us, in the same
act, aware of its place. Qualitative contrasts are counted
where they belong. On the retinal margin color contrast is
very imperfect. A motley object gives us nothing but a
blurred perception of "something there." The there is as
blurred as the something, but the moment the object breaks
into two colors the there breaks into two spots.
It follows, from all this, that the psychologic problem which
the study of space-perception suggests is not what has gener-
ally been assumed. How, after noticing certain simultaneous
differences, do Ave come to make a spatial construction of
them? That problem is unanswerable ; extent cleaves imme-
diately to every simultaneity, and position to every difference
we notice within it — all by an ultimate law. Our real prob-
9 I do not refer to the explanations of double image by misjudged dor.bleness
of position, where two organs are used — the double pea felt with crossed lingers
(see Robertson, in Mind, vol. i) and double optic images (see Wundt, Psychologie).
These delusions are no doubt due to the fact that the simultaneous excitements in
question most habitually come from two objects differently located. The objective
judgment, however, may be readily corrected by experience without the duplicity
of the local sensation, as such, being in the least altered. I deal in the text only
with the local discriminations made within the continuous bigness yielded by a
single organ, retina, or finger.
The Spatial Quale. 79
lem is : How come we to notice the simultaneous differences
at all? How can we ever evolve parts from a confused unity,
if the latter did not yield them at first? How, in a word,
does a vajnie muchness ever become a sum of discrete con-
stituents? This is the problem of Discrimination, and he
who will have thoroughly answered it will have laid the keel
of psychology.
I can only suggest here that the history of discrimination is
to a great extent a history of interaction between sensations.
It is due to the play of association and dissociatiou. In the
case that now concerns us, local contrasts which would never be
noticed, per se, are emphasized in consciousness in many ways
by the addition of other feelings to them. In addition to what
we have noticed already, I may make the following remarks.
In the first place, it is a law that sensations experienced in
immutable association are apt not to be discriminated. We
do not discriminate the feeling of contraction of the diaphragm
from that of expansion of the lungs. Experienced always
together, they form the simple feeling called " drawing breath."
Now, the purely local peculiarities of feeling in different parts
of a sensitive surface are locked into an invariable order in
our experience. We should therefore naturally expect to have
great difficulty in picking out any one point on the retinal
surface ; for example, if that surface never became the seat of
other contrasts than these immutable, local differences. The
difficulty would be still farther increased by the fact that, con-
sidered in abstractor local differences are utterly insipid, and
carry with them no difference of emotional interest. But
emotional interests are the sreat guides to selective attention.
One retinal position, therefore, could hardly be singled out
from any other before an interesting object had come to occupy
it. It might then share the interest of the object, and be
noticed. Again, the local differences, per se, may be very
slight quantitatively, and require an adventitious sensation,
superinduced upon them, to awaken the attention. But after
the attention has once been awakened in this way, it may con-
tinue to be conscious of the unaided difference ; just as a sail
on the horizon may be too faint for us to notice until some
80 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
one's finger placed against the spot has pointed it out to us,
but mav then remain visible after the finger has been with-
drawn.
On the skin the purelv local contrasts of feeling seem slight
whilst the adventitious sensations, that may simultaneously
come and perch in different near spots, are few in kind. But
who can doubt that if, instead of receiving the same kind of
sensation from the outer world at each point, a square inch of
the skin might be checkered all over with spots of heat and
cold, of itching, throbbing, stinging, pressure, and suction, our
local analysis of it would be far more delicate. But this im-
aginarv condition of the skin is the actual condition of the
retina, with its power to be simultaneously impressed by the
most widely contrasted and most sharply diversified adventi-
tious feelings. The retina can at once feel white and black,
but the ear cannot so feel sound and silence. The addition of
mobility to these two peculiarities of the retina multiplies
enormously their separate effects as aids to discrimination.
A luminous point, moving from a to b on the retina, will
awaken the perception of movement in space which we saw
above to be primordial ; which, in fact, excites the attention
more than any other retinal sensation, so that the marginal
parts of the retina may be said to be mere sentinels, saying,
" Who goes there?" and calling the fovea to the spot. The
tract moved over is thus most vividly accentuated and marked
off from the environment. Moreover, a sensation but dimly
segregated whilst on the margin of the field of view has its
quality distinctly contrasted with all the rest the moment we
turn the fovea upon it, and may then remain distinguished
when it resumes its marginal position. The number of forms
and colors we learn to separate from each other is thus
increased, whilst the incessant wandering of the forms and
colors from point to point must inevitably, by that " law of
dissociation by varying concomitants" of which I have spoken
in a previous article, 10 drag the purely local feelings, not
only apart from each other in consciousness, but also apart
10 On Brute and Human Intellect. This Journal, vol. xii, p. 236.
The Spatial Quale. 81
from any constant association with particular forms and col-
ors, and end by letting them roll out isolatedly upon the
table of the mind, where they then are felt as so many posi-
tions, pure and simple.
In yet another way the local feelings, if very slight, may be
discriminated by the aid of motion. It seems to be one of
the laws of discrimination that two feelings, whose- contrast
is so slight as to pass unnoticed, may end \\y becoming distin-
tinguished, in case they severally form associations with other
bodies of feeling whose contrast is more massive. The mas-
sive contrast takes, as it were, the smaller one in its tow.
The slightlv differing feelings are dragged asunder, and after-
wards, by a process we cannot explain, remain segregated and
discernibly in se. Thus, Madeira and sherry may be indis-
tinguishable at first to my taste : but, if I get to associate the
taste of one with Brown's table and the taste of the other
with Smith's, I will presently, on tasting Madeira, be re-
minded of Brown's dining-room by something in the Avine, and
will then use the name Madeira, which is also associated with
the same experiences. Later still, the "something" itself is
cognized as a characteristic flavor. To apply this to the eye,
each peripheral retinal point becomes habitually associated
with the one peculiar feeling of movement necessary to bring
the object which occupies it to the fovea. If two feelings of
movement are more massively contrasted, inter se, than two
retinal local feelings, they may drag these out from their first
confounded state, just as Brown's table and Smith's drag
sherry apart from Madeira.
It is no wonder then that the retina, whose pe'culiarities of
structure so enormously facilitate the intricacy of association
and dissociation, should be the organ in which all discrimina-
tion, local as well as qualitative, is at its maximum.
I have said nothing yet about the quantitative measurement
of retinal distances. It seems quite certainly performed by
the aid of movement, which, superimposing the same line or
figure on different tracts of the retinal surface, marks them off
as tracts equal to each other. Feelings of innervation and
contraction, quantitatively compared with each other in con-
XIII — 6
82 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
sciousness, may also be used to estimate the equivalence of
retinal tracts on which the same image cannot be successively
superposed. I assuredly have nothing to add to the admira-
ble labors of the German physiologist on the Ausmessung des
JSeefeldes, and do not venture to decide between Classen's
views and those of Wundt and Helmholtz. I merely call
attention to the fact that these quantitative equivalencies are
woven by the muscles into a previously existing spatial surface,
in which the general bearing of the several included positions
is already defined. The equivalencies have no more to do
with constituting the spatiality, as such, than the numbers on
a block of houses have to do with constituting; their habita-
bilitv. Most authors assume that without muscular feelings
the spatial form of consciousness could not exist at all. They
either constitute it or help create it. M. Delbceuf more
clearly than any one, says, in his Psychologie comme science
naturelle, that they constitute it ; and in his brilliant and orig-
inal article on Vision ll he maintains that a punctiform sense
organ, which could only be excited by a line of force vertical to
its surface, Avould, if made to move from the point A (which
sends one such line down upon it) to the point B (which sends
another), affect us with the consciousness that A and B were
situated beside each other in space, at a distance measured by
the intervening movement. If, for instance, we have a punc-
tiform ear at the bottom of a tube which admits only such air
waves as coincide with its axis, we should, according to M.
Delbceuf, b}' rotating this tube, first upon the trombone,
then upon the drum, and then upon other instruments of the
orchestra, acquire a perfectly topographic field of sound, as
spatial as that of the retina, the position of each sonorous
ingredient being defined by the movement which calls it into
existence. The reason why the actual ear gives us no such
distinct field is, according to M. Delbceuf, because our ear is
so constructed that, no matter which way we move it, we are
always conscious of the same sounds, the utmost alteration
11 Revue Philosophique, T. iv., pp. 173, 183. "La faculte de se mouvoir en
sachant qiCon se ineut.'"
The Sx*atial Quale. 83
being a slight change in relative intensity. Now I believe this
is entirely incorrect, and that we have not the shadow of a rea-
son to suppose that, were the trombone to become silent the
moment we moved our ear from it towards the drum, and the
latter not to sound until, so to speak, we had accurately
sighted it, we should form any notion that they coexisted,
separated by an interval of space. Sounds and motions would
form pure succession in time, like the succession of notes sep-
arated by muscular feelings in the larynx when we sing a
scale. 12
The only organ which can give a feeling of space is an
extended, not a punctiform organ. When the retina fixates,
first A and then B, B comes into the field without A vanishing.
For a time they are actually felt to coexist as simultaneous
retinal sensations, distinguished from each other by the analytic
attention. This form of presence, and no mere linking by
motion, makes their arrangement spatial. All that motion can
•do is to help us distinguish A from B as they lie side by side.
In the retina it does this by rapidly altering their sensible
quality. When the fovea is on A,, A is bright ; when it moves
to B, B is bright. In this way it breaks A and B apart, and
we perceive their separate positions. A motion which should
occur without in any way altering the relative intensity or
quality of the coexistent feelings would in no way aid us to
distinguish them. It would help our space perception quite
as little as the motion of M. Delboeuf 's punctiform organ,
which, by altogether annihilating A the moment B was at-
tended to, might be considered as occupying the opposite
extreme. The retina forms the golden mean.
So far, it seems to me, we have met with no great difficul-
ties. What has made students of the subject disinclined to
admit that the retinal sensations, purely as such, have a primi-
tive, spatial collaterally in consciousness, has been the fact
12 The ascription of height and depth to certain notes seems due, not to any local-
ization of the sounds, but to the fact that a feeling of vibration in the chest and
tension in the gullet accompanies the singing of a bass note, whilst when we sing
high the palatine mucous membrane is drawn upon by the muscles which move
the larynx, and awakens a feeling in the roof of the mouth.
84 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
that the same amount of excited retina can suggest the most
various, absolute, and relative direction and size in the object
whose image occupies it, according to the circumstances. If
the native determinations of space by the retina be so over-
powered by the suggestions of experience, there can, these
authors think, be nothing intuitive about them.
But this difficulty is easily cleared away by reflecting that
the determinations of size, shape, and so forth, in question,
pertain to the objective world of things, as we deem them
absolutely to exist. These objective spaces may very well not
be intuitive, but constructed by Association and Selection, out
of various subjective spatial experiences, partly tactile, partly
locomotor, partly retinal experiences taken from other points
of view than the present. And the present retinal sensation,
with its spatial characteristics, may quite as well be used as a
sign of these other spatial characteristics as the sound bang
may be the sign of the widely different sound made by the
explosion of a cannon. Underneath all this complex and
varying objective import of the retinal sensation, the subjective
sensation itself persists, with all its parts, alongside each
other, in the full spatial collaterally which nativists claim for
them. It is true, that most men overlook it, because the
import is of more practical moment to them than the sign.
But artists and physiologists train their attention to observe
the sensation in se, and I am not aware that any one of them
has ever professed to find it devoid of the spatial quale.
Such abundant room thus appears to be left for the achieve-
ments of empiricists in the study of this objective construc-
tion that they need not grudge to the nativists the little gift
of primordial bigness and collateral subdivision which the
latter are contented to "beg' at the outset of their task.
The only point which, in my mind, casts the least doubt on
their assumption is drawn from the ear. Though we are able
by that organ to discriminate coexistent voices, or pitches, we
do not necessarily arrange them alongside of each other. At
most, the high tone is felt as a thin, bright streak on a broader,
darker background. It may be, however, that the terminal
organs of the acoustic nerve are excited all at once by sounds
The Spatial Quale. 85
of any pitch, as the whole retina would be by every luminous
point if there were no dioptric apparatus affixed. Notwith-
standing the brilliant conjectures of the last few years which
assign different acoustic end-organs to different rates of air-
wave, we are still greatly in the dark about the subject ; and
I, for my part, would much more confidently reject a theory
of hearing which violated the principles advanced in this
article than give up those principles for the sake of any
hypothesis hitherto published about either organs of corti or
basilar membrane.
There are but three possible kinds of theory concerning
space. Either (1) there is no spatial quale at all, and space
is a mere symbol of succession ; or ( 2 ) there is a quale given
immediately in sensation ; or, finally (3), there is a quale pro-
duced out of the inward resources of the mind, to envelop
sensations which, as given originally, are not spatial, but
which, on being cast into the spatial form, become united and
orderly. This last is the Kantian view. Stumpf admirably
designates it as the "psychic stimulus' theory, the crude
sensations being considered as goads to the mind to put forth
its slumbering power. Wundt, who calls space a synthesis
containing properties which its elements lack, explicitly adopts
the third view, and so does Lotze. Helmholtz is so senten-
tious (and vacillating?) that it is a little hard to class him dis-
tinctly, but there is no doubt that visual space, at any rate, is
constructed for him out of non-spatial sensations of sight.
The word " empiricist ' in his optics means just the opposite
of its ordinary signification. Mill, Bain, and Spencer seem all
to have gone astray, like lost sheep. Mill, with his mental
chemistry, would sometimes seem to hold the third view, but
sometimes again the first. Bain sticks most to the first, but
sometimes implies the third. These authors are bent on making
a triumphant use of their all-sufficing principle of association.
They wish, therefore, if possible, to account for space by it.
But, between the impossibility of getting from mere associa-
tion anything not contained in the sensations associated, and
the dislike to allow any spontaneous mental productivity, they
flounder in a dismal dilemma. Spencer joins them there.
86 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
He most explicitly denies the spatial quality to any of the ele-
mentary sensations. In his Psychology, volume 2, page 168,
he says : «< No idea of extension can arise from a simultane-
ous excitation " of a multitude of nerve terminations like those
on the skin or the retina, since this would imply a 6t knowledge
of their relative positions," — that is " a preexistent idea of a
special extension, which is absurd." On page 172- he says,
"No relation between successive states of consciousness gives
in itself any idea of succession ; ' and, on page 218, "the
muscular sensations accompanying motion are quite distinct
from the notions of space and time associated with them."
He nevertheless vociferously inveighs against the Kantian
position, that space is a spontaneous mental product. And
yet he does not anywhere explicitly deny space to have a spe-
cific quale different from that of time.
Such abject incoherency is really pitiful. The fact is, that
all these English authors are really psj'chieal stimulists, or
Kantists, at bottom. The space they speak of is a new mental
product not given in the sensations. I repudiate this position
because it appears to me thoroughly mythological. I have no
direct experience of any such mental act of creation or pro-
duction. My spatial intuitions do not occur in two times, but
in one. JVty mind is woven of one tissue, and not chopped
into joints. There is not a moment of passive non-spatial sen-
sation, succeeded by one of active spatial perception, but the
form I look at is as immediately felt as the color which tills it.
If one can be called a sensation, so can the other. That
higher parts of the mind are also involved in spatial percep-
tion, who can deny? They till it with intellectual relations,
as Mr. Cabot has well pointed out. But these relations, when
they obtain between elements of the spatial order, do in no
whit differ from the same intellectual relations when they join
elements in the orders of number, in tensity, quality, and the
like. The spatiality comes to the intellect, not from it.
One word more about Kant. Helmholtz says : i3 "By Kant
the proof that space is an a priori form is based essentially on
13 Mind, vol. iii, p. 213.
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 87
the position that the axioms are synthetic propositions, a
priori; but even if this position be dropped, the space repre-
sentation might still be the necessary a priori form in which
every coextended manifold is perceived. This [i. e., dropping
the axioms] is not surrendering any essential feature of the
Kantian position."
I make bold to differ from this. The mere iimateness of the
spatial form of sensibility is surely not the essence of the
Kantian position. Every sensationalist empiricist must admit
a wealth of native forms of sensibility. The important ques-
tion is : Do they, or do they not, yield us a priori ptroposi-
tions, synthetic judgments? If our "sensation" space does
this, we are still Kantians in a deeper sense by far than if we
merely call the spatial quale a form of Anschauung, rather than
an E mpfinduug . But if the new geometry of Helmholtz and
others has upset the necessity of our axioms (and this appears
to be the ease; see, especially, the article just quoted), then
the Kantian doctrine seems literally left without a leg to
stand upon.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF THOMAS AQUINAS.
(A LETTER ADDRESSED TO THOMAS DAVIDSON, AND TRANSLATED
BY HIM FOR THIS JOURNAL FROM THE ITALIAN.
[The author of the following letter, which I helieve I am at liberty to print, I
do not know. Last spring, when I was looking over, in Rome, the mediaeval com-
mentaries on Aristotle, and trying to discover their value for a true interpretation
of his text, it was suggested to me that I should do well to consult some of the
more famous Catholic doctors who made a special study of Thomas Aquinas and
his commentaries on Aristotle. An opportunity having presented itself to me to
do this, I seized it eagerly, and soon became satisfied that the much-maligned
scholastics had understood Aristotle at least as well as any one who came after
them, and, as a consequence, had a philosophy which, for thoroughness and pro-
fund^, left most succeeding systems far behind it. I became especially interested
in the doctrines of the greatest of medieval thinkers, Thomas Aquinas, and most
gladly accepted the offer of Father Domenico Marinangeli, of the cathedral at
Aquila, in the Abruzzi, to obtain for me a summary of that philosophy from a friend
of his who knew it thoroughly, and who was at work on an exposition of it, hereafter
to be given to the public. The following is this summary, which I have translated
from the Italian, in the hope, that it may help to interest Americans in the works
of the great Catholic thinker. Our Protestant prejudices, caused by the abuses of
88 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
Catholicism, have perhaps long enough blinded us to the great truths that lie
embedded in the doctrines of that system, and, with the aid of a shallow Baconi-
anism, cut us off from the historical development of thought in the world. "When
our thinking returns to the basis of Aristotle, as it inevitably must do, we shall
have much to learn from the schoolmen.
The italics in the letter are the author's ; the Greek quotations have been added
by me. — T. D.]
Dear Sir :
§ 1. Before presenting you with an epitome of the Thomistic
philosophy, allow me to recall to your attention a few truths
professed by all.
1. That the human mind adds nothing to, and takes nothing
away from, the nature of things when it unites with and cog-
nizes them.
2. That our mind, in the act of cognition, sets out from the
real, concrete essence («fW«), and not from the abstract or pos-
sible ( to t? a<paipiffsu>q rj ~u duvd/iet ) .
3. That the proper object of philosophy is the supreme
reasons of things (al rzpmrat. atrial or ret ££ <*>(>yy]q ahca).
4. That Catholic Ontologism consists in asserting: and main-
taming the supremacy of God in rational science.
5. That this supremacy consists in the placing of God as the
highest principle of philosophy and the objective law of our
specidative judgments, in such a manner that, even according
to the schools of the adversaries of Ontologism, His ineffable
and divine will is the supreme law and norm of our moral
actions.
Now, I say : 1 . That according to Saint Thomas, the powers
of the mind are in part active and in part passive, and that in
the process of cognition the latter precede the former (1 Sum.,
q. 77, art. 3).
2. That Being stands to the passive powers, ut principium
et causa movens ; to the active, ut terminus et finis (ib. id., art.
4). The object of this article is to show that the powers of the
mind are ordered.
3. That Being, principium et causa movens (86ev r t dp-pi rr^
xtvyaems) est ens actu, or real, according to the Thomistic axiom :
Nihil reducitur de potentia in actum nisi per aliquod ens actu.
(^As\ yap t/. too duvdp.ee ovjroe; yfyvsrat rd ivspyeia Sv Otto ivspyeia ovroq.
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 89
Aristotle, Metaph. IX, 8.) I cite no passage, because Saint
Thomas repeats this everywhere.
4. That the intellect (voD?) is the primal power of the mind,
and the first of the passive powers (1 S., q. 82, art. 3) ; and
the will, the first of the active powers, being the moving cause
of all the forces of the mind. Hence this power is able to
make the intellect pass from the condition of potentiality to
the second acts, but cannot make airy thing pass to the first act,
which act is caused directly and immediately by God in our
intellect. (1. S., q. 82, art. 4, ad 3). This article, Utrum
voluntas moveat intellectum ? — translated by the famous Cardi-
nal de Vio into this other, Utrum voluntas deducat intellec-
tum de potentia in actum — replies to the question in the nega-
tive as regards the first act [-/xu-rj hreteyj'.a) , and then proceeds
to solve the following problem : Num. primus motus intellectus
reducatur in Deum et quomodo ? If you should see fit to read
the profound demonstration of Cardinal de Vio, who, in his
commentary on Saint Thomas, certainly was not prejudiced by
party spirit in favor of this or of that other system, there being
no such controversy in his day, you will see most plainly that
God is the efficient cause of our first intelligence, or first act,
as the Thomistic phrase is.
These theories bring him to the question, Does the human
mind always think or not? ( ore p.h wsi ozz o ob vozi. De An.
HI. 5. 2.) Let the following proposition serve as a reply
to the question : Utrum potentia? rationales sint semper in
actu respectu objectornm in quibus attenditur imago. (Lib. 1,
sent. dist. 3, q. 4, art. 3.)
In this thesis Saint Thomas distinguishes, with regard to our
intellect, the simple intelligere (w>;Fv) from discemere (alvOdvzo-Oac)
and cogitare ((havosiTOw.y Now, simple intelligere, " nihil
aliud dicit quam simplicem intuitum intellectus in id quod
sibi est praesens intelligibile." And intuition, " nihil aliud
est quam praesentia intelligibilis ad intellectum quocumqiie
modo ; " that is, as he explains, not implying any intentio
cognoscentis, Being presenting itself not as objectum cognitum,
clearly and distinctly, but as simple principium cognitionis et
objectum agens ad potentiam, and therefore known confusedly.
90 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
In this sensejhe mind semper intelligit — what? Se et Deum —
itself and God. This confused intelligence is initial and im-
perfect, as Saint Thomas himself admits in reply to the second
difficulty. ; His words are: Ad secundum ergo dicendum,
quod philosophus loquitur de intelligere, secundum quod est
operatio intellectus completa distinguentis vel cogitantis et non
secundum quod nic sumitur intelligere. (lb. id. ad 2.)
Now, why has it not consciousness, i. e., cognition, clear, dis-
tinct, perfect, complete?
Consciousness is reflected cognition ; therefore, it cannot take
place where there is not first cognition. But in the first act
there is no cognition. Inasmuch as in it there is only the
simple intuition (per simplicem intuitum), and since that is
merely the presence of the intelligible to the intellect (pre-
sentia intelligibilis ad intellectum), and not a determinate, but
an indeterminate, presence (quocumquemodoet indeterminate),
the intuition results in the simple intelligence which the mind has
permanently of itself and God (intelligit semper se etDeum),
and not in cognition, inasmuch as that belongs not to simple
intelligence, but to discernere and cogitare. Hence it is in vain
that we strive to become conscious of the first act in which
God is present to the mind, non tanquam objectum cognitum
sed tanquam principium cognitionis. Just so Ave do not feel
that we perceive the light, which is not a distinct object pre-
senting itself to our eyes, but is the objective principle of
vision which informs our eyes, makes them act, and enables
them to see. And here it is necessary to observe that man,
being of a nature composed of spirit and body, and nature
being the principium operationis, the action of man, even in
regard to spiritual objects, can never be entirely spiritual; but
eveiy operation of the intellect is accompanied by the opera-
tion of the body in the brain, and hence it is that every idea
is accompanied by an image, every intellectual concept by a
concept of the imagination. For this reason the conscious-
ness, which is the cognition by the mind of its own acts, cannot
take place with regard to that act which is entirely spiritual,
not caused by the human compound, but entirely divorced
from connection with the body, as is the first act of the intel-
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 91
lect — that primordial act by which the intellect is formed or
stamped with the divine light, which is the Word-Cause-Reason
of things, animated or invested with the power to reflect the
action of that word in things — enabled to act. These facts
enable ns to understand that the expression " first act " has
not the same meaning that any act of a man has with reference
to the other acts that follow it. The first act, if it is first in
regard to time, is still more so in regard to order. Out of it
spring the second acts, which begin and end, i. e., pass, while it
presents, with respect to the second acts, neither beginning nor
end, but precedes them all, and includes them all ; in short,
does not pass, but endures. Now, there is no consciousness
of that which neither begins nor ends — of that which is forever
uniform and permanent. So we do not feel the act by which
the soul informs the bodv and makes it live, although the
psychologists admit and insist upon that act. Our great
Rosmini admitted a fundamental feeling as the substratum of
all sensations. The psychologists have bitterly combated the
doctrine of that philosopher, and so they pretend to have a
consciousness of the first act whereby the Word-Cause-Reason
of things originally informs the spirit.
Consciousness is reflected cognition, which has for its term
that which was the efficient principle in direct cognition. (1
S., q. 85, art. 2.) In consciousness we do not perceive again
the object already perceived in direct cognition, but we per-
ceive ourselves, our own act, our own direct cognition ; hence,
immediately we perceive the knowing subject, and mediately
in, the subject, already united by direct cognition to the
object, we again perceive the object itself. When, however,
we perceive it the second time, we perceive it just as we have
already perceived it in direct cognition. Now, how can any
one of us assume to have a consciousness of our first act, if it
is not our act, or an act having its origin in us, although pro-
duced by God in us, while we remain passive. We are not
the efficient principle of the first act, but God ; the formation
of our intellect is the term of that act. Adversaries might
reply that we have consciousness not only of our act, but also
of our passive slate, even when it is not we who act, but an-
92 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
other that acts on us, and we do nothing more than receive his
action. This is most true, but with one condition, viz. : that
we react upon that which acts upon us, and receive its action
in this way. Without such reaction on our part, we receive
nothing;; he who receives, acts in receiving;; he acts against
another act — that is, reacts. How many objects in the course
of a walk impress themselves upon our senses, without our
having any recollection of them? And we have no recollec-
tion of them because we have had no consciousness of them,
and we have had no consciousness of them because we did not
react when they impressed themselves, in order to receive and
feel them. Now, there can be no reaction to receive the first
operation of our intellect, because there can be no reaction by
the intellect which is not formed, but is being formed in that
act.
The truth is, the passivity of the first act is the creation of
activity; the intellect is formed and set in action — put to its
first act — which is causal of all other acts. And such a first
act of the intellect is that intuition of which Saint Thomas
speaks, and that intelligere pure and simple, w T hich is not yet
discernere or cogitare. For this reason, if the intellect is es-
sentially self-compenetrative and endowed with consciousness,
even its first intelligere must be accompanied with its proper
consciousness. Nevertheless, consciousness of the first intelli-
gere must, in every respect, correspond to that act, and hence
must be (1) inborn in the intellect, and not produced by the
intellect after the manner of its other conscious acts ; (2) not
distinct, or gathered up and laid aside in the memory, like all
the other acts of consciousness, but diffused without beg'inning;
and without end, equally and permanently underlying as a
principle, and dominating as a criterion all the other acts of
the intellect ; ( 3 ) confused and vague in itself, as well as in
respect to the object apprehended (intuited, angeschaui) in the
first act, according to the theory above expressed; (4) con-
sciousness, not of any apprehension of an object, but of de-
rivation from the formal object of our spiritual faculties and
of distinction in it. Now, that there is such a consciousness
in man is proved by his original and fundamental feeling of
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 93
the true, the good, and the beautiful. This feeling is called
common sense in respect to the true, moral sense with respect to
the good, simply and absolutely, and cesthetic sense with respect
to the. beautiful. What, after all, is this feeling but the con-
sciousness of that first act, whereby we are stamped by God
with His word and image and drawn to Him ?
Yes, drawn to Him ; and the accomplishment of this draw-
ing is all our destiny. This is the final reply ; this is the high-
est outcome of the system. Do you strive after a conscious-
ness of intuition? Well, the whole development, the whole
round of second acts is simply the consciousness of intuition.
The feelino; of the true, the good, and the beautiful is the first
moment in this consciousness. The celebrated Gioberti, prince
of modern Italian philosophers, in explaining his ontologism,
his distino-nished two states of the intellect, that of intuition
and that of reflection, which is simply the consciousness of
intuition. Reflection reconstructs what is given in intuition,
and reconstructs it distinct, making use of created terms, and
so appropriates it, and finally apprehends as the term of its
own cognition (the objectum cognitum of Saint Thomas) what
in intuition was merely its principium et causa movens. If
consciousness is the reflex act which repeats in inverse order
all the process of the direct act, which sets out from God, it
must retrace the whole line which separates the intellect from
God, and retrace it in the same manner in which the intellect
has descended from Him. But what is this mode save that in
which the ray sets out and proceeds from the sun — in other
words, the mode of the emanation of light? Now, the spir-
itual light is the reason. Hence the true and perfect con-
sciousness of intuition is attained only by reasoning. Reason
is the word of God, is the divine form (ad imaginem et simili-
tudinem nostram), stamped with which the intellect becomes,
subsists, and acts a true ray of God upon the universe. Yes,
the reasoning which deals with the existence and attributes of
God is the consciousness of intuition; and, indeed, without
this basis and the lever of intuition, how could the finite intel-
lect rise to the infinite — to God? There is a quid divinum
(deUv r>.) in the intellect which draws it upward, lifts it to the
94 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
metaphysical order, to the transcendental order of causes and
principles, and gives a real value to its speculations. The in-
tellect must, through reflection, reascend the whole line bv
which it has descended in intuition. It must do this setting
out from the opposite extremity — that is, from the creature —
and this is the proof of God for the creature, according to the
teaching of the Book of Wisdom, of Saint Paul, of Saint
Thomas, and of all the doctors of the Church. The path from
the creature to God, by which consciousness must reascend,
is the metaphysical order of causes and principles by which it
rises from the physical order of created things to the absolute
order of the First Cause and the Final Reason, which is God.
§ 2. The existence of this first, continuous, and perpetual
intelligence with which our minds are furnished from the first
moment of their creation is always presupposed by the An-
gelic Doctor in the development, of the active powers, quae e
converso se habent — that is, which ascend from the created to
the creator — whereas the passive powers descend from the cre-
ator to the created, and are the guides of the former. In fact,
I open the first Summa and read : " Utrum Deum esse sit de-
monstrabile? ' In this article he establishes the following
proposition : " Deum esse, quamvis non a priori, a posteriori
tamen demonstrari potest, ex aliquo ejus notiori nobis effeetu."
Having accomplished this demonstration, he concludes : "Unde
Deum esse, secundum quod non est per se nolum quoad nos, de-
monstrable est per etfectus nobis notos " (1 S., q. 2, art. 2).
What, then, is the nature of that knowledge of God whereby
He is known to us in Himself, and which is not derivable from
created things? To me, it is the simple intelligere per sim-
plicem Intuitum quocumque modo et indeterminate vel sub qua-
dam confusione, as he teaches elsewhere. This is the real
presence of God which the mind always enjoys in respect to
Him, who is principium et causa movens, and who can be such
only in His essence (sussistenza) , and not in his image or sim-
ilitude or reflection (vestigio), as the psychological school
holds. Hence it is clear that when Saint Thomas teaches that
God is not the first object known quoad nos (ro ^wkw yfiiv), he
speaks with reference to cogitare and discernere, and not of intel-
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 95
ligere — that is, with reference to the active powers, to which be-
longs determinate and distinct cognition, and not to the passive
powers, which have only initial and indeterminate cognition.
Here there is no middle alternative. Either the knowledge of
God per simplicem Intuitum precedes the determinate and dis-
tinct knowledge which belongs to cogitare and discernere , and
which is derivable from created things, and then causa dicta
est, or it does not; and then there is no meaning (1) in the
words secundum quod non est per se notum quoad nos; (2)
in the words notiori nobis effectu, and hence in the whole
thesis of the Angelic Doctor, written in comparative language,
which, according even to the grammarians, supposes and abso-
lutely implies the positive. But there is more than this.
Since Saint Thomas teaches that this intelligere per si?nplicem
intuitum is attended with a certain indeterminate love toward
God, * * * consequitur quidam amor indeterminatus
(Loc. cit. lib. Sent.) ; this love ought, according to the Thom-
istic exposition of the psychological school, to relate itself,
not to God, but to that which is in some manner the image,
the similitude, or the reflection of Him, which appears in His
works. According to such an hypothesis, who does not see
that the primacy of divine love would be canceled from the
human heart and mind. Hence it is clearly manifest that
the school which excludes the efficacy of the supreme
cause in respect to the first act of our intelligence is the very
source of modem incredulity . In fact, if we assume that
God is not the objective and ontological law of our intellect,
it is impossible to demonstrate without self-contradiction that
He is the immediate, immutable, and invariable rule of our
wills.
The same perpetual intelligence is presupposed by the An-
gelic Doctor in his Summa contra Gentiles, cpp. 12, 13, and
14, in which he demonstrates that God " non est maxiine intel-
ligibilis quoad nos." Now, who does not know that between
the superlative and nothing there is a middle way? This is
the confused and indistinct cognition in relation to which our
mind " quodammodo est in actu, et quodammodo in potentia '
96 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
(1 S., q. 83, art. 3). He arrives at the same truth in the
proposition demonstrating that the soul is a substance subsist-
ing per se. His words are : " Anima humana, cum sit om-
nium corporum cognoscitiva, est incorporea et subsistens."
He proves this thesis by two different arguments, the former
of which he derives from the nature of the bodily organ,
which, being determined ad unum, cannot know more than
one thins: in the manner in which our mind knows. The latter,
derived from the nature of the action of the mind itself, he
expresses thus : " Ipsum igitur intcllectuale principium, quod
dicitur mens, vel intellectus, hahet operationem per se cut non
communicat corpus." What, then, is the intellective opera-
tion which the mind possesses independently of the body? 1
find nothing but intelligere, having no sensible sign repre-
senting it in the knowable. But what is the object peculiar
to this intellectual faculty which transcends the sensible? The
Angelic Doctor answers even this question in the third article
of the same question ; for brevity's sake 1 transcribe merely
the proposition : Cum de ratione anima? prout in communi
consideratur, sit esse formam corporis prout vero in speciali,
in quantum scilicet est intellectiva, esse cognoscitivam forma-
rum absohitarum sive universalium : dici debet animam non
esse compositam ex materia et forma (1 S., q. 75, art. 5).
So the mind can act by itself, without the concurrence of the
body.
Again 1 open Saint Thomas, and find the following thesis :
" Cum principium intellectivum sit quo primo intelligit homo,
sive vocetur intellectus sive anima intellectiva, necesse est ipsum
uniri corpori humano ut formam " (1 S., q. 76, art. 1). Let
any one who has eyes read the demonstration of this article,
and then tell me whether our soul can cognize nothing in its
present state without that body to which, according to Saint
Thomas, the soul gives life. " Manifest um est autem quod
primum quo corpus vivit est anima, * * similiter prin-
cipium quo primo intelligimus." He teaches and maintains
the same truth when he denominates our mind higher reason,
because through itself it intendit " seternis conspiciendis aut
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 97
consulendis ; conspiciendis quidem secundum quod ea in se ip-
sis speculatur, consulendis vero, secundum quod ex lis accepit
regulas agendorum " (1 S., q. 79, art. 9).
In short, the object of the higher reason is the supreme
reasons of things ; the object of the lower reason, the things
themselves. The former are absolute and universal, the latter
contingent and particular. Now, which of the two reasons
ought to be the guide of the other — the higher of the lower, or
vice versa? Let Saint Thomas decide : " Ad primum dicen-
dum quod ratio inferior dicitur a superiori deduci, vel ab ea
regulari, in quantum principia quibus utitur inferior ratio de-
ducuntur et diriguntur a principiis superioris rationis " (Id.
id. id., ad. 1 ). Who does not see that, according to the psycho-
logical theory, the principles of the lower reason, which has
for its exclusive object the contingent, ought to direct and
guide the principles of the higher reason, whose proper object
is the eternal reasons of things, considered as efficient causes
of the things themselves? But, according to Saint Thomas,
how are such forms in themselves? To the angel of the schools
they are :
1. Absolute and universal, according to the proposition
above alluded to.
2. Immutable and always identical, semper uuum, with them-
selves, in spite of the plurality of the cognizing intellects. He
says : " Ad quartum dicendum quod, sive intellectus sit units
sive plures, id quod intelligitur est unum. Id enim quod in-
telligitur non est in intellectu secundum se sed secundum suam
similitudinem ; lapis enim non est in anima sed species lapidis,
fob ydp 6 Xidoq iv rf t ^tr/^ akka rd eldoq. De An. III., 8, 2 ) et tamen
lapis est id quod intelligitur non autem species lapidis, nisi
per reflexionem intellectus supra se ipsum, alio quin scientise
non essent de rebus sed de speciebus intelligibilibus " (1 S., q.
76, art. 2, ad 4).
3. Objective, whether because they can specular! in seipsis
by the human mind as higher reason, or because they are in
God, as first cause. Let us hear what he says of him : "Ad
primum ergo dicendum quod species intelligibiles qu as parti o
ipat nosier intellectus reducuntur, sicut in primam causam, in
XIII— 7
98 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
aliquocl principium per suam essentiani intelligibile, scilicet in
Deum. Sed ab illo principio procedunt mediantibus formis
rerum sensibilium et materialium a quibus scientiani collegi-
mus, ut Dionysius elicit." Cap. 7, De divin. nom. lect. 2. (1
S., q. 84, art. 4, ad. 1). And here I must inform you that this
testimony is the essence of Catholic Ontologism, inasmuch as
alone it contains and expresses the integral elements of science,
such as God and the world, creator and creature. And what
else is the formula, " Being creates the existent," but the lit-
eral translation of this text? And yet, who would believe it?
The opponents of our doctrine use this thesis as their chief
weapon in their attacks upon Ontologism ! They shout to the
four winds of heaven : " Read the reply to the third difficulty ;
open your eyes once and forever to the truth ; learn the true
Thomistic system contained in it." This reply reads : " Quod
intellectus noster possibilis reducitur de potentia in actum per
aliquod ens actu, id est per intellectum agentem, qui est virtus
queedam animse nostrse, ut dictum est (q. 79, art. 3) ; non autem
per intellectum separatum sicut per causam propriam proxi-
mam, sed forte sicut per causam remotam (ib. id., ad 3). It is
plain, they conclude, that the cause of the first act of our in-
tellect is that virtue of our soul called by Saint Thomas the ac-
tive intellect ( vouq -o'.r^uoz), and that the separate (x M (' lfTT "s)>
active intellect enters in, perhaps, ut causa remota, but never
ut proxima, as the Ontologists aver.
I reply that this observation is meaningless, because it is
made by our opponents to apply to the order of passive powers,
whereas in this thesis Saint Thomas speaks exclusively of the
active powers, whose proper object is the contingent. He
speaks in the sense of the first reply, in which he had said :
" Sed ab illo principio procedunt mediantibus formis rerum
sensibilium et materialium a quibus scicntiam colligimus."
Hence, I say that if the active, separate, i. e., ontological in-
tellect, which, as we shall see, is God, were the proximate and
proper cause of the secondary acts of our possible intellect,
and not the active human intellect, man would no longer be
an active and/Vee being, but a reed shaken by everv wind in
the hands of God — a horrible doctrine, which Saint Thomas
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 99
avoids by saying that the active, separate intellect aids the
mind in its reflective period as a causa remota. This doctrine
will be made clearer in what follows.
4. Evident in themselves, and therefore principium cog-
niiionis. Saint Thomas says: " In rationibns seternis anima
non cognoscit omnia objective in prsssenti statu, sed cansaliter
(1 S., q. 84, art. 5). This proposition is the basis, the foun-
dation, the pivot of all the Thomistic philosophy. This con-
sists of two parts. In the first, he overthrows the doctrine of
Plato, and shows the absolute impotence ot the human mind
to acquire a knowledge of things directly and intuitively in
their eternal reasons alone. In the second, he shows that the
eternal reasons, considered as efficient causes of the things
themselves, are the first and highest principle of Christian
philosophy. Have the goodness to read the demonstration,
and you will be convinced of the correctness of my exposition.
In fact one needs but to cite the foundation of the thesis to be
entirely convinced of it. This foundation is the following pass-
age from Saint Augustine: "Si ambo videmus verum esse
quod dicis et ambo videmus verum esse quod dico ; ubi qureso
id videmus? Nee ego utique in te, nee tu in me, sed ambo in
ipsa quae supra mentes nostras est, incommutabili veritate."
"Veritas autem incommutabilis," notes the Angelic Doctor,
" in seternis rebus continetur. Ergo anima intellectiva omnia
vera cosnioscit in rationibus eeternis." Now, who would say
that the immutable truth which identifies the different thoughts
of two men is the active intellect, "qui est aliquid aniinse
nostras," as the defenders of psychologism add? Who does
not see that it is in opposition to the basis of this system, viz. :
" invisibilia Dei per ea quae facta sunt conspiciuntnr," that
Saint Thomas establishes the above proposition? Who does
not see that the above proposition is true only of the present
life, as is stated in the words " in proesenti statu," and not of
the future 'life >,, as is continually asserted and vociferated by
the Civilta Cattolica and its satellites, who say that the vision
of the eternal reasons of things is shared only by the blessed,
and by pure and holy souls, according to the conclusion, and
is not the universal ontological light of the human race !
100 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
That, in the view of Saint Thomas, God the creator is the
rational element in science, its immutable principles, the su-
preme harmony of human thought, and the ontological light
of the human mind, is further manifest from the following
proposition : " Species intelligibilis se habet ad intellectual ut
id quo intelligit intellectus : non autem ut id quod intelligitur,
nisi secundario ; res enim cujus species intelligibilis est simili-
tudo est id quod primo intelligitur' (1 S., q. 85, art. 2).
From this proposition it is clear that our minds require a
similitude (eT<J«?) distinct from the intellect and from the thing
known, in order to cognize anything!
But you will say, If the said intelligible species is not id
quod intelligitur, but merely id quo intelligitur, how is it that
the mind docs not warn us of this in the tirst act of cognition?
And what? Must things he admitted which the spirit does
not know? 1 reply, with the Doctor Saint, and say that,
although to the direct and confused cognition, called by ontol-
ogists cognition of the intuitive order, nothing else is given us
but the object, nevertheless, in the reflective cognition, the
idea, or similitude, id quo intelligitur, is given secundario.
Indeed, the real and concrete thing is always that which the
mind perceives and receives in preference, primo. Here are
his words : "Intellectus supra seipsum refiectitur, secundum
eandem reflexionem intelligit et suum intelligere et speciem
qua intelligit. Et sic species intellectiva secundario est id
quod intelligitur; sed id quod intelligitur primo est res cujus
species intelligibilis est similitudo " (1 S., q. 83, art. 2).
This doctrine is elsewhere established by the Doctor Saint
(De An., Bk. Ill, § 8). The above truth is still further con-
firmed by this other proposition : " Magis universalia et coni-
munia sunt priora in nostra intellecluali et sensitiva cognitione."
Now, I ask what are the universals, but the eternal, reasons
which, according to Saint Thomas, must inform our intellectual
and sensitive cognition? In this same thesis is included a
golden doctrine, which explains in a marvelous way the nature
of the passive and active powers. It says : " Secundo oportet
considerare quod intellectus noster de potentia in actum pro-
cedit. Omne autem quod procedit de potentia in actum,
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 101
prius pervenit at actum incompletum qui est medius inter poten-
tium et actum, quam ad actum perfectum. Actus autem per-
fectus ad quem pervenit intellectus est scientia completa, per
quam distincte et determinate res cognoscuntur , actus autem
incompletus est scientia incompleta, per quam sciuntur res
indistincte sub quadam confusione. Quod enim sic cognosci-
tur, secundum quid cognoscitur in actu et quodam modo in
potentia ; nnde Philosophus (licit quod, sunt prima nobis mani-
festa et cert a confusa magis, poster ius autem cognoscimus
distinguendo principia et elementa'" (ln-i <T i,tw/ -pmzw 87 t ka /.a}
trapi} to. (TUYzeyuij.iva /jlolXXov uazepvv o i/. toutcov yi^ezai Y'stupip.a to. azor/zla
xai al dp'/ai dtatpinxri raLra). PllVS. I, 1. Cf. De An. 11, 2, 1. (1
S., q. 85, art. 3.)
This, then, is the manner in which Saint Thomas in several
places explains, exprofesso, the nature of the intelligible species,
similitudes, absolute forms, and eternal reasons of things which
constitute the rational, constant, and immutable element in
science — the element which is semper unum et secundum omne
tempus. Now, can such forms be called abstract, subjective,
and logical, as Saint Thomas calls the cognitions of sensible
things? Are they identical, i. e., unum et idem, with those
universal, immaterial, and necessary cognitions of which he
speaks in the following proposition : " Anima per intellectum
cognoscit corpora, immateriali, universale, et necessania cogni-
tione? (1 S., q. 84, art. 1.) I answer, No. In fact, the first
are absolute, universal, immaterial, objective, and evident per se ;
the second, on the contrary, arc abstract, subjective, nndlogical,
i.e., existing solely in the cognitive mind. As such, they
cannot be called semper unum, since they vary according to
the plurality and different capacities of the cognizing intellects ;
or objective, since they cannot be contemplated (speculari,
dewpsTadai) in se ipsis, like the first; or self-evident, since man,
according to Saint Thomas, cannot understand, or cognize, or
know these second, nisi convertendo se ad phantasmata. Id
ibid. (Si o ono^-ore voel aveu yavTcur/xdrtov / </'u/r r Aristotle, De
An. Ill, 7, 3.) But you will say, Why did not Saint
Thomas distinguish these two sorts of forms? I reply that he
did distinguish them, in the passage where he speaks, ex
102 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
professo, of the hitter, viz., in prop. 84, art. 1. In that
article, in fact, to those who, with Saint Augustine, object,
quod corpora intellectu intelligi non possunt ; nee aliquid
corporuin nisi sensibus videri potest," he replies: "Ad
primum ergo dicendum, quod verbum Augustini est intel-
ligendum quantum ad ea quae intellectus cognoscit (the ab-
stract, universal cognitions of which he had spoken), cognoscit
e in m corpora intellegendo, sed non per corpora neque per sim-
ilitudines materiales et corporeas, sed per species immaleriales
et intelligibiles, qum per suam essentiam in anima esseJ)ossunt. , '
Evidently the Sainted Doctor here distinguishes the intelligible
species, quibus intellectus cognoscit, from the subjective and
abstract species, i. e., the universal cognitions, * * * qum
cognoscit. In fact, if the universal, necessary, and subjective
cognitions (subjective, because existing only in the human in-
tellect) Avere identical with the objective intelligible species,
quibus intellectus cognoscit, the reply of Saint Thomas would
be meaningless, inasmuch as it would concede to the adversary
that, in truth, corpora intellectu comprehendi non possunt.
Hence the universal, abstract, and necessary cognitions of
which Saint Thomas speaks in question 84, article 1, could
never be such unless they were recognized as faithful copies of
the eternal species (forms) and reasons of things, quibus intel-
lectus cognoscit. To Saint Thomas, therefore, these absolute,
universal forms, similitudes, intelligible species, eternal reasons,
and efficient causes of things are the only fount of the eternal
and necessary element in science, and, as such, are objective
and exist outside of the human spirit. This theory is ren-
dered evident by this other proposition of Saint Thomas, viz. :
" Quod intellectus divinus est mensura rerum ; intellec-
tus humanus est quodammodo mensuratus a rebus (q. 1, de
veritat., art. 2).
Now I ask, by what things is the human intellect meas-
ured? Is it by the materiality of things? No, because
the less is not the measure of the greater. Who does
not know that the human intellect is the noblest and greatest
essence of created things — that it is their lord and master?
It cannot, therefore, be measured by them. Shall it be meas-
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 103
ured by the universal, necessary, abstract, and logical spe-
cies, which are the cognitions derived by the mind from
sensible things (according to Saint Thomas)? This, like-
wise, is impossible ; for these stand related to the in-
tellect as the contained to that which contains, as the effect to
the cause, as the measured to that which measures, and hence
it cannot be comprehended by them. What then are the
thinsrs which measure it? Thev are none other than the su-
preme reasons, considered as efficient causes, which, accord-
ing to the opposite school, are found in things obscure and in-
volved, and which must be made clear and unfolded by being
placed in full light by ontological reflection. Hence it is clear
that our intellect in some sense and in a certain respect is
measured by things, quodammodo, but not totally. But
wherein consists this particular sense and respect in which our
intellect is measured? Let us listen to the Angelic Doctor
himself: " Ad primum ergo dicendum, quod aniina non se-
cundum quamcunque veritatem judicat de rebus omnibus, sed
secundum veritatem primam, in quantum resultat in ea, sicut
in speculo, secundum prima intelligibilia. Unde sequitur
quod Veritas prima sit major anima; et tamen etiam verilas
creata, quae est in intellectu nostro, est major anima, non sim-
pliciter sed secundum quid, in quantum (this is the particular
respect) est perfectio ejus sicut etiam scientia posset dici ma-
jor anima. Sed verum est quod nihil subsistens est majus
mente rationali nisi Deus " (1 S., q. 16, art. 6, ad 1). God,
then, is the Being greater than the human mind, and He alone
is the measure of it, and of whatever truth exists in it. " Cum
ergo Deus sit primus intellectus et primum intelligibile, opor-
tet quod Veritas intellectus cujuslibet ejus veritate men-
suretur (Contra Gentes, Lib. 1, cp. 62). This doctrine
is opposed by its adversaries with a distinction, not de-
rived from Saint Thomas, but from their own brains. They
say that the knowledge of things may be absolute or relative,
and that the latter requires the absolute idea in order to be ap-
prehended, whereas the other, since it may exist very well by
itself, does not.
1 reply : True cognition of a thing is that which perfectly
104 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
expresses its nature, i. e., without adding anything to it or
taking anything a/ray from it. Now, which of the two kinds of
cognition is conformable to the nature of created things — the
relative or the absolute? Surely that which expresses, and is
conformable to, the nature of created and contingent things.
But relative cognition is the only one that is conformable to
created and relative things, and hence this is the only scientific
cognition of them. For this reason the pretended absolute
cognition of them is not scientific, and cannot be invoked as
such by the opposite school in defense of their interpretation
of Thomism. Indeed, how can there be any absolute knowl-
edge of the relative? The relative is only the relative, the
finite the finite, etc., etc. Hence, from created things there
can be derived no absolute knowledge ; for, since cognition
must be an effect of the truth, and truth an effect of being, as
Saint Thomas teaches, " Sic ergo entitas rei precedit rationem
veritatis ; sed cognitio est qui dam veritatis effectus " (DeVer-
itat., q. 1, art. 1), if an absolute cognition could be derived
from relative things, there would be an effect greater than its
cause. But that is self-contradictory ; hence, also, it is self-
contradictory to say that relative things can give absolute cogni-
tion. Therefore, the above distinction made by the psycho-
logical school in regard to created things is either altogether
meaningless or expresses an absurdity. And so, I beg that
school not to confound the power which we have of consider-
ing abstractly any property of a thing already known (i. e.,
by abstracting or prescinding from all the other properties)
with the scientific cognition of the thing itself, which can never
be true, certain, and universal until it is completely equal to
the thing itself. Indeed, it is true, as Saint Thomas says, that
our minds can examine, abstractly, the color of an apple,
without thinking of the apple in which it inheres ; but just as,
according to the axiom, there is no accident without substance,
ontological existence of the color is impossible without the ap-
ple, so, likewise, it is impossible to acquire the perfect knoiol-
edge of it without its reality, or without the common idea of
being, as Saint Thomas expresses himself. This doctrine,
therefore, proves that, just as the existence of things created is
The Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. 105
impossible without the creator, so it is impossible to know
them as absolute or independent of Him. In proof of which
I say that the knowledge of the thinking subject, of liberty, of
immortality, called by the said school absolute knowledge, is
not so, but merely relative, inasmuch as it includes the idea of
cause. Indeed, the thinking subject is a potentiality which
must pass into act, either first or second; but nihil reducitur de
potentia in actum nisi per aliquod ens actu, according to Saint
Thomas ; hence the thinking subject, considered in itself, as it
occurs in children, or in potentiality, necessarily includes the
idea of cause. This necessary relation appears more mani-
festly whenever the thinking subject is confronted with the ob-
ject thought. In truth, the human intellect, according to Saint
Thomas, is passive and receptive in the act of cognition, and
Being acts upon it ( 1 S., q. 79, art. 2).
Now, are not the efficacy and action of Being in relation to
our intellect an effect? And is not Being, which produces this
action, a cause? And is not immortality known in an act of in-
telligence? If so, does this school believe that the creature
ceases to be a second cause, and that it no longer receives the
influence of the first cause? Or does it believe that the latter
will not be causa et motor universalis even in the other life?
And are not reward and punishment an effect with reference to
the soul? And is not God, the re warder of the good and the
punisher of the wicked, a cause? Hence the knowledge of the
thinking subject, of freedom, and of immortality, however re-
garded, whether in itself or in relation to the temporal or eter-
nal object, includes the idea of cause and hence is relative,
not absolute, as is given out by the disciples of the psycholog-
ical school, with an air of contempt and haughty triumph.
From the above considerations it is clear that the Ano-el of the
Schools established the following proposition : " Intellectiva
cognitio fit a sensibili non sicut a perfecta et totali causa, sed
potius sicut a materia causae " (1 S., q. 84, art. 6).
If, in the view of Saint Thomas, the sensible is not the per-
fect and total cause of science, it is evident that the other
portion must come from the above treated eternal reasons, or
106 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
else from our own intellectual power itself, called by Saint
Thomas the active intellect. But the active intellect, " non se
habet ut objectum agens ad potentiam," i. e., to the possible
intellect (1 S., q. 79, art. 4, ad. 3) ; hence the active human
intellect cannot be the complementary efficient cause of science.
In order to be so, it would have to possess in itself the rea-
sons of things ; but these, as Saint Thomas teaches, it does not
possess. "Ad nonum dicendum quod intellectus agens non
sufficit per se ad reducendum intellectum possibilem perfecte
in actum, cum non sint in eo determinate notiones om-
nium rerum, ut dictum est. Et ideo reqtiiritur ad ultimam
perfectionem intellectus possibilis quod uniatur aliqualiter illi
agenti in quo sunt rationes omnium rerum, scilicet Deo " (1
S., q. de anima, art. 3, ad 9); hence the active intellect,
" qui est aliquid animse nostra," cannot furnish that part of
science which does not come from sensible things. But, if this
is the case, why has Saint Thomas not left us a formal proof
of the fact that it was to the eternal reasons that he attributed
the perfect, complete, and scientific knowledge of everything?
I reply that Saint Thomvs has given us a most luminous proof
of what the scientific knowledge of this same mind of ours is.
He says: " Sed verum est quod judicium et efficacia hujus
cognitionis, per quam naturam animce cognoscimus competit
nobis secundum derivationemluminis intellectus nostri a veritate
divina in qua rationes omnium rerum continentur, sicut supra
dictum est (qusest. 84, art. 5). Unde Augustinus dicit {De
Veritat. in g. cp. 6, paulo ab init. ) : ' Intuemur inviolabilem
veritatem, ex qua perfecte quantum possumus definimus, non
qualis sit uniuscuj usque hominis mens, sed qualis esse sempiter-
nis rationibus debeat.' Est autem differentia inter has duas
cognitiones. Nam ad primam cognitionem de mente habendam
sufficit ipsa mentis praisentia, quos est principium actus ex quo
mens percipit seipsum : et ideo dicitur se cognoscere per mam
prodsenliam. Sed ad secundum cognitionem de mente haben-
dam non sufficit ejus praisentia, sed requiritur diligens et subtilis
inquisitio " (1 S., q. 77, art. 1).
From this authority it is as clear as the sun that the Angelic
Algorithmic Division in Logic. 107
Doctor derives the scientific knowledge of the human soul —
i. e., in universali — from the eternal reasons, as the efficient
causes of things, as he had taught in queest. 84, art. 3.
I offer you this brief resume of the Thomistic philosophy,
in the hope that it may serve you as a guide in the study of
Saint Thomas.
ALGORITHMIC DIVISION IN LOGIC.
BY GEORGE BRUCE HALSTED.
From its very start, logic has been suffering from the mis-
taken idea that it was actually an account of all the funda-
mental principles of legitimate inference, of all valid use of the
reasoning faculty.
From the shackles of this self-imposed, but never fulfilled
requirement it has not yet quite freed itself, and the contusing
effects are visible alike in Ueberweg and Jevons. But once
recognized that logic is not a branch of psychology, is conver-
sant with classes of things, and that point is passed where it
could be believed that mathematics was only a developed branch
of ordinary logic, or supposed that the more powerful mathe-
matics was trying to show that logic was only a branch of
algebra.
In actual reasoning, the mind, far from being confined to
the scholastic logic, jumps, climbs, and runs along in accord-
ance with all sorts of principles, various, though valid.
These results, however, may be stated in terms of ordinary
logic — that is, in terms of genus and species — of the relations
of classes ; and from the generality, simplicity, and certainty
of this formal logic, it is, even from the new point of view, as
worthy as it was ever thought to be of all study ; more espe-
cially since those who, recognizing the fundamental character
of other relations beside that of the simple copula, have worked
on the " Logic of Relatives," have not been able as yet, in
spite of the fine contributions made by De Morgan, to bring
anv cosmos out of that chaos.
108 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
But the hitter's two statements, "first, logic is the only
science which has made no progress since the revival of letters ;
secondly, logic is the only science which has produced no
growth of symbols," were neither true after Boole had put to
the science his master hand.
A notation analogous to that used in the coordinate, but
more highly developed, science of quantity was found to give
to the old and new ideas astonishing vigor. Boole summarizes
his result by saying : " Let us conceive, then, of an algebra in
which the symbols x, y, z, etc., admit indifferently of the values
and 1, and of these values alone. The laws, the axioms,
and the processes of such an algebra will be identical in their
whole extent with the laws, the axioms, and the processes of
an algebra of logic." But this statement must be interpreted
very narrowly to be at all exact.
That the slightest extension of the analogy to cause or reason
must lead us all wrong is evident from the fact that this alge-
bra admits of only two phases, and 1, while logic admits of
three phases, namely, not only none and all, corresponding to
and 1, but also some, " which, though it may include in its
meaning all, does not include none' (Boole, p. 124), and
hence has no analogue in such an algebra. Again, this algebra
may, perhaps, be called unduly arithmetical.
From the idea of the convertibility and transitiveness of
the relation expressed by the ordinary copula, or from the
equal balance of subject and predicate throughout the formal
logic of absolute terms, one would look for an exact corre-
spondence of theorems, subject and predicate being transposed.
Now, of the Boolian product we know, besides the peculiar
law xx=x 2 =x, that also xy is either identical with, or less than,
either of the factors. This we may write xy = or < x, and
xy =: or <y ; and if z = or < x and z — or <y, then z — or
<xy.
From the principle of correspondence there would thus be
another function, F (xy), such that x = or < F (xy), and
y = or < F (xy), and if x = or < z, and y = or < z, then F
(xy) =or<z.
This function is logical addition, which we may distinguish
Algorithmic Division in Logic. 109
from Boole's b}^ a subscript comma (-|-, ). It must be by a slip
that Prof. Jevous, in the preface to the second edition of his
Principles of Science, calls it Boole's.
He says (p. xvii) of Leibnitz : " He first gives as an axiom
the now well known law of Boole, as follows :
" ' Axioma I. Si idem secum ipso sumatur, nihil constituitur
novum, seu A-f-, A=A.' Now, no one knows better than
Prof. Jevons that the way in which Boole entirely avoids
this sort of addition, with its accompanying " Law of Unity,"
is one of the marked peculiarities of his S}^stem.
However much this kind of addition seems called for by
logical simplicity, by the principle of correspondence, by the
balance of multiplication and addition, yet, besides not agree-
ing with Boole's arithmetical analogy, it has the grave defect
of not being an invertible operation.
Says Boole, page 33 : " But the very idea of an operation
effecting some positive change seems to suggest to us the idea
of an opposite or negative operation, having the effect of un-
doing what the former one has done. Thus, we cannot con-
ceive it possible to collect parts into a whole, and not conceive
it also possible to separate a part from a whole." It is very
true that in treating certain subjects — as, for example mathe-
matics — great advantage arises from the fact that you are able
to use invertible addition and multiplication, your subtraction
and division being determinative.
But in this case, though if b -f-, x = a, then x = a — b, yet
is x not completely determinate. It may vary from a to a
with b taken away. The noting of this peculiar fact led Prof.
Jevons, in 1864, in his " Pure Logic," to say, page 80 : " But
addition and subtraction do not exist, and do not give true re-
sults, in a system of pure logic, free from the condition of
number. For instance, take the logical proposition A -(-, B+,
C = A -f-, D -\-, E meaning what is either A or B -or C is
either A or D or E, and vice versa. In these circumstances,
the action of subtraction does not apply. It is not necessarily
true that, if from same (equal) things we take same (equal )
things the remainders are same (equal). It is not allowable for
us to subtract the same thing (A ) from both sides of the above
110 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
proposition, and thence infer B -J-, C = D -(-, E. This is not
true if, for instance, each of B and C is the same as E, and
D is the same as A, which has been taken away."
This last sentence is very true, but it does not prove his state-
ment, much less does it warrant his saving, as he does, on the
next page, " The axioms of addition and subtraction," etc.,
for you may always logically add as many terms as you choose
to both sides with perfect safety. He has also failed to notice
that by parity of reasoning he must sweep away logical divis-
ion, which corresponds to Abstraction, but which he calls
" Separation," devoting to it chapter V. For, denoting log-
ical division by ( ;), if bx = a, then x = a ; b. But it will
be observed that x is not fully determined by this condition.
It will vary from a to a-\- b, and will be uninterpretable if a
is not wholly contained under b. This only shows that logical
multiplication is not invertible ; and though Boole was able to
make addition invertible and arithmetical by convening that
the sign -(- should only appear between terms mutually ex-
clusive, vet even he failed in regard to logical division, and
bolstering himself by what I have shown in a previous paper
to be an erroneous analogy, he left his system straddling the
fence, having one of the fundamental operations (+) invert-
ible and the other ( X ) not. He says, page 36 : " Hence it can-
not be inferred from the equation zx — zy that the equation
x — v is also true. In other words, the axiom of the alo;e-
braists that both sides of an equation may be divided by the
same quantity has no formal equivalent here." In the article
on " Boole's Logical Method," I showed how this follows
necessarily from the peculiar sliding sort of multiplication
found in logic, where if one factor is wholly or in part identi-
cal with another, we have an analogy to the fact that superim-
posing mathematical planes does not increase the thickness, or
the one may slide wholly or partly into the other and leave no
trace.
I there gave an example, using purposely terms whereof one
" rational " is part of the meaning of another " man."
Let us now add the consideration of an example where this
is not the case.
Algorithmic Division in Logic 111
Suppose x, y, and z to be none of them included in each
other, and that zx = zy, which interpret, stratified rocks —
rocks deposited from water.
We cannot divide out the common term leaving stratified
things = things deposited from water, because the proposi-
tion, in the positive information which it gives about zx and
zy, convej's nothing about the relation of xz to yz.
If we could only legitimately conclude zx = zy, then we
might safely divide and say x — y.
An eminent author wrote me as his opinion that the propo-
sition gave no information "about xz or yz (unstratified
rocks, or rocks not deposited from water)/' This was prob-
ably only a momentary slip, but it leads me to call attention
to the fact that the proposition does tell us xz = yz, i. e.,
unstratified rocks = rocks not deposited from water ; but this
is of no help to us in rendering division possible.
We certainly can not in any off-hand way, or without the
introduction of absurd terms similar to the imaginary in com-
mon algebra, make our logical multiplication throughout
simply invertible.
But if we could exchange -f , and x for two invertible pro-
cesses, and thus avoid the incongruity of Boole's system,
would we not, after all, still be sacrificing logical simplicity in
the real analysis and analogies of the subject to desired ease
of a working calculus?
Inverse operations are defined from the direct. A logical
quotient, then, is the solution of the equation xb = a . . . (1)
in respect to x. This we have already denoted by x = a ;
b . . . (2), and noted that the solution is indefinite.
But it is very remarkable that in this expression, independ-
ently of the value of x, the classes a and b cannot be taken
arbitrarily ; for the equation bx = a involves an independent
relation between the classes a and b, namely, ab = o . '. . (3)
which w T e may obtain by eliminating x, without regard to its
value. We see from this that division in logic is by no means
an unrestrictedly practicable operation, and to fully replace
(1), we must have not only (2), but also (3).
This equation (3) is the necessary condition assumed before
112 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
we can talk of the logical quotient of a by b. a;b has no
sense unless this requirement is fulfilled. Whenever we speak
of a quotient we assume this.
Now, for the value of x = a ; b, we have
a;b — (a-f, b) (v-f-, b), or
= a -)-, vb, or
= ab -|-, v ab.
Where v is an arbitrary, an indefinite class, o ;o = v.
By the use of this v the above equations for a : b contain all
the particular solutions which arise when the real value of x
is more definitely fixed or known.
Two cases are especially worthy of notice : the widest where
v = 1 (the universe), and the narrowest where v = o.
In the latter case the quotient is seen to be coincident with
the dividend, a. In the former, the maximum case, a:b =
a -|- b. If here we take a — o, we have o : b = b = 1 — b.
Here the condition ab =o becomes a mere identity, and may
be neglected, showing that this operation may always be per-
formed. In general, for any product xy, it is immediately
allowable if x -j-, y =■ 1. So if a = b . • . a : b =. 1 .
To continue on deriving division formulae in this remarkable
algebra is an exercise highly suggestive and interesting, but in
reality in the above special case, o : b = 1 — b, we have all
that is necessary for a solution of the logical problem.
It amounts simply to the old familiar operation of forming
the negative of a term, and together with -{-, and ? gives in
the simplest possible way all the deductive powers attained by
Boole's complicated and ill-balanced, yet wonderful , calculus.
Moreover, in reference to these operations, the existence of
a perfect duality enables the whole matter, like modern
geometry, to be exhibited in pairs of corresponding theorems :
e.g., I. aa =: a. I', a-)-, a=a.
II. a (b -f-, c) = ab -)-, ac. II'. a-{-, be = (a+, b) (a -(-, c).
As a final recommendation, uninterpretable steps are thus
entirely obviated, each step being susceptible of simple state-
ment in the ordinary language of logic.
This rounded system, expanded so as to be easily under-
stood b}' beginners, will be called Dual Logic.
THE JOURNAL
OF
SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Yol. XIII. ] April, 1879. [No. 2.
HEGEL ON ROMANTIC ART.
[translated from the second part of the ^esthetics.]
BY WM. M. BRYANT.
CHAPTER I. — The Religious Circle of Romantic Art.
Since, in the representation of absolute subjectivity or per-
sonality as final and complete truth, Romantic Art has for its
substantial content the union of the spirit with its essence,
the satisfaction of the soul, the reconciliation of God with the
world, — and, by this means, his reconciliation with Himself, —
it is upon this stage that the Ideal appears for the first time to
be completely at home. For it was happiness and independ-
ence, satisfaction, tranquillity, and freedom which we declared
to be the fundamental characteristic of the ideal. Unques-
tionably, we cannot venture to exclude the ideal from the con-
ception and the reality of Romantic Art ; and yet, in relation
to the Classic ideal, it acquires a wholly different form.
Though we have already pointed out this relation in a general
way, we must here, at the beginning, clearly define (feststetten)
its more concrete significance, in order to make manifest the
essential type of the Romantic mode of representing the Ab-
solute. In the Classic ideal the divine is, on the one hand,
XIII — 8
114 The Journal of Speculative PhilosopTnj.
limited to individuality. On the other, the soul and happi-
ness of the particular gods become manifest exclusively through
their corporeal forms ; and, again, since the principle of the
individual in itself and in its externality is set forth in the
inseparable unity of the individual, it is evident that the neg-
ativity of the inherent tendency to dissolution, of corporeal
and of spiritual anguish, of sacrifice, of resignation, cannot
appear as an essential moment. The divine of Classic Art,
indeed, falls asunder into a circle of divinities. But it does
not separate itself, within itself, as universal essentiality on the
one hand, and as particular, subjective, empirical manifesta-
tion in human form and human spirit on the other. Just as
little, too, does it, as non-phenomenal Absolute, possess a
world of evil, of sin, and of error; with the task, on the con-
trary, of bringing this contradiction into reconciliation, and,
as this reconciliation, to be for the first time the truly actual
and divine. In the conception of absolute subjectivity, on
the other hand, there lies the contradiction between substan-
tial universality and personality ; a contradiction whose com-
pleted mediation tills the subjective or personal with its sub-
stance, and elevates the substantial to the rank of an absolute
subject, possessing self-knowledge and rational will. But to
the actuality of personality {SubjeTctivitat') as spirit there
belongs, in the second place, the deeper contradiction of a
finite world, through the cancellation of which as finite, and its
reconciliation with the Absolute, the infinite itself creates its
own essence, through its own absolute activity, for itself; and is
thus, for the first time, absolute spirit. The manifestation of
this actuality on the ground and under the form of the human
spirit acquires, therefore, with respect to its beauty, a relation
altogether different from that in Classic Art. Greek beauty
exhibits the inner quality of spiritual individuality, conceived
wholly in its corporeal form, its deeds and its adventures, com-
pletely expressed in the external, and dwelling happily therein.
For Romantic Art, on the contrary, it is absolutely necessary
that the soul, although it appears in the external, should at
the same time show itself to be gone out of this corporeal
state back into itself, and to live within itself. At this stage,
Iler/el on Romantic Art. 115
therefore, the corporeal can express the internality of the
spirit only in so far as it brings into manifestation the fact that
the soul has its congruent actuality, not in this real existence,
but in itself. Upon this ground beauty is now no longer consid-
ered as the idealizing of the objective form, but as the inner form
of the soul in itself. It is a beauty of internality which is to be
looked upon rather as form and manner (als Art und Weise),
in accordance with which each content is fashioned and de-
veloped in the inner being of the person. It is, therefore, a
beauty which refuses to hold fast the external, even while the
external is thus pervaded by spirit. Since, therefore, the in-
terest is now lost, so far as concerns the purifying of real
outer existence to the point of this classical unity, and is con-
centrated upon the opposite aim of inbreathing the inner form
of the spiritual itself with a new beauty, art gives itself little
concern respecting the external. Just as it finds it immedi-
ately at hand, so it accepts it immediately ; while even on this
side it leaves it to be, as it were, fashioned at discretion. In
Romantic Art, reconciliation with the Absolute is an act of the
inner nature which, indeed, appears in the external, but which
does not have the external itself in its real form as an essen-
tial content and aim. Along with this indifference respecting
the idealizing union of soul and body there appears, for the
special individuality of the external side essentially, portrait-
ure, which does not obliterate particular features and forms,
as they come and go, the requirements of the natural, the im-
perfections of the mortal state, in order to replace them with
more appropriate characteristics. True, in this relation a cor-
respondence must, in general, still be required ; but the precise
form it is to take becomes indifferent, and does not purify itself
from the accidentality of finite empirical existence.
The necessity for this thorough-going characterization of
Romantic Art may likewise be justified from still another side.
The Classic ideal, when it stands upon its own true height, is
secluded within itself, independent, reserved, non-receptive, a
complete or rounded individual, which excludes others from
itself. Its form is its own. It lives wholly and exclusively
within this form, and dares not expose any portion of itself
11(3 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
to participation in the merely empirical and accidental.
Hence whoever, as spectator, approaches this ideal, cannot ap-
propriate to himself its existence as something external that is
related to his own phenomenal being (Erscheinung). Though
the forms of the eternal gods are human, they do not, for all
that, pertain to the mortal state ; for these gods have not them-
selves suffered the infirmity of finite existence, but are raised
above this without mediation. Participation in the empirical
and relative is broken off. On the contrary, infinite sub-
jectivity, the Absolute of Romantic Art, is not merged (ver-
senkt) in its manifestation. It exists within itself, and by this
very fact does not possess its externality as something belong-
ing essentialh r to itself, but as something other than itself, —
something quite freely set aside, and belonging to the indiffer-
ent or neglected beyond. Besides, this external must enter
into the form of the common-place, of the empirically human,
since here God himself descends into finite temporal exist-
ence, in order to mediate and to reconcile the absolute contra-
diction which lies in the conception of the Absolute. Thus
empirical man also acquires a side from which there is opened
to him a relationship, — a connecting link, — so that he himself
may with confidence draw near in his immediate naturalness;
since the external form does not, through classic austerity
(Strenge) toward the particular and accidental, repel him, but
presents to his view that which he himself has, or which he
knows and loves iii some object in his immediate surround-
ings. It is through this air of being at home (Heimath-
lichkeif) in ordinary affairs, that Romantic Art confidently
exerts its attractiveness in all directions. But, since now the
renounced externality has, through this very renunciation, the
task of pointing to the beauty of the soul, to the loftiness of
internality, to the holiness of spiritual existence, it tends at
the same time to merge itself in the internal character of the
spirit and in its absolute content, and to appropriate to itself
this inner nature.
In this surrender (Ilingabe), finallj r , there lies, in general, the
universal idea that in Romantic Art infinite subjectivity is not
solitary and alone within itself, like a Greek god, which lived
Hegel on Romantic Art. 117
within itself, wholly complete in the happiness of its seclu-
sion. Rather it comes forth from itself and enters into rela-
tion with another. But this " other ' still belongs to sub-
jectivity, which finds itself again therein and remains in unity
with itself. This unit-being (^Einseyn) of subjectivity in
its " other " is the unique, beautiful content of Romantic Art,
the ideal of the same, which has essentially for its form and man-
ifestation, internality and subjectivity, soul, sensibility. The
Romantic Ideal, therefore, expresses a relation to other spir-
itual being, which is so bound up with internality that it is
only precisely in this other that the soul in internality lives
with itself. This life virtually in another is, as sensibility,
the sincerity and fervor of love.
a/
We can, therefore, declare Love to be the universal content
of the Romantic in its religious circle. Still, love first acquires
its true ideal form when it expresses the affirmative, immedi-
ate reconciliation of the spirit. But now, before we can, upon
this stage, consider the most beautiful ideal satisfaction, we
have previously, on the one side, to traverse the process of
negativity, into which the absolute subject, or person, enters,
as subjugation of the tinitude and immediacy of its human
manifestation, — a process which unfolds itself in the life, suffer-
ing, and death of God for the world and humanity, and its
possible reconciliation with God. On the other side, it is
humanity which now, on the contrary, has on its part to com-
plete the same process, in order that in itself there may be
made actual what is as yet only potential in the reconcilia-
tion referred to. In the midst of this stage, in which the neg-
ative side of the sensuous and spiritual entrance into death
and the grave constitutes the central point, lies the expression
of the affirmative bliss of the contentment, which in this circle
belongs to the most beautiful objects of art.
Division. — For the more precise division of our first chap-
ter, therefore, we have three different spheres to pass
through.
1. The history of the redemption of Christ. The moments
or elements of the absolute spirit represented in God himself,
in so far as he becomes man, has an actual outer existence in
118 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
the world of finitude and its concrete relations, and in this
most uniquely particular outer-existence brings the absolute
itself into manifestation.
2. Love in its positive form, as reconciled feeling of the
human and the divine ; the holy family, the maternal love of
Mary, the love of Christ, and the love of the disciples.
3. The Church ; the spirit of God as present in humanity
through the conversion of the soul, and the destruction of
mere naturalness and finitude, generally through the return of
man to God, — a return in which, first of all, repentance and
martyrdom constitute the mediation between man and God.
/. History of Redemption through Christ.
1. Art apparently superfluous. — 2. Its necessary intervention. — 3. Accidental
particulars of the external representation.
The reconciliation of the spirit with itself, absolute his-
tory, the process of the truth, is brought to view and certi-
tude through the manifestation of God in the world. The
simple content of this reconciliation is the combination or
blending (Ineinssetzung) of absolute essentiality with particu-
lar human subjectivity ; an individual man is God, and God
is an individual man. Herein lies the fact that virtually —
that is, according to conception and essence — humanity is
truly spirit; and each particular subject or person, therefore,
as man, possesses infinite destiny and importance, namely,
to exist as a purpose of God, and to be in unity with God.
But in just the same measure man becomes subject to the
demand to give actuality to this conception, which is at first
only a mere possibility (nur ein blosses Ansich) ; that is, to
fix upon his own union with God as the goal of his existence,
and to reach that goal. In so far as he has fulfilled this des-
tiny he is a free, infinite spirit. This he may do only in so far
as the unity to which we have referred is the primordial ele-
ment, the eternal foundation of the human and the divine
nature. The goal is at the same time the beginning, existing
in and for itself. It is the point of departure for Romantic
religious consciousness, namely, that God himself is man, —
Hegel on Romantic Art. 119
is flesh, — in order that he may become this individual subject
or person, in whom, therefore, the reconciliation does not
remain a mere possibility, in which case it would lie known
only in the abstract conception thereof; but rather he pre-
sents himself as existing objectively, even for the perceiving
(anschauende) consciousness, as this individual, actually-exist-
ing man. This moment or element of individuality is of
importance, because therein each individual possesses the view
of his own reconciliation with God, which in and for itself is
no mere potentiality, but is actual, and for this reason has
been brought into full manifestation as real in this one sub-
ject or person. But since now the unity, as spiritual recon-
ciliation of opposite moments, is no merely immediate individ-
ual-being (JEinsseyn), there must, in the second place, be
brought into existence in this one subject or person also the
process of the spirit as history of the same, through which
process the person for the first time truly becomes spirit. This
history of the spirit undergoing completion in the individual
contains nothing else than what we have already referred to,
namely, that the individual man shall put aside (abthue) his
individuality in both the corporeal and the spiritual sense, —
that is, that he shall sutler and die ; but on the contrary shall,
after the pain of death, reappear from the dead ; shall arise
as the glorified God, as the actual spirit which now, indeed,
has entered into existence as an individual, as this subject or
person ; and yet, even so, is essentially only in truth God, as
spirit in his Church.
1. This history furnishes the essential object for religious
Romantic Art, but for which art, taken purely as art, doubtless
becomes somewhat superfluous ; for the principal fact lies here
in the inner certitude, in the sentiment and perception of this
eternal truth, in faith, which bears testimony to the truth in
and for itself, and thus becomes identified (hineinVerlegt ) with
the inner nature of the imagination. Developed faith, namely,
consists in the immediate certitude of having the truth itself
present to the consciousness along with the conception of the
moments, or elements, of this histoiy. But if it is in the
consciousness of the truth that the real interest centres, then
120 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
the beauty of manifestation, as Avell as representation itself,.
is altogether an indifferent affair, since the truth is present to
consciousness independent of art.
2. On the other hand, however, the religious content ac-
quires at the same time, in itself, the moment or element
through which it not only becomes accessible to, but in a
certain sense demands, art. In the religious conception of
Romantic Art, as we have already often affirmed (angefuhrf) ,
the content itself bears within itself the tendency to carry
anthropomorphism to the last degree of development ; since
this content has for its central point the being of the Absolute
and the Divine, in combination with human subjectivitv as
actually visible (erschauten), and, therefore, also as external,
corporeal, phenomenal, and must represent the Divine in this,
its individuality, which is closely connected with the neces-
sities of nature and with finite modes of manifestation. In
this respect art furnishes to the perceiving consciousness, for
the manifestation of God in the immediate present, an actual
individual form, even a concrete image of the external char-
acteristics of those events in which are unfolded the birth of
Christ, His life and suffering, death, resurrection, and ascen-
sion to the right hand of God. It is, therefore, in art alone
that there is retained an ever-renewed presence (Dauer) of
the already vanished, actual manifestation of God.
3. In so far, however, as in this manifestation emphasis
is laid upon the fact that God is essentially an individual
person, exclusive of any other, and is not merely the unity of
divine and human subjectivity in general, but represents that
unity in the form and person of this particular man (namely,
Christ), in so far there appears in art, by reason of the con-
tent itself, all phases of the accidental ity and particularity of
finite existence, from which beautv at the heiirht of the Classic
ideal had purified itself. What the free comprehension of the
beautiful had removed as incompatible with it, — that is, the
non-ideal, — is here necessarily taken up and brought to view
as a moment or element having its origin in the content it-
self.
a. If, therefore, the person of Christ, as such, has been
Hegel on Romantic Art. 121
frequently chosen as the object of representation, those ar-
tists have succeeded in the least degree who have attempted
to make of Christ an ideal in tlie sense and in the mode ofthe
Classic ideal. Such heads and forms of Christ may, indeed,
show seriousness, calmness, and dignity ; but, on the other
hand, Christ must possess internality and absolutely universal
spirituality; while, on the other hand, He must possess sub-
jective personality and individuality, and both these are
irreconcilably opposed to felicity (Seligkeit) in the sensuous
nature of the human form. To combine these two terms, —
i. e., expression and form, — is a task of the utmost difficulty ;
so that painters have always fallen into embarrassment when-
ever they have departed from the traditional type. Serious-
ness and depth of consciousness, indeed, must be expressed
in such heads ; but, on the one hand, the features and forms
of the face and figure should just as little be of a merely ideal
beauty as, on the other, they should be reduced to the merely
common and ugly ; or, again, should be elevated to the merely
sublime, as such. With respect to the external form, it is
best to adopt the medium between the particular natural
phase and ideal beauty. To attain precisely to this appropri-
ate medium is difficult, and hence it is especially in the choice
which he here makes, that the ability, the fine sense, and spirit
of the artist is displayed. For the most part, independent
of the content which belongs to faith, we are, in the rep-
resentations of this entire circle, drawn (rjewiesen) to the
side of subjective activity more than was the case in the
Classic Ideal. In Classic Art, the artist desires to represent
the spiritual and divine immediately in the form of the cor-
poreal itself, in the organism of the human figure ; and the
corporeal forms, in their modifications, which do away with
the common and finite, furnish, therefore, the chief phase of
interest. In our present circle the image remains common,
familiar (beTeannte) ; its forms are, to a certain extent, indiffer-
ent, — something particular, which ma}' exist on this wise or on
that, — and in this respect may be handled with greater freedom.
The predominant interest lies, therefore, on the one hand, in
the form and method (Art und Weise) with which the artist
122 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
causes (Jiisst) the spiritual and innermost nature, as this spirit-
ual being itself, to shine forth through this common and
familiar form. On the other "hand, it lies in the subjective
execution, the technical means and skill through which he
inspires his forms with spiritual life, and gives them the clear-
ness and comprehensibility of the spiritual.
b. As to what concerns the further content : That lies, as
we have already seen, in the absolute history which has its
origin in the conception of spirit itself, which renders objec-
tive the conversion of the corporeal and spiritual individuality
in its essentiality and universality. For the reconciliation of
the individual subjectivity with God does not appear immedi-
ately as harmonj 7 , but as harmony which proceeds originally
from infinite pain, from resignation, from sacrifice, from de-
struction of the finite, both sensuous and subjective. The finite
and the infinite are here combined in one ; andt he reconcilia-
tion, in its true depth, internality, and power of mediation,
shows itself only through the magnitude and harshness of the
contradiction, which must find its solution. Hence, also, the
unutterable poignancy (Scharfe) and dissonance of suffering,
torment, anguish, to which this contradiction leads, belongs to
the very nature of the spirit, whose, absolute satisfaction here
constitutes the content.
This process of the spirit, taken in and for itself, is the
essence, the central idea (Begriff) of spirit in general, and,
therefore, acquires (enihali) the characteristic of being, for
consciousness, the universal history which must repeat itself
in each and every individual consciousness. For conscious-
ness, as many individuals, is precisely the reality and existence
of universal spirit. In the next place, however, since spirit
has, as its essential moment or element, actuality in the indi-
vidual, this universal history presents itself only in the form
of one individual to whom it is attributed, as belonging espe-
cially to Him, as the history of His birth, His life, death, and
return from the grave; and yet in this individuality there is
retained, at the same time, the significance of being the his-
tory of the universal, absolute Spirit itself.
The special turning-point in this life of God is the abandon-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 123
ment of his individual existence as this man. It is the his-
tory of the passion, the sorrow on the cross, the Golgotha of
the spirit, the pain of death. In so far, now, as there lies in
the content itself the necessity that the external corporeal
manifestation, — tbe immediate existence as individual, — shall
appear in the pain of its negativity as the negative, in order
that the spirit may reach its heaven through sacrificing sensu-
ous and subjective individuality to its (the spirit's) truth, in
so far this sphere of representation is separated almost wholly
from the classical plastic ideal. On the one hand, for exam-
ple, the earthly body and the infirmity of human nature gener-
al lv is elevated and honored, since it is God himself who
appears therein ; but, on the other hand, there is, first of all,
this human and corporeal, which is posited as negative, and
arrives at manifestation in its pain, while in the Classic ideal
it did not lose the undisturbed harmony with the spiritual and
substantial. Christ scourged, crowned with thorns, bearing
his cross to the place of execution, raised upon the cross,
expiring in the torture of his agonizing, protracted death, —
all this is excluded from representation in accordance with the
forms of Greek beauty; but in these situations there exists
the higher quality of holiness in itself, the depth of the inner
nature, the infinitude of suffering, as an eternal moment or
element of the spirit, as endurance and divine tranquility.
Respecting this form a further circle is constituted, — partly
by friends, partly by enemies. The friends themselves, in-
deed, are by no means ideal personages ; but, in accordance
with the conception, they are particular individuals, ordinary
men drawn to Christ by the attraction of the spirit. The
enemies, on the contrary, since they place themselves in oppo-
sition to God, condemn Him, mock, torture, and crucify Him,
are represented as internally base ; and the representation of
the inner malignity and hatred against God produces in the
outward expression ferocity, rudeness, barbarity, rage, dis-
tortion of form. In all these respects deformity appears here
as a necessary moment in contrast with Classic beauty.
c. But in the divine nature the process of death is to be
considered only as a point of transition, through which the
124 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
reconciliation of the spirit with itself is brought to complete-
ness, and the two sides of the divine and the human, of
the absolutely universal on the one hand and of phenomenal
subjectivity on the other (and whose mediation is the thing of
chief importance), combine into one affirmative totality.
This affirmation, which is in general the foundation and origi-
nal element, must, therefore, give proof of itself in this posi-
tive way. Among the events in the life of Christ, those afford-
ing the most suitable subjects for the expression of this idea
are the resurrection and ascension, apart from the moments
in which he appears as teacher. Here, however, there arises
the gravest difficult}^, especially for the arts of visible repre-
sentation. For, in part, it is the spiritual, as such, which must
attain to representation in its internality ; in part, the Abso-
lute Spirit, which, in its infinitude and universality, affirma-
tively established in unity with subjectivity and elevated above
immediate existence, must, nevertheless, still bring the whole
expression of its infinitude and internality into view and sen-
suous realization (zur AnscJtaung unci Auffindung} in the cor-
poreal and external.
II. Religious Love.
1. Idea of the Absolute in Love. — 2. Of Sentiment. — 3. Love as Ideal of Ro-
mantic Art.
Spirit in and for itself is not, as spirit, immediately an object
of art. Its highest actual reconciliation in itself can only be a
reconciliation and satisfaction in the spiritual, as such, which,
in its pure ideal element, withdraws itself from artistic ex-
pression. For absolute truth stands on a higher level than
that of the appearance {Scliein) of the beautiful, which can-
not release itself from the ground of the sensuous and phe-
nomenal. If, however, spirit in its affirmative reconciliation
acquires through art a spiritual existence, in which it is not
only known as pure thought, as ideal, but can he felt and con-
templated, then there remains to us only the internality of the
spirit, — i. e., soul, sentiment, — as the one only form which
fulfils the double requirement of spirituality on the one side,
Hegel on Romantic Art. 125
and of the possibility of being comprehended and represented
by art, on the other. This internality, which alone corre-
sponds to the conception of the free spirit satisfied within
itself, is Love.
1. In love, — that is, on the side of the content, — there are
present those moments, or elements, which we have shown to
constitute the fundamental conception of absolute spirit,
which conception is that of the reconciled return of the spirit
out of its other to itself. This ether, again, as other, in
which the spirit abides with itself, can ow\y be spiritual, a
spiritual personality. The true essence of love consists in
this : that consciousness surrenders itself, forgets itself in an-
other self, and, nevertheless, through this very surrender and
forgetfulness of self, attains for the first time to the full pos-
session of self. This mediation of the spirit with itself, and
the development thereof to a complete totality, is the Abso-
lute. And yet, doubtless, this is not to be taken in the sense
( Weise) that the Absolute, as merely singular, and, therefore,
finite subjectivity, may recognize (znsammeiischlosse ) itself
in another finite subject. Rather the content of subjectivity,
securing in another its own mediation with itself, is here the
Absolute itself; it is the spirit which, in another spirit, comes
for the first time to be knowledge and will pertaining to itself
as to the Absolute, and which has the satisfaction of this
knowledge.
2. Now, more closely considered, this content, as love, has
the form of sentiment concentrated within itself; which senti-
ment, instead of rendering its content explicit, — instead of
brinoino- it into consciousness, in accordance with its definite-
ness and universality, — far rather collects the breadth and im-
measurable extent of the same within the simple depth of the
soul, without unfolding to the imagination the wealth and
variety of treasures which it contains within itself-. Thus
such content, which in its pure, spiritually characterized (aus-
geprdgten) universality, would be denied artistic representa-
tion, comes again, in this subjective existence as sentiment, to
be within the range of art ; for, on the one side, with the still
undeveloped depth which constitutes the characteristic of the
126 The Journal of Speculative Pliilosophy .
soul, there is no necessity compelling the development of this
content to perfect clearness ; while, on the other side, it se-
cures at the same time from this form an element which is
appropriate to art. For soul, heart, sentiment, however
spiritual and internal they may remain, nevertheless always
have relation to the sensuous and corporeal, so that they are
able to give indications of the innermost life and beino- of the
spirit through the corporeal itself, through the look, through
the features of the countenance, or, more spiritually still,
through tone and word. But the external can appear here
only so far as it is called upon to express the innermost nature
itself in that phase of its internality which belongs to the soul,
or sentiment.
3. If, now, we agree upon the reconciliation of the internal
with its reality as the conception of the ideal, we can at the
same time designate love as the ideal of Romantic art in its
religious circle. It is spiritual beauty, as such. The Classic
ideal also pointed out the mediation and reconciliation of the
spirit with its other. But here the " other" of the spirit was
the external form pervaded b}^ the spirit itself, and constitut-
ing its corporeal organism. In love, on the contrary, the
other of the spiritual is not the natural, but is itself a spirit-
ual consciousness, an other person (/Subjelct), — an "other"
which spirit thus realizes for itself in its own realm, in its own
most appropriate element. Thus love, in its affirmative satis-
faction and virtually (in sich) tranquilized, happy reality, is
ideal, but at the same time absolutely spiritual beauty, which,
by reason of its internality, can express itself only in the in-
ternality, and as the internality of the soul. For the spirit,
which in spirit is present and immediately certain of itself,
and thus has the spiritual as material and ground of its exist-
ence, is in itself internal, and, more precisely, is the inter-
nality of Love.
a. God is love, and therefore, also, His deepest essence in
this form appropriate to art is to be seized and represented in
the person of Christ. But Christ is divine love. On the one
hand, as the object of this love, he is God himself, considered
as non-phenomenal essence ; on the other, he manifests him-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 127
self to redeemed humanity, and thus the unfolding (JLufgehen)
of one subject, or person, in a definite other subject, or per-
son, can by so much the less come to light in Him ; but rather
there is made manifest the idea of love in its universality, —
the Absolute, the spirit of truth, in the element and in the form
of sentiment. The expression of love, also, is generalized in
proportion to the universality of its object, and in this ex-
pression, therefore, the subjective concentration of the heart
and soul does not become the essential thing; just as, though
in a wholly different relation, the general idea, and not the
subjective side of the individual form and sentiment, was
given an important significance among the Greeks in the an-
cient Titanic Eros and in Venus Urania. Only when, in the
representations of Romantic Art, Christ is comprehended rather
as at the same time an individual person, absorbed in himself,
does the expression of love appear in the form of subjective
internality, though, indeed, always elevated and supported by
the universality of its content.
b. But the subject most accessible and most favorable to
religious Romantic phantasy is the love of the Virgin Mary, —
Maternal Jove. Eminently real, human, it is also wholly spir-
itual. It is disinterested, purified from all desire, is non-sen-
suous and yet present ; it is internality absolutely satisfied
and happy. It is a love without longing ; and yet it is not
friendship, for friendship, however deeply tender it may be,
still demands a return, — an essential object as ground of
the friendly union. Maternal love, on the contrary, apart
from any reference to ulterior aims or interests, possesses an
immediate basis in the natural bond of connection between
mother and child. Here, however, the love of the mother is
limited just as little on the side of nature. In the child,
whom she has borne beneath her heart, to whom in sorrow
she has given birth, Mary possesses the complete knowledge
and sentiment of herself. And this same child, the blood of
her blood, stands, again, high above her; and yet this
higher Being belongs to her, and is the object in which she
forgets herself and likewise attains to her own complete
being. The natural internality of maternal love is thoroughly
128 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
spiritualized ; it has the divine for its peculiar content, but
this divine quality remains latent (leise) and unknown, won-
drously interwoven with natural unity and human sensibility.
It is blissful maternal love, and pertains only to this one
mother, who is first and last in the possession of this happiness
(in its full measure). This love is, indeed, not without grief,
but the grief is only the sorrow of the loss, the mourning
over the suffering, dying, dead son ; and, as we shall see at a
later stage, does not pertain to injustice and torture inflicted
from without, or to the endless conflict with sin, to the pain and
torment of repentance and expiation. Such internality is here
spiritual beauty ; it is the ideal, the human identification of
man with God, with the spirit, with truth ; it is a pure forget-
fulness, a complete cancellation of self, and } T et, in this for-
getfulness, it is thoroughly (von Hause aus) one with that in
which it is merged, and this united being now realizes a bliss-
ful contentment.
In such tine form does maternal love, — this image, as it
were, of the spirit, — enter into Romantic Art in place of the
spirit itself, for it is possible for art to seize spirit only in the
form of sentiment, and the sentiment of the union of the in-
dividual with God is present in the most original, most real,
and most lively manner only in the maternal love of the Ma-
donna. It must, of necessity, enter into art if the ideal, the
affirmative, satisfied reconciliation, is not to be wanting in the
representations of this circle. There was, therefore, a time in
which the maternal love of the Blessed Virgin pertained in
general to the highest and holiest, and was venerated and rep-
resented as such. But when the spirit brings itself back into
its own element, separated from all natural bases of senti-
ment, back to consciousness of itself, then spiritual mediation
alone, free from such bases, must be considered as the opeii
(freie) way to truth ; and hence, in Protestantism, in contrast
with this Madonna-worship of art and faith, the Holy Ghost
and the inner mediation of the spirit has come to be the
higher truth.
c. In the third place, finally, the affirmative reconciliation
of the spirit appears as sentiment in the disciples of Christ,
Hegel on Romantic Art. 129
in the women and friends who follow Him. These are for the
most part characters who, in the hands of their divine Friend,
have become penetrated by the rigor (Harte) of the idea of
Christianity, and who, without having experienced the outer
and inner torment of conversion, have become strengthened
and enlightened through the friendship, the doctrine, and the
exhortation of Christ. Thus they remain steadfast. From
these, indeed, the immediate unity and internal quality of
maternal love is, without doubt, quite separate ; but the bond
of unity is here also the presence of Christ, the custom of
living in community, and the immediate attraction of spirit.
III. The Spirit of the Church.
1. Martyrdom. — 2. Eepentance and Conversion. — 3. Miracles and Legends.
When we come to the transition into a final sphere of this
circle, we find that this can be joined on to what has already
been said concerning the history of Christ. The immediate
existence of Christ, as this individual man who is God, comes
to be posited or assumed as cancelled. That is, in the mani-
festation of God as man, it becomes evident that the true
reality of God is not immediate being, but rather that it is
spirit. The reality of the Absolute as infinite subjectivity is
only the spirit itself; God is present only in knowledge, in
the element of the internal. This absolute existence of God,
as no less ideal than subjective universality , does not, there-
fore, limit itself to this individual, who, in His history, has
brought to light (zur Darstellung) the reconciliation of human
with divine subjectivity, but extends itself to the human con-
sciousness reconciled with God ; in general, to humanity,
which exists as many individuals. For himself, however,
taken as individual personality, man is doubtless not immedi-
ately divine. On the contrary, he is precisely the , finite and
human ; and the human only arrives at reconciliation with
God in so far as it actually posits itself as negative, — and, vir-
tually, it is negative, — and thus cancels itself as the finite. It
is through this deliverance from the imperfections of finitude
that humanity for the first time comes to itself, or recognizes
XIII— 9
130 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
itself (ergiebt sich), as the external and present existence of
the Absolute Spirit; as the spirit of the Church, in which the
union of the human with the divine spirit is completed within
human actuality itself, as the real mediation of that which vir-
tually — that is, according to the idea of spirit — is originally
in unity.
The principal forms which are to be considered of impor-
tance, with respect to this new content of Romantic Art, may
be presented in the following divisions :
The individual subject or person who, estranged from God,
lives in sin and in the conflict of immediacy, and in the in-
completeness (Bediirftigkeit) of the finite, has the infinite
destination of coming into reconciliation with itself and with
God. But since, now, in the history of redemption through
Christ, the negativity of immediate unity has proved to be the
essential moment or element of the spirit, it becomes evident
that the individual subject or person can elevate himself to
freedom and peace in God only through the transformation of
the natural and of finite personality.
This elevation of finitude appears here under a threefold
form.
1. First, as the external repetition of the history of the
Passion, which presents itself under the form of actual bodily
suffering, — as martyrdom.
2. Secondh/, it is exhibited as a transformation produced in
the inner nature of the soul, — as internal mediation through
awakening, repentance, and conversion.
3. Thirdly, and finally, the manifestation of God in earthly
actuality is comprehended in such a way that the ordinary
course of nature, and the natural form of other events, are
cancelled, and the power and presence of the Divine become
manifest ; whence the miracle acquires the form of an actual
occurrence.
1. Martyrs. — The first manifestation in which the spirit of
the Church proves itself to be actual in the human subject or
person consists in this : That man reflects in himself the
divine process, and reproduces the eternal history of God.
Here, again, vanishes the expression of immediate affirmative
Hegel on Romantic Art. 131
reconciliation, since now man must secure reconciliation
through the cancellation of his finitude. Hence that which,
at the lirst stage, constituted the central point, here appears
in greatly enhanced proportions ; for the destruction of the
hypothesis of the inadequacy and unworthiness of humanity,
now assumes importance as the highest and exclusive task.
a. The peculiar content of this sphere is, therefore, the en-
durance of sufferings imposed by cruelty, as well as individual
resignation, sacrifice, privation, self-imposed for the sake of
being in want ; for the sake of arousing every species of suf-
fering, agonies, and torments, that by this means the soul
may become purified, and may feel itself to be at length whole,
contented, and happy in its heaven. This negativity of pain
becomes, in martyrdom, an end in itself, and the greatness of
the glorification is measured by the dreadfulness of that which
the man has suffered and the tearfulness of that which he has
overcome. The first thing now which, in the uncompleted
inner nature of the person, can be posited or assumed as neg-
ative in relation to his alienation from the world and to his
sanctification, is his natural existence, his life, the satisfying
of the primary necessities of existence. Bodily suffering,
therefore, constitutes the principal object of this circle. In
part, such suffering was imposed upon the faithful by enemies
and persecutors of the faith through hate and desire for ven-
geance ; in part, it was voluntarily assumed (vorgenommeti ),
with a view to escape from individual inclination, through total
abstraction. Here, in the fanaticism of endurance, man ac-
cepts both, not as injustice, but as blessing. For through
suffering alone can the tyranny of the flesh — esteemed as
altogether sinful — be broken, the obduracy of the heart and
the soul be subdued, and reconciliation with God be attained.
In so far, however, as in such situations the conversion of
the inner nature can be represented only in that which shocks
us, and in the ill treatment (Mishandlung ) of the external, in
like degree is the sense of the beautiful likely to be perverted
or destroyed. Hence the objects of this circle constitute a
very dangerous material for art ; for, on the one hand, the in-
dividuals must be represented as of a wholly other class than
132 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
was required in the history of the sufferings of Christ. They
must be represented as actual, particular individuals, marked
with the stamp of temporal existence, and in the infirmity of
finitude and of the natural state. On the other hand, the
torments and unheard-of atrocities, the destruction and dis-
location of limbs, bodily torments, the modes of execution, —
such as decapitation, roasting over a slow fire, burning at the
stake, boiling in oil, breaking upon the wheel, etc., — all these
are hideous, revolting, disgusting, external appearances whose
separation from beauty is too great to admit of their being
chosen by a sound art as the objects of its representations.
The mode of treatment of the artist may, indeed, be excel-
lent, so far as the execution is concerned ; but the interest for
this excellence is always related only to the subjective side,
which, though it may seem to be in accordance with the rules
of art, nevertheless struggles in vain to bring its material com-
pletely into harmony with itself.
b. Hence the representation of this negative process de-
mands still another moment or element, which rises above
this torment of body and soul and turns toward affirmative
reconciliation. This is the reconciliation of the spirit in
itself, which, as aim and result, has been attained through tor-
ments endured to the end. In this sense, martyrs are the
conservers of the divine, in opposition to the rudeness of ex-
ternal tyranny and the barbarity of unbelief. For the sake of
the kingdom of heaven they endure pain and death ; and this
courage, this strength, perseverance, and blessedness, must,
in like degree, be manifest in them. Still, this internality of
faith and of love, in its spiritual beauty, is by no means a spirit-
ual health, which gives perfect soundness to the body ; it is
rather an internality which has been thoroughly wrought upon
by suffering, or which comes to light in the midst of sorrow,
and Avhich still contains within it, as something peculiarly
essential, the moment or element of pain. Painting, espe-
cially, has frequently chosen such piety as the object of its
representations. The chief task of painting, then, consists
in the expression of the blessedness of the martyr in con-
trast with the revolting laceration of his flesh ; and this ex-
Hegel on llomantic Art. 133
pression must appear simply in the features of the counte-
nance, — in the look, etc., — as resignation, as triumph over
pain, as satisfaction in the attainment and increasing-realiza-
tion (Lebendigwerden) of the Divine Spirit in the inner being
of the person. If, on the contrary, sculpture attempts to pre-
sent such content to view, it is found to be less suited to rep-
resent concentrated internality in this spiritualized way, and
must, therefore, reject the painful, the distorted ( Verzerrte) y
in so far as this announces itself as developed in the corporeal
organism.
c. But, in the third place, the side of self-denial and en-
durance concerns, at this stage, not only natural existence
and immediate finitude, but directs the aim of the soul to-
ward heaven, in a decree so extreme that the human and
earthly, even when it is itself of a moral and rational type
(Art), comes to be despised and rejected. Here, indeed, the
idea of the conversion of the spirit is made vital and active by
the spirit within itself; and the more uncultured the spirit is,
only so much the more barbarously and abstractly does it turn
itself with its concentrated force of piety against everything
which, as finite, stands in opposition to this in-itself-simple
infinitude of the religious sense ; against every particular sen-
timent of humanity ; against the many-sided inclinations,
relations, circumstances, and duties of the heart. For moral
life in the family, the ties of friendship, of blood, of love, of
the state, of vocation, — all this pertains to the worldly ; and
the worldly, in so far as it is here still unpervaded by the
absolute conceptions of faith, and is not developed to unity
and reconciliation with the same, appears to the abstract inter-
nality of the believing soul to be excluded from the circle of
its sentiments and duties, and to stand in opposition thereto
as something in itself nugatory, and, therefore, as hostile and
hateful to piety. The moral organism of the human world,
therefore, is not as yet respected, since the phases (Seiten)
and duties thereof are not as yet recognized as necessary,
authorized links in the chain of an actuality in itself rational, in
which nothing; can with impunity be elevated in one-sided
fashion to an isolated independence, nor yet can it be sacri-
134 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
ficed, but must be retained as a valid moment or element. In
this respect, religious reconciliation itself remains here merely
abstract, and shows itself in the simple heart as an intensity
of faith without extension, — as the piety of the solitary soul
which has not yet progressed to a universally developed con-
fidence in, and to an intelligent, comprehensive certainty of
itself. When, now, the force of such a soul places itself
resolutely in opposition to worldliness, considered merely as
negative, and forcibly separates itself from all human ties,
though they be originally the strongest, it must be evident
that this is a crndeness of spirit and a barbarous tyranny of
abstraction which can only repel us. We would, therefore,
in accordance with the standpoint of our present conscious-
ness, honor and revere the religious spirit (Religiositat) in
such representations ; but when piety proceeds so far that we
see it wrought up to the point of violence against what is in
itself rational and moral, Ave are no longer able to sympathize
with such fanaticism of sanctity ; but, on the contrary, this
species of renunciation, so far as it repels from itself, destroys
and crushes what is in and for itself justified and hallowed,
must appear to us as immoral, and as contradicting the true
religious spirit. Of this class are many legends, tales, and
poems. For example, the story of a man who, full of love for
his wife and family, and loved in return by all belonging to
him, left his house, wandered about as a pilgrim, and, return-
ins at leno-th in the disguise of a beggar, refrained from
making himself known. Alms were given him, and, out of
compassion, a small space was granted him under the stair-
way for his dwelling-place. Thus he lived for twenty years
in his own house, beholding, the while, the sorrow of his
family respecting himself, and only at last in his dying mo-
ments revealing himself to them. This monstrous caprice of
fanaticism we are called upon to venerate as sanctity. Such
persistence of renunciation may well remind us of the ex-
quisiteness of the torture to which the Hindu likewise freely
submits himself for religious ends. Still, the endurance of
the Hindu has an altogether different character. With that
people, indeed, man puts himself into a state of obtuseness and
Hegel on Romantic Art. 135
unconsciousness, while in our world it is pain, and purposed
consciousness and keen sense (Empjindung) of pain that
constitutes the precise aim ; for here it is by this means that
greater purity is thought to be acquired ; and the degree of
the purity will, it is believed, be the greater the more closely
the suffering is bound up with the consciousness of worth and
of the love for renounced kindred, and with the constant view
of the renunciation. The richer the heart is which imposes
such proof upon itself, the more noble the possession which it
bears within itself, and which it yet believes itself bound to
condemn as nugatory, and to stamp as sinful, by so much the
more cruel (desto harter) is the state of non-reconciliation,-
which may produce the most fearful convulsions and the wild-
est dissensions. According to our conception, such a soul, —
which is at home in a visionary rather than in a real world, as
such, and which, therefore, also feels itself lost in the sub-
stantially valid realms and aims of this definite actuality, and
in spite of the fact that it is completely contained and in-
volved therein, still looks upon these customary affairs as
negative in relation to its own absolute character (Bestim-
murig), — such a soul, in its self-imposed suffering no less
than in its resignation, must appear to us insane; so that we
can no more feel sympathy for it than we can bring about its
elevation out of this state. Such deeds have no aim possess-
ing any further validity or content than what pertains exclu-
sively to the individual himself, separate and apart from all
others. His only aim is to secure the salvation of his own
soul, to make sure of his own happiness. But whether this
particular one should be happy or not is a matter of concern
to very few.
2. Repentance and Conversion. — The opposite mode of
representation in this sphere withdraws, on the one hand, from
the external torment of the corporeal nature ; and, on the
other, from the negative tendency against what is in itself jus-
tified in worldly actuality, and thus wins, in respect both to
its content and its form, a basis commensurate with ideal
art. This basis is the conversion of the internal nature, which
is now expressed only in its spiritual pain, in the conversion
136 TliejJournal of Speculative JPhilosojrfiy.
of the soul. Thus, in the first place, the perpetual barbarity
and frightf illness of the torment of the body falls into abey-
ance ; and, secondly, the barbarous phase of the religious
sense of the soul no longer holds itself steadfastly in opposi-
tion to the customs of humanity, in order that it may, in the
abstraction of its pure intellectual satisfaction, violently tread
beneath its feet every other class of enjoyment in the sorrow
of an absolute renunciation, but puts itself in opposition to
that alone which in human nature is, in fact, sinful, criminal,
base. It is a high assurance that faith — that tendency of
the spirit itself towards God — is able to undo the accom-
plished deedreven when it is sinful and criminal ; to make of
it something foreign to the individual, to wash it quite away.
This withdrawal from the evil, from the absolutely negative,
which becomes actual in the individual after the subjective
will and spirit, once become base, has now despised and
destroyed itself; — this return to the positive, which is now
established as the only actual sphere in contradistinction to
the earlier existence in sin, — is the true infinite power of relig-
ious love, the presence and actuality of the absolute spirit in
the individual itself. The feeling of the strength and persis-
tence of the individual spirit (which through God, to whom it
turns, overcomes evil, and in so far as it mediates itself with
Him, knows itself to be one with Him) gives, then, the satis-
faction and happiness of perceiving (anzusc/iaueu) God as
indeed absolute other, in contradistinction to sin and tempor-
ality, and yet of knowing this infinity at the same time as
identical with me as this person, of bearing within myself this
self-consciousness of God as my Ego, my self-consciousness,
so certainly as I am myself. Such transformation ( Umke/tr)
takes place, it is true, wholly in the internal nature, and
belongs, therefore, rather to religion than to art; while never-
theless it is the internality of the soul which, for the most
part, seizes upon this act of conversion, and can also shine
through the external, so that the art of visible representation —
painting — acquires the right to make use in its representa-
tions of such process-of-conversion (BekehrungsgeschicJite).
If, however, it represents completely all the particulars which
Hegel on Romantic Art. 137
lie in such process-of-conversion, then many things which are
ugly may enter along with them, for in this case the criminal
and repulsive must also be set forth ; as, for example, in the
story of the Prodigal Son. Hence the most favorable condi-
tions for painting, in such case, will be to concentrate the con-
version alone upon a single figure (Bilde), without further de-
tails of criminality. Of this class is the Magdalene, which is
to be numbered among the most beautiful objects in this
circle, and which has, especially by Italian masters, been
treated exquisitely and in strict accordance with art. She ap-
pears here both spiritually and physically as the beautiful sin-
ner, in whom sin and repentance are equally attractive. Still,
neither in respect of sin nor of holiness is it then taken
so seriously. To her much was forgiven (yerziehen) , for she
loved much. For her love and her beauty she is forgiven (ist
ihr verziehen) , and the pathetic phase of it consists in this:
that she makes an accusing conscience of her love, and lets
fall tears of anguish in the beauty of a soul full of tender
sensibility. Her error is not that she has loved so much;
but this is, if possible, her more beautiful and more touching*
error : that she should still believe herself to be a sinner ;
since now her highly sensitive beauty only presents the con-
ception that she has become noble and pure in her love.
3. Miracles and Legends. — The last side, which is con-
nected with the two preceding, and which may be esteemed
of importance in both, has reference to the miracle, which, in
general, plays an important role in this entire circle. In this
connection, we can point to the miracle as the process of con-
version of immediate natural existence. Actuality lies open
to view as an ordinary accidental existence ; this finite being-
is in contact with the divine, which, in so far as it immediately
concerns things wholly external and particular, casts them
asunder, transforms them, and makes of them so'mething
wholly different, — interrupts the natural course of things, as
men are accustomed to say. Now, the soul, as amazed by
such unnatural phenomena (in which it thinks to recognize
the presence of the divine) and constrained to represent them
in its finite imagination, constitutes one of the chief elements-
138 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
of many legends. In fact, however, the divine can affect and
govern nature only as reason, as the unchangeable laws of
nature itself which God has implanted therein, and the divine
cannot permit itself to manifest itself immediately in particu-
lar circumstances and events which interrupt natural laws ;
for the eternal laws and properties (Bestimmungeri) of reason
alone pervade nature and operate therein. With respect to
this side, legends frequently proceed without constraint
(^N'otJc) into the abstruse, insipid, senseless, ridiculous, on the
ground that spirit and soul must be moved to faith in the
presence and actuality of God by what is in and for itself the
irrational, false, and undivine. Emotion, piety, conversion
can indeed, then, still be of interest, but it is only the one
side — the internal; so soon as it comes into relation with
other and external objects, and this other comes to effect the
conversion of the heart, then the external cannot be in itself
something absurd and irrational.
These may be considered the chief moments of the sub-
stantial content which, in this circle, is of importance as the
nature of God, and as the process through which and in which
it is spirit. It is the absolute object which art does not create
and reveal from and by itself, but which it has received from
religion ; and, with the consciousness that this is the truth in
and for itself, art now approaches it in order to express and
represent it. It is the content of the believing, longing soul,
which is itself potentially the infinite totality ; so that now
the external remains more or less external and indifferent,
without coming into full harmony with the internal, and hence
frequently develops into an adverse material not thoroughly
within the grasp ot art.
The True and the False in Darwinism. 139
THE TRUE AND THE FALSE IN DARWINISM.
.A CRITICAL REPRESENTATION" OF THE THEORY OF ORGANIC DEVELOPMENT. BY
EDUARD VON HARTMANN. BERLIN, 1875.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY H. I. D'ARCY.
III. The Theory of Heterogeneous Generation, and the Theory
of Transmutation.
[Continued from Journal or Speculative Philosophy for April, 1S7S, and July and
October, 1877.]
This is the case, for instance, with the fresh-water snail,
planorbis multiformis, found near Steinheim (conf. Ph. d. Unb.
8ter. Ausg. p. 594), the form-circle (formenkreis) of which,
shifting between very distant limits, shows uniform systematic
transitions in all directions ; but yet, with the exception of just
those forms, which, like denudatus or trochiformis, might man-
ifest a tendency to the type of a new species or genus, and
which, in accordance with the theory of heterogeneous genera-
tion, make their appearance suddenly; again, as regards the
forms related to each other by transition, at least as great va-
riations are to be found among those of the same period — that
is, those deposited in the same horizontal stratum — as among
the oldest and the most recent stratum, so that the geological
features present, on the whole, the appearance of a species with
complicated extensions forward, backward, and sideward, but
still confined within a definite circle ; they afford no evidence
favorable to the gradual transmutation of one species into
another. 1
Since, then, embryology and paleontology seem rather to
oppose than to favor the theory of transmutation, the latter
sees itself forced to seek its support in the materials drawn
1 Compare Wigand's thorough criticism (No. 14 of the appendix) of Helgen-
dorf's monograph. Wigand's results are completely confirmed by an examination
of paleontological materials by Sandberger, of which he seems to have been igno-
rant (Verhandl. der Physik. med. Ges. zu Wiirzburg, N. F. B. d. V. S. 231).
Sandberger refers in support of his own views to Hyatt of Boston, Leydig, and
Weissman.
140 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
from the present fauna and flora. It would be a very appro-
priate task for a theory of natural science to strengthen its as-
sumption of the descent of all organic bodies by means of
gradual transmutation, since such assumption transcends ex-
perience, from the analogy of some processes, however few, of
transition, experimentally established, of one species into an-
other. Darwinism must, however, admit that it has not yet
been able to fulfill this condition, and that it continually re-
quires us to regard the transition shown by artificial grouping
as a genetic transition. Even in artificial breeding it has not
yet succeeded in procuring a pigeon which, with every ex-
ternal variation, does not retain the decisive specific character-
istics of the pigeon. Now, the more efficient the means at
the command of the breeder, compared to those of nature, the
less favorable would the contrary result of artificial breeding
be as evidence of natural processes in the origin of species ;
therefore, the above-mentioned negative result must present
the transmutation theory in a rather suspicious light. But as
we cannot have recourse to any direct observation of the origin
of a new species, nothing remains but, in order to secure a
ground for wider analogies, to select such varieties as at first
view T seem to lead, through a gradual intensifying of their va-
riations, from the original form to a new species.
Varieties can be divided into three classes : First, those in
which only the color, hair, texture, thickness of the cell walls,
chemical composition, etc., are affected ; these can be affected,
partially at least, during the life of an individual, by a change
of surroundings (local varieties), but are even in those in-
stances, when they seem to appear spontaneously, not at all
calculated to establish systematic differences. Second, mon-
strosities. Third, morphological varieties. (Wigand, p. 48
to 52.) In the case of monstrosities, we should distinguish
those where there is a retrograde metamorphosis from those
where such metamorphosis does not occur. The former, which
are chiefly found among domesticated creatures, display, ac-
cording to rule, a luxuriance of growth at the expense of sex-
ual power, and at the same time a descent to a lower morpho-
logical and physiological level of organization, and should,
The True and the False in Darwinism. 141
therefore, be excluded in our consideration of the ways and
means through which the true ascending development of or-
ganic bodies is affected. We are, therefore, really led to the
monstrosities where there is no retrograde metamorphosis, and
to morphological varieties ; and for our purpose each of these,
in a certain sense, completes the other. The morphological va-
riety presents a perfectly complete type, without any extraor-
dinary characteristic, but just for this reason the degree of
departure from the type of the original form is not so striking
as to warrant the conclusion that the character of the species
has been lost. With the monstrosity, on the other hand, this
loss of specific character is obvious, but only in the direction
of some one particular feature. This feature often deviates
so far from the form-circle of the species that it seems mor-
phologically like the type of a different genus, or even family ;
but it does not lead to a new and complete type, for such would
require a whole series of successive correlative changes.
We can, therefore, for the present take any one of the fol-
lowing views as to the origin of species : That monstrosities
remain, and the other characteristics are acquired by degrees
in the same way ; or that morphological varieties extend fur-
ther in the same direction in which they have deviated from
the parent form ; or that the result of each process is simul-
taneously reached — that is, the typical completeness of the
morphological variety and the sudden variation of the mon-
strosity. Whatever view we take, we still have to deal with
abrupt changes. While all varieties which result, not from the
influence of external circumstances on actual individuals, but
from spontaneous change in generation, emerge at once before
our eyes, the suddenness is peculiarly striking with which
monstrosities, not only in artificial life, but even in nature, —
and, therefore, independently of external influences, arise spon-
taneously, — come into existence complete, and, per solium,
as something entirely new (Wigand, p. 50). Upon this phe-
nomenon Hofmeister based his theory of the origin of a new
species. (Handbuch der iihysiologischen Botanik, 1, 563,
564.) We may, indeed, define monstrosity as a partial hetero-
geneous generation in a different way, but the single steps of
142 The Journal of Speculative Pltilosophy .
the process always remain so long that they are quite incon-
sistent with the transmutation theory, which, in a strict sense,
requires changes so slight as to be inappreciable. Even if a
species might, during a very long period, complete its form-
circle, though moving with inappreciably short steps, still, ex-
perience shows that the really decisive steps which introduce
something morphologically new can be traced within the
species ; and we should have much less reason to doubt that,
in the great majority of cases of transition from one species
to another, such a step over a greater or a less interval is
requisite.
If we bear in mind what has been already said, it is clear
that we shall find ourselves forced, for many reasons, to assume
that the interval between two types connected by descent is
crossed per solium, whether the interval is crossed by a single
leap or the process is regarded as one made up of several
steps. This division of the process may occur in very differ-
ent ways, as the metamorphosis of animals, alternate genera-
tion, dimorphosis, monstrosities, or morphological varieties ;
but always the least change from one variety of the same
form-circle to another in the case of a morphological variety,
which is characterized by an addition to its organs, or by the
increase or diminution of the numerical relation of its parts,
is only conceivable through a germ-metamorphosis, which
introduces the change of type by a morphologically different
arrangement of cells in the embryo.
As far, however, as the transmutation theory is concerned,
the foregoing observations in no way affect its operation, in so
far as this is limited in assisting in the development of spe-
cific types in their shifting form-circles, and in supplying a
broader basis, and lessening the intervals to be crossed by
heterogeneous generation, and so reducing each interval to a
CO 3 O
minimum. On the other hand, it would be very difficult to
prove the assertion that any species has actually originated by
simple transmutation from its direct ancestors. It cannot,
under the circumstances, be denied that it is possible that na-
ture may have in everv case availed itself of heterogeneous
generation. Indeed, if the older school of natural philoso-
The True and the False in Darwinism. 143-
pliers was right in maintaining the constancy of species, it
would be hazardous to assert that species could possibly orig-
inate by mere transmutation. I believe, however, that I must
regard the establishment of the changeable nature of the limits
of species hitherto assumed to be unchangeable, and the proof
that the permanance of species, like that of human character-
istics, has only a relative meaning within certain limits, as one
of Darwin's chief services, and as the one whose value will be
longest recognized. Those interested in Wigand's book must,
therefore, regret that it has made an unsuccessful attack upon
this very position, and thereby exposed a weakness to the fol-
lowers of Darwin which they will scarcely fail to see and
utilize. But as the principle of the transmutation theory ex-
tends beyond the form-circle of the species to the theory of
descent itself, and as this principle stands and falls with the
mutability of species, w r e must look for a moment at this
latter question.
That the conception of species is no more a fiction than any
other abstract conception, but is founded in the nature of in-
dividuals, is freely admitted ; it, however, ascends from the
conceptions of orders, families, etc., and descends from that
of the variety. It is not denied that these collections of com-
mon characteristics are founded on the nature of actual indi-
viduals ; it is only denied that these systematic classifications
have steadfastly fixed limits. When we have classified a par-
ticular domain of the natural system, and arranged it in a suc-
cession of groups, of which each higher one includes a num-
ber of lower ones, it still is for each one of us to decide,
unless opposed by a long-reaching and uniform custom, which
of these groups will receive the name of a species ; and the
extraordinary difference of opinion among natural philosophers
as to the classification of species in most of the domains of
the natural system best shows how difficult it must 'be to as-
certain objective criteria wherewith to connect and reconcile
conventional definitions. 2 Whoever, then, will endeavor to
2 Ernst H'ackel's monograph on "die Kalkschwamme " (Berlin Keinner, 1872),
toI. 1. "Biologic der Kalksw'amme," pp. 474-478, affords a striking example of
144 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
attack this shifting" meaning of the conception of species as
really unfounded, will naturally, in the first place, labor to dis-
cover an absolute criterion for this conception. Wigand
thinks this criterion is best supplied by the phenomena of cross-
ing. He admits that there are different species which produce
fruitful offspring, but he denies that this crossing can produce
fruitful and lasting results ; and he accordingly asserts that
we have in this, at least, a negative mark of species. That is,
if two forms do not cross so that their offspring will be per-
fect and fruitful, this is decisive that such forms belong not
simply to different varieties, but to different species (p. 31),
and Wigand, therefore, defines his test of perfectly fruitful
crossing as " certain and easy impregnation, perfect fruitf ill-
ness, and such a constitution in the first and all succeeding
generations as precludes the possibility of a retrogression to
the ancestral form ' (p. 29, note). Each of these three
conditions is, however, incapable of fulfillment even within
the limits of a single species ; its non-fulfillment, then, can by
no means prove that two forms do not belong to the same
species. If impregnation within the limits of a species were
certain, married women would be always pregnant; if all
offspring were fruitful, none would be unfruitful except those
produced by crossing ; finalty, if all retrogression were
excluded, all the species among which atavism occurs must
be declared to be themselves the products of crossing. The
criterion, therefore, of perfectly fruitful crossing goes far
beyond the mark when it undertakes to establish a relative
this. H'ackel comes to the following i-esult: "The natural system may, for in-
stance, underlie the six following combinations : A, 1 gen. with 1 species ; B, 1
gen. with 3 species; C, 3 gen. with 21 species; D, 21 gen. with 111 species; E, 43
gen. with 181 species; F, 43 gen. with 289 species. On the other hand, the arti-
ficial system admits of the six following groupings : Gr, 1 gen. with 7 species ; H,
2 gen. with 19 species; I, 7 gen. with 39 species; K, 19 gen. with 181 species; L,
39 gen. with 289 species ; M, 113 gen. with 591 species. Each of these twelve
systems could advance plausible claims for itself, as each system-maker renders
them prominent in support of his own principle. None of them, however,
could ever be shown to be the absolutely true system." P. 477. The note on page
478 gives a more accurate account of these systems and of the different principles
adopted in each.
The True and lite False in Darwinism. 145
degree of fruitfulness within the species as an absolute test
(Conf. Ph. d. Unb. 8ter. Ausg. pp. 591-592), and if this crite-
rion is only a relative one, it is a mere question of degree —
that is, it is a question of fixing conventional limits for a
sphere which, from its very nature, cannot be strictly limited.
Another remark made by Wigand, though rather incidentally,
by which he associates species with the highest point in the curve
described by fruitfulness, seems of more importance. The sexual
affinity is greater between two different blossoms of the same
tree than between the pollen and organs of one and the same
blossom (on this account measures have been adopted, in the
case of several plants, to prevent their self-fecundation) ;
greater between two different individuals of the same form
than between two different blossoms of the same tree, and
greater between two varieties, of the same species than between
two similar individuals. But, on the other hand, fruitfulness
rapidly decreases after the limits of species have been passed.
In opposition to this, we must observe, firstly, that the decrease
of fruitfulness with the increase of intermixture, though true
of certain species, is by no means an universal law ; and, sec-
ondly, that the maximum of fruitfulness, the highest point in
the curve, on which Wigand lays so much stress, is frequently
not to be found in the species, but in the variety. In a large
number of plants, impregnated by pollen carried by the wind,
and as well as in some others, self-fecundation may be regarded
as the rule. It must, therefore, suffice for the preservation
of the species ; or, according to Wigand' s unfortunate terminol-
ogy, be perfect. In the case of gregarious animals which
have polygamic habits the intermixture is also perfect, and
does not occasion the disadvantages which always follow in its
train when artificial breeding is resorted to. When varieties
diverge widely from each other, they often manifest a, decided
objection to crossing ; they will at least give the preference to
individuals of their own variety. It is even asserted by many
observers that in some instances varieties are less fruitful when
crossed than, in other instances, species are.
We may, therefore, conclude that, in many instances, the
XIII— 10
146 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
highest point of the curve of fruitfulness does not coincide
with species, but lies within this, upon the variety ; or, per-
haps, within still stricter limits.
We may, however, fairly assert that species is seldom far
from the maximum of fruitfulness ; and this may be a very
important point of view, as a relative criterion for the empiri-
cal decisions as to what species is and what it is not. We
may, perhaps, assume that in such cases, where a clearly de-
fined maximum of the curve exists, this actually corresponds
with the species, provided that the species has left its origi-
nating process behind, and no new process of specific develop-
ment within itself has commenced. If the species has not yet
come to a stand-still — if it is not yet completely established —
there is still a certain tendency to cross with allied species, from
which it is separated by more or less indeterminate boundaries ;
but if, on the other hand, a new process of specific develop-
ment has begun, if its varieties are already so sharply defined
that one might doubt whether he should regard them as spe-
cies, then the maximum of fruitfulness has generally been
transferred to the varieties.
The circumstance that, as well as the developed species, we
also find undeveloped and over-developed species which still
remind us of varieties ; such as include within themselves va-
rieties which resemble species, speaks most distinctly for the
mutability of actual species, even for the proposition that the
conception of species in the sense of the developed, and not
yet over-developed, species coincides with the highest point
of the curve of fruitfulness.
Whether, however, such a point exists, and how Ave, where
direct observation of fruitfulness is impossible, should apply
this criterion in the determination of species, remains now, as
before, undetermined.
Against the evidence adduced in favor of the mutability of
species, a reference to the constancy of species during the pe-
riod over which our experience extends is, of course, of no
avail — at least, if it depends exclusively upon perfectly devel-
oped species. The fact that this or that species has remained con-
The True and the False in Darwinism. 147
stant since the building of the Egyptian pyramids cannot prove
that now certain divergent varieties are not about to acquire the
character of species, or that certain undeveloped and shifting
species are not tending to develop and establish themselves.
The time within which attention has been directed to these pro-
cesses is really too short to expect conclusive results from
them. We are inclined to conclude as to the course of the de-
velopment process, from the few different phases of it which lie
before us, just as we conclude from the gaseous, glowing
cloud-streaks, the burning liquid suns, and the solid moons,
as to the whole cosmic development of these bodies.
Wigand says (p. 30) : " Therefore the absence of transi-
tion is by no means a decisive criterion of species, since there
are varieties in which no transitions occur ; if, however, a
transition is shown from one of two given forms to the other,
this is conclusive proof that these are not different species.
The constancy of form during reproduction, and under all cir-
cumstances, is not an unerring sign of species, because varie-
ties manifest, in a measure, a similar constancy ; but a form
which, under a certain change of circumstances, or in the course
of time, changes into another form, or is demonstrably ijen-
erated from another form, is not specifically different from this
other form." These positive criteria as to what forms are not
to be regarded as distinct species do not, after what has been
before said, require further refutation. Varieties which already
appear constant should be regarded as inchoate species, and
if it were to happen in the course of time that we should
observe the growth of new species in this way, it would be
entirely erroneous, in reliance upon the prejudice in favor of
the constancy of species, to deny these the character of species,
instead of recognizing the thus established mutability of species
in the development of organic types. For the moment, the
only object is to establish transitional forms, although, of
course, these cannot be found between those species which have
originated from varieties between which, as varieties, transi-
tional forms did not exist. But even if transitions should be
discovered between two forms which hitherto had been regarded
as species, it would be premature to cry out, " then there are
148 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
no species ;" such an instance, and their number is constantly
increasing, would rather suggest a new reason to approach the
correction of the old notions as to the constancy and absolute
independence of species. Wigand himself shows the worth-
lessness of this test (p. 18), and even maintains that " the
form-circle of one species may touch that of another," by
which the much dreaded transition is established.
The theory of the mutability of species, while being devel-
oped, is supported by the fact that we cannot find among the
oldest fauna and flora representatives corresponding to the
species which exist to-day, while we can hud such representa-
tives of the genera (Gattungen), families, and orders; that,
moreover, the paleontological representatives of the present
forms are decidedly less different from each other than are the
latter ; that, for instance, the representatives of families at an
early geological period are only distinguished from each other
as genera, and at a still earlier period as species. Even when
we look at different divisions of the animal kingdom, — for in-
stance, at the fishes and the amphibious animals, — we arrive,
by going backwards, at a time when the average difference
between them becomes continuously less. Wigand disputes this
fact also ; and, although he cannot fairly deny the decrease of
difference as we go backwards, yet asserts that the different
systematic characteristics are distinguished from each other,
not only in degree, but in kind ; so that, tor example, two spe-
cies could never come from two genera. But, unfortunately,
Wigand is not in a position to state wherein lies the exact
difference between the idea of species and that of genus ; and
as he cannot do this, we must retain the assumption that these
ideas are distinguished only by the degree of difference, which
degree is clearly sufficient for a continuous development.
According to Wigand' s own opinion, there is nowhere in the
natural system so complete a difference as between the variety
and the species ; if, then, we have recognized this as one of
degree, the same must certainly hold good of all other differ-
ences. If the idea of species lies in close proximity to the
highest point in the curve of fruitfulness, this shows nothing-
more than that a certain combination of agreement and differ-
The True and the False in Darwinism. 149
ence is most favorable to reproduction ; if the point of dif-
ference advances, then the most favorable relation between
agreement and difference must be sought at a point further
back, — that is, the process of differentiation at this forward
point, developed differences which require for their characteri-
zation a higher svstematic mark than that of species.
It follows, therefore, that the proposed test of species — the
maximium of fruitfulness — does not at all afford such a crite-
rion for the difference between species and genus as would pre-
vent the progress from one to the other in the advancing
process of differentiation. Only thus much is true in Wigand's
argument against the mutability of species that every species
is not capable of change, but only such as in its morphological
divergence from a genealogical ancestor, carries within it the
tendency to further morphological development ; and the
broader the types which further development of the species
introduces, the more essential is the fulfilment of this condi-
tion. The more striking the new morphological element
exhibited by such a species in its organic development, the
higher the degree in which it is qualified to serve as the first
parent of a new order or class, the more certainly necessary
is an act of heterogeneous generation, and the more powerless
must mere transmutation appear.
What we have thus gained for the transmutation theory by
the recognition of the mutability of species is nothing more
than that we have given to it what had been completely taken
away by the doctrine of the constancy of species, — that is, the
possibility of explaining the transition from one species to
another, when these do not manifest such great morphological
differences that a retrograde form-metamorphosis becomes
necessary. We have by no means, however, received for the
transmutation theory more than the mere possibility of such
explanation, and this possibility can only become a probability
in actual cases when the probability is established that the
regular series of intermediate forms between undoubted spe-
cies is a oenealooical series : the certaintA r of this could only
be shown by observation of a process of transmutation occur-
ring before our eyes. It will be seen that the transmutation
150 The Journal of Speculative Pldlosojjhy .
theory stands on very weak supports, whether the mutability
of species be admitted or not ; while everything advanced above
against its correctness, and in favor of the theory of heteroge-
neous generation, remains entirely unaffected by the question
of the constancy or mutability of species. The result, then,
of this chapter is, that even if future discoveries and observa-
tions should give a larger sphere to the operation of transmu-
tation than it can claim in the present condition of our knowl-
edge, yet the construction of the very foundation of the natural
system will devolve upon heterogeneous generation, and the
function of transmutation will be rather to clothe the skeleton
with flesh and skin, to aid the evolution of variety in the domain
of organic forms, and at the same time to prepare the way
for further heterogeneous generation. Both are simply means
by which the inherent law of development manifests its opera-
tion, and both mutually support and supplement each other.
It is entirely erroneous to suppose that the one theory excludes
the other ; the only question is as to the relative extent of
their influence and the limits of their operation. If, however,
it were necessary that one of them should be excluded, then
the construction of the organic world, by means of heteroge-
neous generation without transmutation, would seem to be at
least quite possible, and the construction of it by means of
gradual transmutation without heterogeneous generation would
appear to be utterly impossible. The disputed point is, how-
ever, that Darwinism maintains that this impossibility is the
truth, while the advocates of heterogeneous generation, on the
other hand, by no means assume so hostile a position as to the
cooperation of transmutation, but rather concede to it a more
or less extensive influence. We must, therefore, conclude that
the non-Darwinian advocates of the theory of descent are at
least much nearer the truth than is Darwinism, in its exclusive-
ness as regards heterogeneous generation.
The World as Force. 151
THE WORLD AS FORCE.
[WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE PHILOSOPHY OP MR. HERBERT SPENCER.]
BY JOHN WATSON.
II. Indestructibility of Matter.
In a former article 1 an attempt was made to show the im-
perfection of that conception of existence, so alluring to minds
whose energies have gone mainly in the line of scientific
enquiry, which ranks Intelligence among the special forces
, of nature, and refuses to it any claim to an exceptional posi-
tion. It was there contended that the reduction of Intelli-
gence to Force rests upon an uncritical separation of the two
correlatives, Nature and Reason, which is degrading to both
alike ; leading, on the one hand, to the destruction of reality,
and on the other, to the dissolution of knowledge. In illus-
tration and proof of this position, an examination of Mr. Spen-
cer's remarks upon Space, Time, Matter, Motion, and Force
was entered upon ; the upshot of which was that, starting from
that Dualism which may be said to be one aspect of common-
sense knowledge, and assuming a ready-made and variously
qualified world to begin with, Mr. Spencer plausibly evacuates
Nature of rational elements, but only because those elements
are covertly assumed, while openly they are unrecognized or
denied. Intelligence, it was maintained, is not reducible to
Force, any more than it is convertible with Matter : it is as
little definable in terms of Motion as in terms of Time or of
Space. To make Reason dependent upon that which it alone
makes possible, upon that which apart from Reason is a blank,
unthinkable abstraction, is to display a philosophical perver-
sity, or a confusion of thought, that could not well be ex-
ceeded. The evil result of this inverted conception of reality
was pointed out in the reversal of the true order of dependence
in the special conceptions treated of — Force being put first,
v
Jour. Spec. Phil., April, 1878, p. 113, ff.
152 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
instead of last — and in the self-contradictory assumption that
> individual sensations or feelings, which ex hypothesi are free
of relation, are convertible with the relations admittedly
essential to the constitution of the real world of nature. In
contrast to this, it was held that Nature is not the antithesis
of Intelligence, but simply Intelligence in its lower stages ;
and that Space, Time, Matter, Motion, and Force, as each in
turn is a higher synthesis of universal and particular, thought
and existence, mark a gradual ascent at once in Nature and
in Intelligence, so that Force, as the last stage reached, is the
apex of Nature, the most perfect unity in diversity of that
which we distinguish logically as the material world.
In the criticism of Mr. Spencer's view of Nature, and the
presentation of the speculative view, it was incidentally
pointed out that the problem of philosophy is not, How does
the individual man, by his particular sensations, gradually
appropriate objects that lie beyond the range of conscious-
/* ness? but, How does Intelligence manifest itself in Nature,
and by successive stages mount up to a higher plane? The
former question admits of no answer ; because, in assuming
that the particular alone may reveal that which is real, it vir-
tually denies knowledge and overthrows reality. To the
empirical psychologist this must seem a foolish, as well as a
" hard " saying, only to be explained as one of the wild and
incoherent utterances of an Idealism intoxicated with abstrac-
tions. It will naturally be replied that Intelligence, as we
know it, is always a possession of individual men, and that
any universal Intelligence, other than the sum of individual
Intelligences, can only be a fiction of the over-speculative
imagination. The only way in which a knowledge of reality
can be obtained at all, it will be said, is through the senses of
individual men, and any method which pretends to do more
than manipulate the materials supplied by sense must produce
sham, and not real, knowledge.
Adequately to discuss the problem here raised would require
an extended enquiry into the mutual relations of Metaphysics
and Psychology, and such an enquiry cannot be attempted
here; but, to prevent misapprehension, as well as to indicate
The World as Force. 153
the general direction in which the answer lies, a single remark
may be made. The assertion that there is a purely individual-
intelligence, if by that be meant an intelligence existing in
isolation from a real world, and from other intelligences, is a
self-contradictory proposition. An intelligence so shut up
within itself could never have any knowledge of nature, or of
other intelligences, or even of itself. Consciousness involves *
an object to be known not less than a self to know it ; but an
intelligence of the kind imagined could have no object what-
ever before it, and therefore could have no knowledge. To
be conscious of any real object of nature, it would have to go
out beyond the limits of its self-isolation and give up its in-
dividuality. To be conscious of other intelligences, it must
perform the astounding double feat of going out of itself and
of dragging from their enclosure a number of other self-in-
volved individuals. Nor could an individual intelligence be
conscious even of its own sensations, for such a knowledge
implies the distinction of one real sensation from another, and
of both more or less explicitly from itself, i. e., the partial con-
struction of a real world. A purely individual intelligence —
an intelligence exclusive of universality — is a fiction of the
abstracting intellect. We do, indeed, for sufficient reasons,
distinguish one individual man from another; but, just as it is
absurd to say that one individual may exist alone, and consti-
tute a universe by himself, so it is impossible for an individual
intelligence to exist that is not universal. Consciousness, at
least, certifies to the reality of its own objects as such, for
otherwise it could not even establish itself; and, hence to
speak of a merely individual consciousness, of an intelligence
existing purely for itself, is but to proclaim, and so to deny, a
universal skepticism. We may, therefore, safely conclude
that, whatever psychology may have to tell us of the intelli-
gence of individuals, it can never prove the individuality of
intelligence ; it cannot overthrow the essential conditions of
all knowledge without at the same time overthrowing itself.
From unrelated sensations, from feelings that are not univer-
salized, no reality and no knowledge of reality can be evolved ;
the very beginning of intelligent experience involves the re-
154 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
flection of particular sensations upon each other and into a
universal self, and hence that stage of knowledge we call sensa-
tion is really a mode of thought, differing only in degree from
thought in its higher and more complex forms. By the differ-
entiation of feelings that are thought — i.e., of real relations
from each other and from the thinking self — the known uni-
verse gradually grows up, broadening in complexity and
cohering into closer unity. Analysis and synthesis, nature
and thought, are but different aspects of a single process.
By Matter, in all of its significations — and it has many — is
meant the totality of substances, or the unity underlying all
substances. As a Substance is a combination of properties, so
Matter is a combination of Substances. It is indispensable,
in estimating the relation which the doctrine of the Inde-
structibility of Matter bears to the wider doctrine of the corre-
lation of forces, that we should have a perfectly clear con-
sciousness of what we really mean when we affirm Matter to
be indestructible, and hence it seems advisable to clear the
way by setting forth the various correlative meanings of the
terms, Substance and Matter.
There are at least four distinct senses in which writers of
the school of Spencer speak of Substance and of Matter.
The first corresponds to the conception held by common
sense, the second and third are characteristic of the special
sciences, and the last is peculiar to Spencerian Metaphysics.
When the " plain" man speaks of a Substance or Thing, he
means by it something known to him by its sensible prop-
erties. Each thing is, he would say, directly perceived, and
it can at any time be recognized by its characteristic marks.
A substance thus includes the notion of persistence through
successive times, or Identity, and this Identity is assumed
to be independent of mere temporal succession. Moreover,
a substance need not be unchangeable in all of its proper-
ties ; so long as those which characterize or define it, those
essential to it, remain, the identity of the substance is taken
for granted. At the same time, as each Thing is known
and recognized by properties directly, or apparently directly,
presenting themselves, the maximum of change that a
The World as Force. 155
substance may undergo without losing its identity is rela-
tively small. Among the changes regarded as unessen-
tial, change in place is prominent; a Substance, provided it
retain its color, weight, etc., is not supposed to lose its
identity by transference to another place. A Substance is
thus indifferent, not only to succession in Time, but to
motion in Space. We may say, therefore, that, in ordinary
knowledge and in popular language, a substance is that
which is known and recognized as identical by its essential
properties ; or that which remains identical with itself, not-
withstanding a change in unessential properties. The com-
mon conception of Matter corresponds to the common no-
tion of Substance. Ordinarily, we are not accustomed to
think or speak of Matter, but only of Substances. Still
there are times when we vaguely think of all substances as
together making up one world of nature. The bond unit-
ing the infinity of individual Substances is Space and Time,
which, before, we had rejected as unessential. The concep-
tion of Substance and the conception of Matter cohere, in
so far as each Substance, notwithstanding its individuality,
is regarded as a part of Matter ; but common sense does
not ask how matter can be a unity, while yet it is differen-
tiated in an infinity of distinct Substances. It is enough for
it that all Substances are in one Space and one Time.
The first of the scientific conceptions of Substance and
of Matter is the product of an extension and partial recti-
fication of the popular conception. By the chemist or phy-
sicist the name Substance is applied to "the solids, liquids,
vapors and gases, the ponderable, visible, and resistant
objects of sense." 2 This notion of Substance differs only
in degreee from that of common sense. The weakness of
the latter is that things are distinguished from each other
only by their most obvious properties, while their deeper
2 G. H. Lewes, Problems of Life and Mind, vol. 2, p. 204, Am. ed. I cannot
help saying here that, in this work, Mr. Lewes seems to me to come nearer to
the speculative point of view than any other member of the empirical school I
know of. His remarks on Matter, Force, and Cause (p. 203, if.) are exceedingly
fresh and suggestive.
156 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
relations are overlooked. Science fixes upon more permanent
> attributes, and hence its comprehension of that which con-
stitutes the identit}^ of a Substance is more accurate and more
profound. The difference, then, lies in the more exact differ-
entiation of Substances from each other, and in the fewer
number of properties conceived to form the essence of a
substance. The properties by common sense regarded as
essential are looked upon as unessential, only the more per-
manent properties hidden from common sense being regarded
as essential. Besides the compatibility of change of place
and succession of time with the essential identity of a sub-
stance, science adds that a change in the prominent sensible
properties does not in any way affect that identity. A
substance, in short, is that which retains its identity, not-
withstanding change in place and succession in time, because
it remains unchanged in its chemical, electrical, or physical
properties. Matter will, therefore, be the assemblage of such
substances. Here, again, no attempt is made to explain how
Matter can be a unity, and yet differentiate itself in an in-
finite variety of clearly defined substances. There is a ten-
dency, however, to regard the common characteristics of all
substances — extension, mobility, weight, etc. — as constitut-
ing the essence of Matter. This tendency leads to the second
scientific conception of Substance and of Matter.
This third conception is of most importance for our imme-
diate purpose. The identity of a substance is now held to lie
""in the permanence of its mass as a whole, or of the units of
mass by which it is constituted. Thus, by a stroke, a whole
group of properties is struck out of the list of essential attri-
butes. A substance, it is held, may change in its chemical,
electrical, or physical properties, but it cannot alter in the par-
ticles which compose it. Its mass as a Avhole may change its
place, or its molecules or atoms may alter their position rela-
tively to each other, but the sum of the units of mass, meas-
urable by the amount of resistance they offer, or by their
gravity, is a constant quantity. Here we have a most impor-
tant alteration in the notion of Substance. According to com-
mon sense, a Substance to be the same, must retain unchanged
The World as Force. 157
those sensible properties designated by its name ; science in
its first mind demands the permanence of chemical, electrical,
or physical properties ; science in its second mind is contented
with the mere nnchangeability of the quantity of a substance.'
All three imply the union of identity and change, but by suc-
cessive differentiation the essential attributes are finally reduced
to quantity of mass, or solidity. One individual substance is
distinguished from another simply by the greater or less num-
ber of its units, and by the relation of those units to each
other in place, or of the units as a whole to another group of
units. Hence Matter, as the totality of individual sub-
stances, is definable as an assemblage of units of mass. Since
each unit is in space, and is capable of motion, matter, while
it is regarded as differentiated in these units, is yet conceived
as indifferent to position and to motion. And, as between all
existing masses relatively to each other, and between the units
composing any given substance, there is exactly the same
relation of whole and part, while the elements are the same
in both, we easily pass from substances to the one substance,
which is matter. The essence of matter is therefore, from
this point of view, equivalent to its quantity, or the number of
its indivisible units of mass ; all properties except that of
solidity are set aside as unessential. It is matter in this sense
alone that is said to be " indestructible." Change, or posi-
tion in space, succession in time, alteration in physical, chemi-
cal, or electrical properties, do not affect the essence of matter,
because these changes still leave unaffected the number of
units of mass which together make up matter as a whole.
The definitions of Substance and of Matter, so far, are based
upon actual knowledge of the real relations of things, and
imply a distinction between essential and unessential attrib-
utes. The fourth conception, on the other hand, expressly de-
nies any knowledge of existence as it actually is, and the
opposition of essential and unessential, the unity of identity
and difference, vanishes in the affirmation of the Indistinguish-
able. Substance is the indeterminate, unknowable Sub-
stratum underlying the known properties of things. The
identity of Substance is not due to the permanence of certain
.
158 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
definable attributes in the flux of other attributes, but in the
absolute unchangeableness of Substance itself; that which has
no attributes can suffer no change. Hence the definition of
Substance coalesces with the definition of Matter in itself,
since both alike are definable as that which has no knowable
attributes ; every Substance is a pure changeless identity, and
therefore none is distinguishable from the rest. Here we
reach the extreme limit of abstraction ; the conception of
Matter cannot be further attenuated, and perforce we must be
contented with the purified residuum we have at last obtained.
The mere fact that Matter has such a variety of significa-
tions is of itself a sufficient reason for carefully marking off"
each from the rest. The tendency to pass unconsciously from
the one to the other must lead, unless great care be taken, to
a confusion of thought disastrous in its results. But there is
a special reason, in the present instance, for exactly distinguish-
ing the one from the other. As will be made good in the
sequel, the whole reasoning by which Consciousness is plaus-
ibly explained by the conception of Force, and only allowed a
rank coordinate with special Forces of nature, rests upon the
tacit assumption that what is true of Matter, defined as an
assemblage of units of mass, is true of Matter in its other
definitions also. Because, in one signification of the term, it
is correct to say that Matter is a collection of atoms, it is taken
for granted that the conception of Force, which is a synthesis
of Matter and of Motion, is adequate, not only to the defini-
tion of Matter as displaying chemical, electrical, and physical
properties, but to Existence in all its modes, including Life
and Consciousness. We have seen, by a bare enumeration of
the different meanings assignable to the term, that Matter
connotes only those properties for the time regarded as essen-
tial, and that the reality of those properties which, from a
special point of view, are looked upon as unessential, is quietly
ignored, if it is not positively denied. There is thus a real
danger that the relative distinction of essential and unessen-
tial should be regarded as an absolute distinction, with the
result that all properties rejected for the time being as unes-
sential should be thrown awav altogether as so much waste of
The World as Force. 159
nature. That this prevision of danger is not imaginary
becomes manifest when we find the conception of Force, em-
ployed as a rubric, applicable to all modes of existence.
An examination of Mr. Spencer's chapter on the Indestructi-
bility of Matter 3 at once shows that the term Matter is em-
ployed by him in all of the four senses distinguished above,
and that the first three are made use of without any notice
being taken of the transition from the one to the other. The
doctrine of the indestructibility of Matter does not tell us any-
thing whatever in regard to the permanence or fugitiveness,
the ultimate reality or unreality, of physical, chemical, or vital
relations ; it tells us only that the total number of the units
of mass that together constitute Matter is a constant quantity.
That this is the real force of the doctrine no one, we think, is
likely to dispute, but very many are sure to forget. This in-
destructibility of Matter, Mr. Spencer begins by saying, " so
far from being admitted as a self-evident truth, would, in
primitive times, have been rejected as a self-evident error.
There was once universally current a notion that things
could vanish into absolute nothing, or arise out of absolute
nothing." This illusion has, however, been gradually dis-
pelled by wider knowledge. "The comet that is all at once
discovered in the heavens, and nightly waxes larger, is proved
not to be a newly-created body, but a body that was until
lately beyond the range of vision. * * * Conversely, the
seeming annihilations of Matter turn out, on closer observa-
tion, to be only changes of state. It is found, e. g., that the
evaporated water, though it has become invisible, may be
brought by condensation to its original shape." 4
Here Mr. Spencer uses the term "Matter" in two distinct
senses — that of common sense, and that of science in its first
mind. To say that the primitive man denied the doctrine of
the indestructibility of Matter is true or false, aecordino; to
the meaning we give to the term. If by Matter we mean
that which is definable as a totality of units of mass, the
3 First Principles, Part II., ch. 4.
4 First Principles, sec. 52, pp. 172, 173.
160 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy .
primitive man did not deny the indestructibility of matter
simply because he never thought of matter in that sense at
all. If, on the other hand, we are to understand by Matter
individual substances determined by the prominent prop-
erties which they manifest to the unrenective consciousness,
then undoubtedly the indestructibility of Matter was denied.
But, it must be added, that it was correctly denied. Neither
Mr. Spencer nor any one else would maintain that the comet,
as a visible object, begins to be for the observer before it is
observed, and it was only of things as observed that the
primitive man made any affirmation. The indestructibility of
Matter, in short, does not mean the absolute permanence of
sensible properties, but only the absolute permanence of Mat-
ter as a whole, of Matter as composed of indivisible units of
mass. There is, therefore, no incompatibility in the denial of
the permanence of sensible objects, and the affirmation of the
permanence of the total quantity of Matter. That Mr. Spen-
cer supposes the two propositions to be contradictory, surely
argues the absence of a clear consciousness on his part of the
distinction between two quite different conceptions of Matter.
And, surely, there is further confusion in the first proof given
of the indestructibility of Matter. That " the evaporated
water, though it has become invisible, may be brought by con-
densation to its original shape," proves that change in the
sensible properties of things does not necessarily imply change
in the essential properties ; but it does not prove what it ought
to prove, viz., that the quantity of Matter always remains the
same. Here, therefore, we have Matter employed, first, as
that which has certain prominent, sensible properties ; and,
secondly, as that which has certain physical, chemical, or elec-
trical properties ; and neither of these is distinguished from
the third conception of Matter, as that which is made up of
a definite number of indivisible atoms.
Mr. Spencer's next step, however, shows that only in this
last sense can we properly speak of the indestructibility of
Matter. "Not till the rise of quantitative chemistry," he
says, " could the conclusion suggested by such experiences
be reduced to a certainty. When, having ascertained, not only
The World as Force. 161
the combinations into which various substances enter, but also
the proportions in which they combine, chemists were enabled to
account for the matter that had made its appearance or become
invisible, the proof was rendered complete. When, in place
of the candle that had slowly burnt away, it was shown that
certain calculable quantities of carbonic acid and water had
resulted — when it was demonstrated that the joint weight of
the carbonic acid and water thus produced, was equal to the
weight of the candle, plus that of the oxygen uniting with its
constituents during combustion — it was put beyond doubt
that the carbon and hydrogen forming the candle were still in
existence, and had simply changed their state." Here we have
exemplified the transition from the common conception of Mat-
ter, through the first scientific conception of it, to the final defi-
nition of it as a combination of units of mass. When Mr.
Spencer speaks of the " candle that has slowly burnt away,"
he is speaking of Matter simply as the totality of sensible sub-
stances — of Matter as understood by common sense. So long
as a substance retains the properties by which it is known and
identified, it may change, but its substantiality remains undis-
turbed ; when the properties assumed to be essential to it,
and fixed in a name, are no longer present, the identity of the
substance is denied. Secondly, by the identity of Matter, Mr.
Spencer means the permanence of the chemical and other
properties that, together, define the essence of substances. The
candle "burns slowly away," — i. e., the sensible properties
disappear, but " certain calculable quantities of carbonic acid
and water have resulted," i. e., the properties by the scientific
chemist known to be essential have not disappeared, but are
permanent. The constituent elements of the substance no
longer occupy the same relative position as regards each other ;
but, while separated, they still exist, ready to recombine, the
moment the old conditions are restored. Here, again, what
we have is not the indestructibility of Matter as it must be
conceived by the correlationist, but the permanence of the-
elementary constituents of substances as defined by their
chemical attributes. And hence we find Mr. Spencer coming,
at last, to the third conception of matter. The "joint weight
XIII — 11
162 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
of the carbonic acid and water," produced by the burnino-
away of the candle, is " equal to the weight of the candle, plus
that of the oxygen uniting with its constituents during com-
bustion." Even here we have not a perfectly clear presenta-
tion of the conception of Mutter, in the sense in which alone
we can speak of the indestructibility of matter, for weight
properly comes under the notion of Force, not under that
of Matter. The reason of this want of detiniteness, of
course, is, as we shall afterwards see at more length, that the
extremity of abstraction, condensed in the term Matter, has
to be corrected by the reintrodnction of elements presup-
posed in that abstraction, and hence it has to be admitted, as
is virtually done here, that the atomic conception of real exist-
ence is only a partial expression of the truth. Still it is
evident, on consideration, that what alone is conceived as
absolutely permanent is the quantity of the constituents, i. e.,
the number of units of mass, as measured by their joint weight.
Hei-e, therefore, we come to that final definition of Matter
which is alone really established by the doctrine of its inde-
structibility. No sensible property, no chemical or physical
property, of substances is permanent ; nature undergoes per-
petual metamorphoses, but all through the infinite variety of
its changes, the unitary masses of matter are unchanged and
unchangeable. This is the basis of the atomic theory. Ab-
stracting from all other differences of the real world, and
fixing exclusively upon the attribute of solidity, we may affirm,
provided we are allowed to endow the different sorts of atoms
with different weights, that the mass of every body, and of
every constituent element of a body, never either increases or
diminishes. There may be change in the relative positions of
masses, or of the molecules or atoms composing masses, but
none in the quantity of the masses, because none in the indi-
vidual atoms. From which it directly follows that the total
number of units of mass must be eternally the same — in other
words, that matter is unchangeable in its total quantity. It
is evident, from this, that the doctrine of the indestructibility
of matter is based upon a partial or abstract consideration
of the real world, and that any theory which treats this
The World as Force. 163
abstraction as if it were synonymous with concrete existence,
must end in a distorted conception of the more complex ele-
ments of existence. It is this process of abstraction which,
unaware of its own character, gives rise to the supposition
that Intelligence is definable as a special Force among other
coordinate Forces. By tracing the successive stages of its
growth we may, perhaps, help to dispel the illusion that the
unity and permanence of the intelligible world is adequately
formulated in the doctrine of the indestructibility of matter
and the persistence of force.
The very beginning of the intelligent comprehension of
reality cannot be regarded as analysis alone, nor synthesis
alone, but as one indivisible act comprehending both within
itself. The initiary limit of knowledge may be formulated
either in the judgment, "This is real," or in the identical
judgment, "I know this as real." But this judgment, it
must be observed, is partly an abstraction that does not
adequately express all that is implied in the very simplest
knowledge of that which is real. For "This" is perfectly
indeterminate, whereas every real conception is determinate.
Correctly to formulate the beginning of real knowledge, we
must throw our judgment into the shape, " This is not That,"
or, from the side of the subject, " I know This as distin-
guished from That." The first reality known, or the primary^
act of knowledge, is therefore concrete. The beginning of
intelligent experience is only expressible in the form of a
syllogism, not in the form of a conception, or even of a judg-
ment. The analytical aspect of this real act is the affirmation
of one property or relation as real ; its synthetical aspect is
the comprehension of both properties or relations as only real
in their community with each other. On the side of in-
telligence, the analysis is the reference of one property,
thought as the negative of another, and therefore itself as
positive, to a universal self; the synthesis is the twofold ref-
erence of both to the same indivisible self. Hence the fallacy
of the ordinary theorv of abstraction ; hence the elaborate
trifling of common Logic, which runs out into a bewildering
maze of subtleties, and perversely represents Thinking as the
164 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
very superfluous process of converting reality into fiction.
Real objects, it is supposed, are first constituted of various
properties, revealed by the immediate presentations of Sense ;
and then Thought, of its own arbitrary choice, selects one
out of the number, and sets it apart for special contempla-
tion. Now, such an imaginary process of Abstraction is
supposed to be possible only because a complex act, having
the double aspect of analysis and synthesis, has gone before
and supplied a concrete reality to operate upon. We may
easily see what gives countenance to this false explanation of
the process of thought. There is a sense in which it may be
said that knowledge is based upon abstraction or analysis.
The comprehension of one property in pure isolation is a feat
that can be performed by no conceivable intelligence, since
every property is itself only in relation to another property ;
but in the advance of knowledge, by successive differentiation,
it naturally conies about that a greater degree of interest
attaches to one term of a relation than to another. Hence
one property, or one set of properties, is looked upon as
positive, in contrast to the other or others, which are regarded
as negative. The distinction is itself a purely arbitrary one,
for the term from one point of view called positive may from
another point of view be termed negative. But this predomi-
nant interest in one term of a relation, while it does not con-
vert the isolated term into an independent reality, yet prepares
the way for the illusion that it does so. And hence, at a later
stage of thought, the positive properties — the properties in
which an excess of interest is felt — are classed tos;ether as the
essence, or definition of a thing, while the negative properties
are vaguely passed over as unessential. But essential and
unessential, like positive and negative, are purely relative
distinctions ; what from interest is now conceived as essential,
is again rejected as unessential. It must, therefore, never be
forgotten that, when we speak of the essence of a thing, we
do not thereby limit reality for all time to the special group
of properties we have in view for the time being. When
Matter is said to be defined by the property of solidity, its
essence, it is a tremendous perversion of the truth to suppose
The World as Force. 165
that by such a limitation we have, as by a magical incantation,
caused all the other relations of the universe to disappear.
Those properties classed as essential, fixed in a definition, and
marked by a common name, are real ; but they are not all
that is real. The conception of Matter as a congeries of indi-
visible units of mass is not intrinsically truer or more valuable
than the conception of Matter as defined in the totality of
Chemical relations. Intrinsically, the one is as important as
the other ; relatively, the one or the other is more important,
according to the special point of view ; absolutely, i. e., asa
formulation of existence in its completeness, the more com--
plex conception is the more important of the two. The term
Matter, like all other common names, is simply a short-hand
method of designating one aspect of real existence ; it is no
mystic spell to conjure all other relations into nonentity. The
only sense, then, in which it can be said that knowledge is
gained by an analytical process is that in which the mind's
interest in a special set of properties overrides its interest in
another set ; so that the negative term of the relation is passed
over as unessential, and only the positive term is attended to.
In reality, as has been shown, analysis is not a single process,
but only one aspect of a single process; just because one
property is only an element in reality, and, therefore, in itself
an abstraction, every real act of knowledge is synthetic not
less than analytic.
The reality of a property depends upon its negative relation
to another property. To this we must add that the relation
of the two terms is real solely because of their relation to
the Intelligence manifesting itself in them. The judgment,
"This is not That," may be more fitly thrown into the for-
mula, "This is known not to be That." It is a stubborn illu-
sion, shared alike by the man of common sense and by the
purely scientific man, that, besides the properties of relations
by which things are constituted, there is a third " something,"
separable from the thinking self, and constituting the only
real existence. Our analysis, however, of the initial act of
knowledge makes it evident that this " something" is simply
the abstraction of relation-to-intelligence. Kemove the rela-
166 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
tion to intelligence, with its double aspect of positive and
negative, essential and unessential, and nothing whatever re-
mains. The relation is real, and the thinking self is real, but
there is no " something" over and above this unity of uni-
versal and particular. And the real relation thus constituted
by intelligence is not a merely particular judgment ; in the
reality of the relation is involved its absoluteness or univer-
sality ; and this we may express in the judgment, " This par-
ticular relation is universal. ' A relation because it is real is
universal, and it is universal because it is thought. No doubt it
may be afterwards discovered that, from a higher point of
view, the relation at first regarded as absolutely permanent is
not in itself permanent, but has to be carried up into a wider
universal ; but this does not destroy its reality, and therefore
does not affect its universality. The subsequent advances in
knowledge, as repetitions of the primary act of knowledge,
involve a process of combined analysis and synthesis, and
thus existence increases in complexity, while intelligence never
loses its unity. We may, therefore, say that knowledge pro-
ceeds from the less to the more concrete, the more to the less
abstract, the less to the more known. Hence common
knowledge is more abstract, or less concrete, than scientific
knowledge. Here, again, it is important to notice that, from
the mind's predominant interest in some terms over others,
certain properties are classed as essential, others as unessen-
tial. " Thus, existence gets separated into groups of positive
attributes, while the other attributes are vaguely merged in
the general conception of negation. From this point of view
common knowledge may be said to be analytic, not because
analysis is possible apart from synthesis, but because the mind's
interest in the positive attributes gives them a fictitious excess
of reality for the time. $Thus, the way is made easy for that
formulation of common sense which, overlooking the nega-
tive movement involved in the process of knowledge, con-
ceives existence as made up of a number of individual things
or substances having purely positive attributes. Hence, a
double illusion : the illusion that the substance itself is real,
apart from its relations to other substances, and that it is real
The World as Force. 167
out of relation to intelligence. Just as the negative factor
implied in every form of reality is passed over as if it were
not, because of the almost exclusive interest taken for the
time being in the affirmative factor, so the still less manifest
relation of the properties to intelligence is overlooked or mis-
interpreted. Accordingly, we find the empiricist, who formu-
lates the common-sense conception of reality, speaking in lan-
guage which implies the threefold fiction of "something' 1
apart from its properties, of positive attributes in isolation
from negative, and of a concrete reality independent of intelli-
gence. Recognizing the analytic or affirmative side of knowl-
© O © J
edge, and passing over the synthetic or negative side, he is
led to separate real existence from that which is the necessary
condition of its reality. The same imperfect comprehension
of the elements of knowledge and of reality which leads him
to raise the positive or relatively essential properties to the
" bad eminence " of independent sovereignty also suggest to
him to separate Matter, as defined by one set of properties,
from Intelligence, as defined by another set, and to claim for
each a reality of its own. He passes from the one to the
other in turn, and cannot be got to see that, as the negative
aspect of reality has also a positive side, a real world apart
from a universalizing intelligence to make it real, is as much
a fiction as a circumference without a center.
The development of common into scientific knowledge in-
volves a great increase in that double process of differentiation
and integration which is implied in the simplest conception of
reality. The universe increases immensely in complexity, but
at the same time it coalesces into a more perfect unity. Here,
also, countenance is given to the false conception of real knowl-
edge as a process of analysis or abstraction. The empiricist
is not content merely to separate Thought and Matter as
abstract opposites of each other. He applies the same process
of abstraction to the various aspects in which Nature itself is
contemplated by the scientific mind in its different moods.
Common knowledge really grows up by means of a dialectical
process, in which there is a perpetual equilibrium of the posi-
tive and the negative aspects of reality. But as the individual
168 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
mind interests itself temporarily only in the attributes it con-
ceives as positive or essential, the negative or unessential
attributes are passed over with a hasty glance and forgotten.
Thus the equilibrium is destroyed. The same dialectical pro-
cess, and the same predominance of interest in certain select
relations of existence, is manifested in the procedure of the
special sciences; witht his difference — that each tendency is
carried out to its extreme. The scientific man breaks up the
first immediate unity of things, which is sufficient to satisfy
the languid interest of common sense, and in this analysis he
vastly extends the synthesis essential to all experience, increas-
ing a thousandfold the complexity of the known universe. But
as his interest centres, not in the easily accessible relations
alone regarded by common sense, but in those hidden away
from its superficial gaze, he naturally treats the sensible prop-
erties of things as unimportant and unessential. This affords
the empiricist fresh scope for misconstruction. The relations
of things which are accessible to all are not for that reason
absolutely unessential, but they are apt to be thought so by
one who places himself at the purely scientific point of view.
And this is what the empiricist frequently does. Overlooking,
in his haste, the negative element essential to all knowledge,
he assumes that the relations labelled " essential " by science
need alone to be considered, while those relations classed by it
as " unessential " may be thrown out as so much useless lum-
ber. But no aspect of reality, or of knowledge, is unessen-
tial to one who proposes to formulate the conditions of reality
as a whole, and to give a true account of the nature of knowl-
edge. Part of the problem of Philosophy is, in fact, to bring
* forward into the light those elements of existence and of
knowledge that, by common sense and by the special sciences,-
are allowed to rest in shadow. Philosophy can plead no pre-
dominant interest in one aspect of the world rather than in
another, for to it all are alike important and alike essential.
The equilibrium of real existence disturbed by the preoccu-
pation of common sense and of science must be restored.
Philosophy may not pander to the one-sidedness of common
and of scientific knowledge without violating its most sacred
The World as Force. 109
duty ; it must formulate existence in its totality, dismissing
no aspect of it with a contemptuous " unessential ! ' The
empiricist does not know his duty, and hence he seizes upon
the analytic side of knowledge, to the neglect of the "syn-
thetic unity of experience." And not only does he throw
aside as unessential those real relations emphasized by com-
mon sense, but he is prone to dismiss from his thoughts
all elements of reality except the most abstract. Having
once entered upon the path of abstraction, he is never
at rest until he has followed it up to its issue. The rejec-
tion of the sensible properties of common knowledge is not
enough, but he must go on to remove even such manifestly
real properties as those conceived to be essential by the
chemist, the physicist, and the astronomer ; nay, he will carry
the process of pure analysis to its utmost limit, and pause
only when his frenzy for abstractions has faded away into
an ecstatic vision of Matter in itself. The nude form of a
universe, differentiated only by a multiplicity of units of mass,
is still too concrete, too definite for him ; he has not yet
stripped existence to the bone, and he must complete the pro-
cess, or be miserable. Such devotion to the abstract not only
renders a true philosophy an impossibility, but it completely
misconstrues the essential character of scientific procedure.
The differentiation of physical from chemical relations, and
of the latter from dynamic relations, is not only a justifiable
procedure of science, but it is the condition of scientific prog-
ress ; the elimination of all motion, change, and life from the
world is essential to the comprehension of the world as a col-
lection of units of mass, and to exactness in dynamical and
chemical conceptions. But because the special sciences, for
sufficient reasons of their own, concentrate their attention
upon certain aspects of existence, to the exclusion of others
not less essential, that is no reason why the philosopher, who
is not bound by the same rules as the scientist, should raise
the special to the dignity of the universal. The dry bones of
reality must again be clothed upon and touched with new life
before any theory adequately representing the infinite fulness
of the intelligible universe can be framed.
170 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
"It is important," says Mr. Lewes, " to bear in mind that
all our scientific conceptions are analytical, and, at the best,
only approximative. They are analytical, because science is
' seeing with other eyes,' and looks away from the synthetic
fact of experience to see what is not visible there. They are
approximations, because they are generalities." 5 The con-
- trast here drawn between common knowledge as synthetic
and scientific knowledge as analytic is utterly fallacious.
There are not two discrepant processes of knowledge, but all
knowledge is developed in the same way, by a differentiation
that is at the same time integration — an analysis that includes
synthesis. The unity of the process of knowledge is just as
perfect as the unity of existence and the unity of intelligent
experience. Common knowledge is more remote from reality
than science, and hence it is more "general," or abstract.
When Science, to use one of Mr. Lewes's illustrations, re-
solves Light into undulations of ether acting upon the retina,
it does not pass from fact to abstraction, from synthesis to
analysis. The point of view is changed ; but in the change
there is an actual increase in differentiation and integration,
an advance from the more to the less general, the less to the
more concrete. By breaking up the phenomenon of Light
into its factors, the undulations of an elastic medium and the
the sensibility of the retina, the phenomenon is more exactly
defined; the analysis is, at the same time, a new synthesis.
And this is but a single instance of the general procedure of
Science. It is true that, if we attend solely to its analytic
aspect, as Mr. Lewes does, and attempt to build an exhaustive
theory of the process of knowledge upon that alone, we may
contrast the fulness of reality, characteristic of common
knowledge, with the extreme tenuity of scientific knowledge ;
but to do so is simply to misinterpret the one kind of
knowledge as well as the other. Both alike proceed,
* and must proceed, by a dialectic process that is neither
analytic nor synthetic, but both in one ; and both alike
distinguish the essential from the unessential, the positive
5 Problems of Life and Mind, vol. ii, p. 226.
The World as Force. 171
from the negative. Common sense attends only to those
relations that rouse its interest, and all others it dismisses as
unimportant. And as the attributes so selected are simply
the most superficial, the knowledge of common sense is nec-
essarily more "general' than the knowledge of science.
What by the plain man is regarded as essential, is passed over
as unessential by the scientific man ; the interest of the latter
lies in the more recondite properties of things, and hence
those commonly known are taken for granted and lightly
passed over. Science, as such, however, does not deny the
reality of the ordinary relations ; that is left for the empirical
philosopher, who plumes himself upon the exclusive accuracy
with which he formulates scientific procedure. When you
know that 7-f-5=12, you cannot be forever repeating the slow
process of adding unit to unit. So, when the common
properties of things are once known, they are as a matter of
course taken for granted, and henceforth treated as = x.
Hence the seemino; abstractness of scientific knowledge, as
compared with ordinary knowledge. But the abstractness is
only seeming ; we cannot be always going back to the very
beo-innino- of knowledge, but must take something for granted,
and start afresh. Thus, science, without denying established
relations, widens the area of existence, and increases the com- "
plexity of knowledge. It is by a reciprocal analysis and
synthesis that science comes to classify one set of relations
as essential and another set as unessential. But, as no real
properties are unessential in the last resort, the distinction is
an artifice of science, not one determining the nature of real
existence itself. Mr. Lewes' s mistake is that of all em-
piricists ; he takes the real world, in the plenitude of its
known relations, and this he supposes to be known by a
" synthesis of sensibles." That is to say, the presentations
of Sense reveal existence as it truly is ; and hence science,
as contemplating only special aspects of existence, stands in
unfavorable contrast to the knowledge of common sense.
But, in the first place, Sense does not give real objects, for it
gives of itself nothing at all ; and, secondly, supposing it did,
it would be " synthetic" only by including scientific knowl-
172 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
edge as a part of universal knowledge. On the first point,
nothing more needs to be added. The second point brings
out the fallacious procedure of empircism into especial promi-
nence. Mr. Lewes contemplates the real world after the
completion of the long process by which it has been mani-
fested to intelligence, or, more correctly, after intelligence has
manifested itself in it ; and hence, attending only to a part of
that process at a time, he plausibly tells us that science deals
only with " generalities." Most assuredly it does, if we con-
template the intelligible world as a whole ; most assuredly it
does not, if we are speaking of it as compared with ordinary
knowledge. The part is always less than the whole, and
therefore more abstract ; to say that the world as it interests
science is partial or abstract, compared with the world in the
plenitude of its relations, while a true, is not a very instruc-
tive remark ; and to maintain that it is more abstract than
that common-sense knowledge with which it starts, and which
it is its one object to extend, is an utter perversion of the
truth. Empircism is perpetually oscillating between truism
and falsehood.
Mr. Spencer, as his readers are never allowed to forget, holds
that, after giving an " inductive " proof of a proposition, it is
necessary straightway to supplement it by a "deductive"
proof. It is curious that it has never occurred to him that
two things which cannot be permitted to stand alone must be
but two aspects of the same thing. If either proof is com-
plete in itself, why weaken it by the suggestion that it is in
need of being complemented by its opposite? There is a true
instinct in this double process of demonstration, but, like other
instincts, it has a very imperfect comprehension of itself. The
opposition of Induction and Deduction is but another aspect
of the false separation of Synthesis and Analysis. There is a
real justification, from the point of view of scientific knowl-
edge, in separating the one aspect from the other, and there
is no practical harm done in regarding each as a separate pro-
cess. For science rests upon an unformulated abstraction
from Intelligence, and rightly regards its task as complete
when it has set forth those relations that in their totality
The World as Force. 173
express the realm of Nature. It is otherwise with philosophy, '
which proposes to itself the more ambitious task of formulat-
ing existence as a whole, and therefore essays to show the
ultimate relations of Nature and Intelligence. Science, as
has been reiterated, perhaps to weariness, is interested only
in certain aspects of reality, and hence it takes for granted the
relations of things familiar to common sense. Things, as par-
tially qualified, are its points of departure, and its own pecu-
liar procedure consists in extending and widening common
knowledge. Thus it may rightly enough be said to proceed
" from the known to the unknown," or, as we should prefer to
say, from the less to the more known. This is what science
knows as Induction.
It is rightly held that no advance in knowledge is possible
by what Syllogistic Logic calls Deduction, since by a mere
restatement of that which is already assumed to be known
no advance to the "unknown" can possibly be made. We
cannot, therefore, wonder at the contempt of science for
" mere conceptions." The contempt is a healthy one. The
man of science knows that to gain any real knowledge he
must begin where common sense leaves off; that to know
more about existence he must go out beyond ordinary concep-
tions of existence. Empirical Logic, here following scientific
thought, also asserts that knowledge is gained by a discovery
of new relations of things ; and, so far, it is correct. But, as
it falsely asserts that our common knowledge of things is
acquired by passive observation, it takes for granted that indi-
vidual things, or particular " facts," are discerned without
any constructive activity of intelligence. Hence, the discov-
ery of new relations is supposed still to leave individual
things in their isolation. The only change in things is in
their greater complexity. The real world is now supposed to
have, independently of intelligence, all the properties revealed
by science, as well as those known in ordinary knowledge.
Induction now assumes quite a different aspect. It consists in
the separation, one by one, of properties already assumed to be
known, and hence it is no longer a progress from " the known
to the unknown," but a regress from the more to the less
174 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
known. By abstraction, it is supposed, a general law is dis-
covered ; and this law, once discovered, may be shown to apply
to the particular facts from which it was abstracted. The
process of reasoning down from the general law to the partic-
ular facts is Deduction. Now here we have a confusion between
a universal as law of nature and a universal as an abstract
conception. If nature is already known in the fulness of its
relations, what possible sense is there in seeking for laws of
nature, which are but special groups of relations considered
apart? If everything is known already, there is no need
either of Induction or of Deduction. By a bare intuition we
may comprehend all things, and any process of knowledge is
not only useless, but impossible. Thus, the measure of truth
which Empirical Loo;ic had attained to in the iudsrinent that
knowledge proceeds "from the known to the unknown" is
again lost in a theory of Deduction, that, assuming a perfectly
known world to begin with, can only explain the process of
knowledge as a retreat from the better known to the less
known. If we take the first, and relatively correct, notion of
Induction as a progress from the less to the more known, we
may easily give it a form that will correctly embody the true
process of knowledge. Every advance in knowledge is the
discovery of a new relation, and every new relation is, from its
connection with intelligence, necessary and universal. Thus
scientific knowledge does not first reveal a number of discon-
nected particulars, and then proceed to combine them into a
general law. The law is discerned in the discernment of the
particulars. A law is neither more nor less than a complex of
relations, and all relations are ipso facto universal and neces-
sary. The distinction between " fact " and " law " is a purely
relative one. A fact is not by itself regarded as a law, but
it contains the universal element which is characteristic of
law. In speaking of facts, we are looking rather at the par-
ticular than the universal aspect of relations ; in speaking of
a law, we contemplate the universal rather than the particular
aspect. But there is no real separation in reality or in knowl-
edge. That which is real is necessarily universal, and there
is no universality apart from reality. Induction emphasizes
The World as Force. 175
the particular aspect of reality. Deduction emphasizes the
universal. In the one, it is said, we go from the particular to
the universal ; in the other, from the universal to the particu-
lar. Correctlj r stated, there is no "going" from the one to
the other at all, for each only exists in and through the other.
If the particular did not imply the universal, no combination
of particulars would be possible, and hence there could be no
universal law ; the universal separated from the particular is
no law, but a barren abstraction. The true process of knowl-
edge is, therefore, one combining these two aspects of knowl-
edge in one indivisible act. There is not pure Induction or
pure Deduction, but both ; and the separation of the one
aspect from the other, however convenient it may be to the
individual enquirer, is but a logical artifice, that in no way
affects the real indivisibility of the one dialectic process.
These considerations warn us beforehand what we are to
expect from the " inductive " and " deductive " proofs offered
by Mr. Spencer in support of the doctrine of the indestructi-
bility of Matter. We may be certain that they are but differ-
ent ways of stating the same thing, and that the one simply
makes explicit that which in the other is implicit. The in-
ductive proof is briefly this : Take any substance, and find
out by weighing it the number of its constituent atoms ; let it
undergo a chemical or physical process of change, and it will
be found that the number of constituent atoms is still exactly
the same as before. Here we start from the ordinary empir-
ical assumption that a thing, as variously qualified, is given by
purely passive observation. The Induction itself is further
supposed to be a process of passive observation. But, if that
be the case, how can we legitimately pass from our par-
ticular observations of individual substances to the univer-
sal affirmation that Matter as a whole is indestructible? As
Hume has shown, the mere observation of facts does not enti-
tle us to make any universal judgment ; w r e are confined to
the judgment, " This substance, so long as I observe it, re-
mains the same in quantity." The tacit assumption, therefore,
which underlies this so-called inductive proof is that the pro-
portion between weight and mass, or force and matter, because
176 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
it holds good in particular instances, also holds good univer-
sally; in other words, every real relation is universal. The
" deductive " proof simply brings out into relief the assump-
tion here obscurely made. We may conceive Matter to be
compressed, it is said, to any finite extent, but we can never
conceive it to be compressed into nothing. Now, there is no
difficultv in conceiving — i. e., imagining — any given unit of
mass to be reduced in size, so long as we contemplate the mass
per se, without introducing the conception of weight or force
impressed. In like manner, it is perfectly easy to imagine the
decrease of the given weight of any mass, so long as we ab-
stract from the mass and look onlv at the weight. What,
then, is inconceivable? Manifestly, the conception of a mass
that is not proportional to weight, or of weight that is not
proportional to mass. We cannot conceive Matter compressed
into nothing, because we cannot conceive the compression
of nothing. The deductive proof, therefore, asserts univer-
sally that mass and weight are correlative and proportional.
How is this known? Evidently by an appeal to Induction.
The universal law has no meaning except in and through its
particulars ; it is a mere name, until we assume certain real
relations of mass and weight. The truth underlying these
proofs, therefore, is that every particular relation is univer-
sal. This universality and particularity are alike due to intel-
ligence. The comprehension of any relation as real is at the
same time the affirmation that, wherever that relation exists,
there the universal law holds good. The doctrine of the in-
destructibility of matter is but an imperfect statement of the
immortality of intelligence.
The fourth, or metaphysical conception of Matter is, in one
view, an utter perversion of the relations of existence and in-
telligence, and, in another view, an unconscious testimony to
their unity. We have seen that, while knowledge is in all
cases a double process of analysis and synthesis, induction
and deduction, there is yet a natural illusion which gives coun-
tenance to the fallacy that the product of knowledge is due to
analvsis onlv. In the search for an ultimate unity, the mo-
tive power of all philosophical speculation, there is a predis-
The World as Force. 177
position to fix upon the positive aspect of thought, to the ex-
clusion of the negative aspect. Put into practice, this pre-
disposition results in the false supposition that unity is to be
sought by abstraction, and not by synthesis, in the elimination
of differences, not in the combination of differences in a higher
unity. Empiricism, in dealing with the known world, ends in
the exclusion of all except quantitative relations as unessen-
tial or negative. But this still leaves a trace of differentia-
tiou, and the restless aspiration after a perfect unity only
finds its object, or supposes it has found it, in the pure, undif-
ferentiated unity of Matter in itself. Now, when we ask
what relation this pallid abstraction has to the process of
knowledge, we find that it is just its ideal beginning, the
mere " something is," the Aristotelian ol-q. Thought has
gone through a laborious experience, only to reach as its goal
the point from which it set out. Strictly speaking, as has
already been shown, this supposed realization of the high
aspiration after unity is not even the initial limit of knowl-
edge, for that involves the reflection of one term of a relation
upon the other, and of both into the intelligence which is their
source. " Something," or " Matter in itself," is the bare
predicate of reality, detached from its proper connection and
raised bj' abstraction to a fictitious independence ; or, otherwise
expressed, it is the "think" without the "I." To invest
this vague prophecy of the unity of all existence — or, what is
the same thing, of the unity of intelligence — with mysterious
and awe-inspiring attributes, is but to destroy the abstract
purity of Matter in itself, and to become the prey of an
imagination freed from contact with the real world. The
self-deception which finds in pure Being a fit object of worship
is only worthy of tolerance because it may be regarded as an
unconscious testimony to the real identity of Thought and
Existence. It is a true philosophic impulse, which ever points
onward to a perfect unity, reconciling all differences ; but the
impatience and confusion of thought which lead to the notion
that a true unity is to be found by the facile process of ignor-
ing all differences is a perversion of that impulse, and a
destruction at once of knowledge and of reality.
XIII— 12
178 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
The result of our investigation thus far is to show that Mat-
ter, as conceived by the correlationists, is synonymous with
indivisible units of mass, and excludes from its essence or
definition all other relations whatever. "Matter," says Mr.
Lewes, "is the Felt, viewed in its statical aspect." 6 If for
"Felt' we substitute " Intelligible," and interpret the
phrase "in its statical aspect" to mean "conceived as
exclusive units of mass," this definition may be adopted.
Intelligence, at the stage in question, conceives the universe
as absolutely indifferent to all change, not excluding change of
place or motion, and attends only to the permanence of its
extended and solid particles. This is not absolutely the first
stas;e in the rational evolution of the real world, as revealed
by science, but it is one of the earlier stages. The simplest
conception of all, as we saw, was that of Space, the synthesis
of homogeneous units, definable only as each external to the
rest. This mere outerness begins to give way in the notion
of Time, the synthesis of homogeneous units that are, not only
out of each other, but, so to speak, into each other. The
synthesis of Space and Time is the conception of Position,
the mutual relation of relatively concrete units of space, that
persist through successive times. Positions, as indifferent to
each other, and as filled, form the content of the conception of
Matter, defined as an airsre^ate of mutualh r exclusive units of
mass. But as all positions are relative to each other, and as
-all alike may be filled, there is implicit in the notion of Posi-
tion the more concrete idea of Motion, and in the notion of
filled positions, the idea of specific motion, i. e., the motion
of Matter. Matter, defined as a congeries of exclusive units of
mass, thus finds its justification in the correlative notion of
concrete Motion. Hence, the conception of existence, as
arrested in isolated atomic units, has to be corrected by the
conception of those units as changing their relative positions.
The conception of Motion is thus the first remove from the
purely abstract notion of the real world — the first negation of
the atomic conception of existence. The complete justifica-
6 Problems of Life and Mind, vol. ii, p. 231.
Iler/el on Jacob BoeJime. 179
tion of this negation is to be found in the notion of Force,
which is a negation of negation, a second remove from the
abstract conception of things. Motion and Force, in their
relations to Matter, will, therefore, be our next topic.
JACOB BOEHME.
[TRANSLATED FROM HEGEL'S HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY, BY EDWIN D. MEAD.]
I.
From Lord Bacon, the English lord chancellor, and the chief
leader of all external, sensuous philosophizing, we turn to the
Philosophus Teutonicus, as he was called, to the shoemaker of
Lusatia — a man of whom we Germans need not be ashamed.
It was, indeed, through him that philosophy first appeared in
Germany with a distinctive German character. He stands in
the directly opposite extreme to Bacon, and was called Theos-
ophus Teuton /ens, even as formerly Mysticism was called '
PI i ilosoph la Teutoniea .
This Jacob Boehtne was long forgotten, and was decried as a
pietistic visionary. The period of enlightenment, especially,
limited the number of his students. Even Leibnitz es-
teemed him highly; but not until more recent times has he
again been duly honored, and has the profundity of his
thought again become acknowledged. It is certain that, on
the one hand, he does not deserve that old contempt ; but
neither, on the other hand, is he entitled to that high honor to
which the present has sought to elevate him. To call him a
visionary signifies nothing. If one pleases, one can call every
philosopher so, including Epicurus and Bacon; for even these
have held that man has his true reality in something other than
eating and drinking, or the every-dav life of hewing wood, or
making clothes, or buying and selling. As to the high honor
to which Boehnie has been elevated, he owes it especially to
his form of contemplation and sentiment ; for contemplation
and inward feeling, praying and longing, the figurative style
180 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
of thinking, allegorizing, and the like, are held by some to be
the genuine form of philosophy. But it is only in the idea, in
thought, that philosophy has its truth — that the absolute can
be expressed, or that indeed it is, as it is in itself. On this
side Boehme is a perfect barbarian — a man nevertheless,
who, along with his crude mode of representation, possesses a
concrete, deep heart. Since he has no method, or order, it is
difficult to give a presentation of his philosophy.
Jacob Boehme was born in 1575, in Old Seidenberg, near
Goerlitz, in Upper Lusatia. His parents were poor peasants,
and in his boyhood he herded cattle. He was brought up
in Lutheranism, to which he always adhered. The biography
which accompanies his work was written by a clergy man, who
knew him personally. We find much in this biography con-
cerning; the various agitations through which he arrived at
deeper perception. Even as a herdsman on the pastures, as
he relates of himself, he had most wonderful visions. The
first wonderful vision came to him in a thicket, in which he
saw a cavern and a box of money. Startled by this splendor,
he was inwardly awakened out of dull stupidity ; but the
vision did not reappear. He was afterwards apprenticed to a
shoemaker. It was chiefly through the text (Luke xi., 13),
" Your Father in Heaven shall give the Holy Spirit to them
that ask Him," that he was roused to the thought that in
order to know the truth he should, in simplicity of spirit,
earnestly and continually pray, seek and knock, until he, then
on his wanderings with his master, should, through the passing
of the Father into the Son according to the Spirit, be carried
over into the holy Sabbath and glorious day of rest of souls,
and that thus his prayer should be answered. Thereupon ( ac-
cording to his own account, ) he " was surrounded with divine
light, and remained for seven days in the highest divine con-
templation and fulness of joy.',' His master dismissed him
on this account, with the remark that he could not afford to
keep a prophet with him. After this he lived in Goerlitz.
In 1594 he became a master shoemaker, and married. Later,
"in the year 1(300, in the twenty-fifth year of his age," the
light appeared to him again in a second vision, of the same
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 181
sort as the first. According to his own account, he saw a
brightly polished pewter vessel in the chamber, and " through
the sudden sight of the lovely, jovial lustre " of the metal, he
was conducted (in a fit of abstraction, and in the entrancement
of his astral spirit) " to the central point of secret Nature,"
and into the light of the Divine Being. " He went out before
the gate and into the fields, in order to drive this vision out of
his head, and yet he experienced the feeling none the less, but
rather longer, stronger, and clearer ; so that, by means of the
imparted signs or figures, outlines and colors, he could, as it
were, see into the heart and innermost nature of all things
(which position, so strongly forced upon him, he also main-
tains and glorifies in his book De Si gnatura llerum), on ac-
count of which he overflowed with great joy, thanked God,
and turned peacefully to his domestic affairs." Later he
wrote many works. He remained in Goerlitz, working at his
trade, and there, in 1<>24, he died.
His works have received special attention from the Dutch,
and therefore most of the editions have been published in
Amsterdam, though reprinted in Hamburg. His first work
was the " Aurora; " or, " The Morning Red in its Rising, "
which was followed by many others; that entitled " On the
Three Principles," and another, " On the Threefold Life of
Man," are among those which are worthiest of attention.
Boehme constantly read the Bible. What other works he read
is not known. Very many points in his works prove, however,
that he had read much, and especially mystic, theosophic, and
alchemistic writings ; partly, at any rate, the works of Theo-
phrastus Paracelsus Bombastus, of Hohenheim — a philoso-
pher of something the same sort as Boehme himself, but pecu-
liarly diffuse in his writings, and without Boehme's deep feel-
iug. Boehme was often persecuted by the clergy, but he
caused less sensation in Germany than in Holland and Eng-
land, where his works have been published in many forms.
His writings make a strange impression upon the reader, and
one must be familiar with his ideas in order to find the true
meaning in the exceedingly confused form of their expression.
The content of Jacob Boehme's philosophizing is thoroughly
182 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
German ; for that which distinguishes him and makes him
worthy of attention is the Protestant principle, already re-
ferred to, of placing the intellectual world in the individual
mind — of viewing;, and knowing, and of feel inn; in the self-
consciousness that which before was regarded as external. The
general idea of Boehme's shows itself thus, on the one hand,
deep and fundamental ; on the other hand, however, he does
not, with all his desire and struggle after determination and
distinction in the universe, arrive at clearness and order.
There is no coherent system, but the greatest confusion in his
distinctions — even in his "Table," wherein three numbers
appear :
What God is, apart from Nature and Creation.
II.
Separableness, Mysterium The I. Principium,
God in Lpve. Magnum. God in Wrath.
III.
God in Wrath and Love.
There is no positive determination of moments here ; we
only have the sense of struggle ; now it is this distinction, and
now that, which is laid down ; and as the distinctions are sep-
arately referred to, they run one into another.
The manner and method of his presentation must, therefore,
be called barbaric. The modes of expression in his works
prove this ; as when, for instance, he speaks of the divine
salitter, the mercurius, and so forth. As Boehme places the
life, the movement of absolute Being, in the soul, so he also
views all conceptions in an actuality ; or he uses actualities as
conceptions (that is, natural things and sensible qualities arbi-
trarily, instead of definitions) to represent his ideas. For in-
stance, sulphur and the like mean, with him, not the things
that w r e so name, but their essence ; or a certain conception
has this specific form of reality. Boehme is most deeply in-
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 183
tercsted in the idea, and struggles sorely with it. The specu-
lative truth which he wishes to represent, requires, in order to*
make himself comprehended, essentially thought and the
form of thought. Only in thought can this unity, in whose
central point his spirit stands, be comprehended, but it is pre-
cisely the form of thought which he lacks. The forms which
he uses are essentially no categories of thought. They are on
the one side sensible, chemical determinations ; such qualities
as harsh, sweet, sour, grim ; or feelings such as anger, love ; or
tincture, essence, pain, etc. These sensuous forms, however,.
do not have with him their peculiar sensuous significance ; but
he uses them in order to give words to his thoughts. It is at
once apparent how arbitrary this mode of presentation must
be, since only thought is capable of unity. Thus it seems
strangely confusing when we read of the bitterness of God,
of lightning, etc. We must have the idea beforehand, and
then, indeed, we may find it figured in these strange similes.
The second point is that Boehme uses as form of the
idea the Christian form, particularly the form of the Trinity,
which was that which lay nearest to him. The sensuous form
and the religious form of imaging, of sensuous pictures and
representations, he strangely mixes together. Crude and bar-
barous as this is, on the one hand, and hard to endure by those
who persevere in reading Boehme and try firmly to hold his
thoughts (for one's head is kept whirling with " qualities,"
"spirits," "angels,"), it must nevertheless be recognized
that these pictures and representations speak out of his reality
— out of his soul. This rough, deep German mind, that deals
Avith the innermost, exercises, peculiarly indeed, a tremendous
might and power to use reality as a conception, and to keep
about him and within him whatever goes on in Heaven. As
Hans Sachs, in his manner, has represented the Lord God,
Christ, and the Holy Ghost as common citizens like himself,
and has treated in the same manner the angels and patriarchs,
instead of taking them as bygone and historic beings, just
so Boehme.
In the eyes of faith spirit has truth, but in this truth the
moment of certainty is lacking. That the subject of Chris-
184 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
tianity is truth, or the spirit, we have seen. This is given
to faith as immediate truth. But faith has it unconsciously,
without knowledge, without knowing it as self-conscious-
ness ; and since in self-consciousness the thought, the con-
ception, is essential — Giordano Bruno's unity of opposites —
faith lacks precisely this unity. Its moments fall apart as
separate forms, particularly its highest moments — the good
and the evil, or God and the Devil. God is, and so is the
Devil ; both are for themselves. If God, however, is the
absolute Being, the question arises : What absolute Being
is this to which all reality, and especially the evil, does not
appertain? Boehme is therefore compelled partly to conduct
the soul of man to divine life, to place this life in the soul
itself, to regard the strife as one in the soul, and to make it
the soul's own work and endeavor ; and partly, for that very
ground, to show that the evil is contained in the good — a
problem which also agitates our own time. But as Boehme
has not got hold of the idea, and is in so far behind in the
culture of thought, this process appears as a fearful, painful
struggle of his soul and consciousness with language : and the
object of this struggle is to obtain the profoundest idea of
God, which may bring together and bind in one the most ab-
solute opposites — not, however, for thinking reason. If one
may so express it, Boehme struggles (since to him God is all)
to conceive the negative — the evil, the devil — in and from
God, to comprehend God as absolute : and this struggle char-
acterizes his entire writings, and is the travail of his soul. It
is a tremendous, wild, crude effort of the inner being to bind
together things that in form and appearance are so far from
one another. In his strong soul Boehme brings both together,
and in that act breaks to pieces all that immediate appearance
of reality which both possess. When, however, he conceives
this movement, this spiritual nature in itself thus internally,
the definition of the moments approaches, after all, simply
nearer to the form of self-consciousness — of the idea devoid
of sensuous form. The speculative thought stands, indeed, in
the background ; but it does not come to its proper representa-
tion. Popular crude methods of representation are employed ;
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 185
a perfect looseness of speech appears, which to us seems vul-
gar. With the devil Boehme has especially much to do, and
he addresses him often. "Come here," he says, "thou
Black-Jack. What wilt thou? I will write for thee a pre-
scription." Shakespeare's Prospero, in the Tempest, threat-
ens Ariel that he will cleave an oak and peg him in the
knotty entrails for a thousand years ; thus Boehme's great
soul is pegged in the hard, knotty oak of the sensuous, im-
prisoned in the knotty, hard growth of the imagination, with-
out being able to come to the free representation of the idea.
I will briefly indicate Boehme's main ideas, and then point
out several separate forms in which he revels ; for he does not
abide in one form, since neither the sensuous nor the religious
suffices him. Although he copiously repeats himself, the
forms of his main representations are still every where differ-
ent, and students will be deceived who undertake to give a
systematic development of Boehme's representations, especially
as they advance in their task. One must expect in Boehme
neither a systematic representation nor an accurate management
of particulars. One cannot speak much of his thoughts with-
out assuming his own form of expression and quoting directly
concerning particulars, for otherwise it is impossible to express
his thoughts. The fundamental idea of Jacob Boehme is the
struggle to maintain all things in an absolute unitv. He desires
to exhibit the absolute, Divine unity, and the union in God of
all antitheses. His main thought — one may indeed say his
only thought, that which runs through all his works — is to
conceive in all things the Holy Trinity ; to recognize all things
as its revelation and representation, so that it is the univer-
sal principle in which and through which all is ; and this in
this way: that all things have only this divine Trinity in them-
selves, not as a trinity of the imagination, but as the reality
of the absolute idea. All that exists is, according to Boehme,
only this Trinity ; this Trinity is all. The universe is thus to
him one divine life, and a universal revelation of God ; so that
from the one essence of God, the source of all powers and
qualities, the Son is eternally born — the Son who is mani-
fested in those powers ; and the inner unity of this light with
186 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
the substance of the powers is the spirit. The representation
is now darker, now clearer. What follows is the explication
of this Trinity; and here especially appear the various forms
which he uses to denote the distinction which occurs in the
Trinity.
In the "Aurora," the " Root, or Mother of Philosophy,
Astrology, and Theology," Boehme attempts a classification,
in which he places these sciences side by side, yet without
clear distinctions, simply passing over from one to the other.
" (1.) In Philosophy he treats of the divine power, what God
is, and how, in the being of God, nature, the stars, and the
elementa are made ; whence all things have their origin ;
how heaven and earth are made ; also, angels, men, and
devils, heaven and hell, and all that is created : also, what the
two qualities in nature are, in the impulse and actions of God.
(2.) In Astrology, the powers of nature, the stars and the
elements are treated ; and how from these all creatures have
proceeded ; how good and evil are wrought, through them, in
men and animals. (3.) Under Theology he treats the king-
dom of Christ ; how this is conditioned ; how it is opposed to
the kingdom of hell ; also, how it struggles in nature with the
kingdom of hell."
1. The First is God, the Father. This First has at the same
time a distinction within itself, and is the unity of the dis-
tinction. " God is all," he says. " He is darkness and light,
love and anger, tire and light ; but He calls Himself alone one
God, after the light of His love. There is an eternal contra-
rium between darkness and light ; neither holds the other, and
neither is the other ; and yet there is but one single Being only
with the Qual — torture — in distinction; so with the will,
there being, however, no separable Being. Only one pvin-
cipium divides this : that one is in the other as a nothing, and
nevertheless is; but according to its quality, wherein it is not
manifest." By the Qual ( " torture " ) is expressed that which
is absolute, even the self-conscious, felt negativity, the self-
determinino- negative, which is therefore absolute affirmation.
Around this point all of Boehme's efforts turn ; the principle
of conception is in him throughout alive, only he cannot ex-
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 187
press it in the form of thought. All depends upon this: to
think the negative as simple, when it is at the same time an
opposite. Thus the torture is this inner self-opposition,
and yet at the same time the simple. From this word
Qital (torture) Boehme derives Quellen [sources] — a good
play upon words; for the Qual (torture) — this negativity
passes into vitality, activity ; and thus he brings it also together
with Qualitat (quality). The absolute identity of the differ-
ent is everywhere present with him.
a. Thus Boehme does not represent God as an empty unity,
but as the self-dirempting unity of the absolutely opposed. The
First One, the Father, has at the same time the manner of
natural existence. Concerning this, he speaks thus : that God
is the simple Essence ; quite like Proclus. This simple Essence
he calls the Hidden ; he defines it also as the Tempera mentwn —
that unity of differences in which all is tempered. We find,
too, m this connection, much about the great salitter — now
the divine, now the salitter of nature — also called salniter.
When he discourses about this great salitter as of something
known, one does not immediately understand what he means.
It is, however, a cobbler-like murder of the words sal nitri,
i. e., saltpetre (which, in Austria, is still called salniter).
This figures thus the neutral and truly universal Being; this
is the divine splendor. In God is a splendid nature — trees,
plants, etc. " In the divine splendor, two things are especially
to be considered : the salitter, or the divine powers, which
produce all fruit, and the mercurius, or sound." This great
salitter is the unrevealed Being, even as the New Platonic
unity is without self-consciousness, and so equally unknown.
b. This first substance contains all powers or qualities,
as not yet differenced ; so then this salitter appears as the
body of God, which contains all qualities in itself. Quality
is a main idea, and the first determination with Boehme ;
and he begins with the qualities in his work, "The Morn-
ing Red in its Rising." With the quality he also after-
wards brings together inqualiren (inqualitize), and there
says: " Quality is the mobility, the Quallen (pain), or unrest
of a thing." These qualities he then defines, but it is an ob-
188 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
scare representation: "It is as the heat, which burns, con-
sumes, and drives out all that comes into it which is not of its
own quality. On the other hand, it lights and warms all that is
cold, wet, and dark, and makes the soft hard. But it has two
species in itself, namely, light and rage' (negativity);
" the light — the heart of the heat — is a lovely, joyful sight, a
power of life, a part, or a source of the heavenl} r joy; for it
makes everything in this world alive and moving. All flesh,
as well as all trees, foliage, and grass, grow in this world by
the power of light, and have life therein, as in the good.
On the other hand, it possesses rage, which burns, consumes,
and ruins. This rage swells, drives, and uplifts itself in the
light, and causes the light to move. They struggle and fight
with each other in their twofold source. The light exists in
•God without heat, but it does not exist in nature ; for in
nature all qualities are one in another, according to kind and
manner. Even as God is everything, God " (the Father) " is
the heart," says Boehme. In another place (in the work on
the " Threefold Life of Man ") he says " the Son is the heart
of God." Again, the spirit is also called the heart, " or foun-
tain of nature; from Him proceeds everything." Now, heat
rules in all forces of nature, and warms them all and is a
source in all. The light in the heat, however, gives to all
qualities the power that makes them -lovely and delightful.
Boehme enumerates a whole list of qualities : cold, hot, bitter,
sweet, raging, harsh, hard, rough qualities, Sound, etc.
" The bitter quality is also in God, yet not after the same sort
and manner, as gall is in man. It is rather an eternally con-
tinuing force, a great triumphing source of joy. Out of these
qualities all creatures are made, and they come thence and
live therein as in their mother."
" The powers of the stars are nature. All things in this
world originate from the stars. That I will prove to thee, if
thou art not a blockhead, and hast but a little reason. If one
considers the whole curriculum, or the entire circle of the
stars, one soon finds that it is the mother of all things, or
nature, out of which all things have grown, and in which all
things stand and live, and through which all things have their
Hegel on Jacob BoeJime. 18D
movement ; and all things are made out of the same forces, and
continue therein eternally." Thus, we say, God is the reality
of all realities. Boehme continues: "Thou must here,
however, lift up thy feeling in the spirit, and consider how en-
tirely nature, with all the powers which are in nature — the
wide, the deep, the high, Heaven, earth, and all that therein
are, and that are above the Heaven — are the body of God ;
and how the powers of the stars are the chief arteries in the
natural body of God in this world. Thou must not think that
in the corpus of the stars the entire triumphant Holy Trinity —
God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost — exists. But this is
not to be thus understood that He is not at all in the corpus
of the stars and in this world. Here, then, is the question :
Whence does Heaven obtain or take these forces, that it pro-
duces such mobility in nature? And here must thou look
above and outside of nature into the holy light, triumph-
ant, divine power — into the unchangeable, holy Trinity,
which is a triumphant, originating, moving Being; and all
powers are therein, as in nature. Therefrom have Heaven,
earth, stars, elementa, devils, angels, men, animals, and every-
thing arisen, and therein evervthino; has its stand. Thus we
call Heaven and earth, the stars and elements, and all that
therein is, and all that is above the heavens — GOD; who
thus, in these many enumerated beings, in the power which
proceeds from Him, hath made Himself a creature. "
c. Again, Boehme defines God, the Father, as follows :.
"When, now, we consider all nature and its qualities, we
seethe Father; when we view the Heaven and the stars, we
see His eternal power and wisdom. Thus many stars twinkle
under the Heaven, innumerable ; thus great and varied are the
powers and wisdom of God, the Father. Every star has its
own quality. Thou must not, however, " think that every
power that is in the Father occupies a certain part .and place
in the Father, as the stars in the Heaven. No ! But the spirit
shows that all powers in the Father are in one another, as one
power." This Avhole is the universal power in general, which
exists as God, the Father, in which the differences are united ;
but it exists createdly as the totality of the stars, therefore as
190 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
diremption into the different qualities. " Thou must not think
that God in Heaven, and above the Heaven, stands, as it were,
and undulates as a power and quality, which has no reason
and knowledge in itself — as the sun, which courseth through its
circle and sheds from itself warmth and light, which bring
alike harm and help to the earth or the creatures. No ! Thus
is not the Father. He is an almighty, all-wise, all-knowing
all-seeing, all-hearing, all-smelling, all-tasting God, who is at
the same time in Himself gentle, friendly, lovely, merciful, and
joyful — yea, is jo}' itself."
ON THE STUDY OF THEOLOGY.
[TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF F. W. J. VON SCHELLING, BEIN T G THE NINTH
LECTURE "ON THE METHOD OF UNIVERSITY STUDY "— AKADEMISCHEN
STUDIUM.]
BY ELLA S. MORGAN.
If I find it difficult to speak of the study of theology, it is
because I must consider the method of that science, and the
whole standpoint from which its truths should be taken, as lost
and forgotten. The collective theories of this science are un-
derstood empirically, and as' such have been asserted and con-
tested. But they are not native to this soil [empiricism] and
altogether lose their meaning and significance.
Theologians maintain that Christianity is a divine revela-
tion, which they conceive as an action of God performed in
Time. Thus they resort to the very standpoint from which
there can be no question whether the origin of Christianity is
explicable on natural grounds. One who could not answer
this problem to his satisfaction must know very little of the
history and culture of the time of its rise. Read the writings
of the learned men, in which the germ of Christianity is shown
to have existed, not merely in Judaism, but in a single religi-
ous community which preceded Judaism. It is not necessary
to go so far, although the account of Josephus, and even the
remains of the Christian historical books, have not been thor-
On the Study of Theology. 191
oughly used in order to demonstrate this connection. Enough ;
Christ as The One is a perfectly comprehensible person, and it
was an absolute necessity to conceive him as a symbolic per-
son, and in a higher significance.
Shall we consider the spread of Christianity as a special
work of divine Providence? It is only necessary to acquaint
ourselves with the time in which it made its first conquests to
recognize it merely as a particular phenomenon of the general
spirit of the time. Not that Christianity created the latter ; it
was itself or.lya premonitive anticipation, the first expression
of that spirit. The Roman Empire was ripe for Christianity
centuries before Constantine chose the Cross as the standard
of the new rule of the world. Perfect gratification of all ex-
ternal desire led to the aspiration for the internal and invisi-
ble ; a decaying empire, whose power was only temporal, the
lost courage in the objective world, the unhappiness of the age,
necessarily created a universal susceptibility for a religion
which directed men back to an ideal, which taught renuncia-
tion and led to happiness.
Christian religious teachers cannot justify any of their asser-
tions without first making their own the higher view of history
itself, which is prescribed by both philosophy and Christianity.
They have fought against unbelief long enough on its own
ground, instead of grappling with the standpoint upon which
it rests. They might say to the advocates of the natural view,
"You are perfectly right from the point of view which you
take, and it is our belief that, from your standpoint, you judge
rightly. We only deny the standpoint itself, or consider it as
a merely subordinate one." It is the same case as the empir-
icist, who proves to the philosopher irrefutably that all know-
ing is posited only through the external necessity of impres-
sions.
The same condition is found in regard to all dogmas of the-
ology. From the idea of the Trinit} r , it is plain that, unless it is
understood speculatively, it has no meaning whatever. The in-
carnation of God in Christ is interpreted by theologians in the
same empirical way, namely, that God took upon Himself the
human shape at some particular moment of time — a view
192 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
which is simply without any significance, since God is eternally
beyond all time. Hence the incarnation of God is the incar-
nation of eternity. The man Christ is, as phenomenal reality,
only the highest point, and in so far, also, the beginning of
this incarnation ; for from Him henceforth all his successors are
members of one and the same body, of which he is the head.
History testifies that in Christ, God first becomes truly objec-
tive ; for who before Him revealed the infinite in such a man-
ner ?
It might be shown that, as far back as historical knowledge
goes, two distinctly different streams of religion and poetry
are distinguishable. The one predominant in the Indian
religion, which transmitted the intellectual system and the
most ancient idealism ; the other, which contained within itself
the realistic view of the world. The former, after flowing
throuirh the whole Orient, found its permanent garden-bed in
Christianity, and, combined with the in itself unfruitful soil of
the Occident, generated the growths of the modern world.
The other, supplemented by the opposite unity — the ideal
of ar t — brought forth in Greek mythology the highest
beauty. And shall we count for nothing the motions of the
opposite pole in Greek culture, the mystical elements of an
abstract kind of poetry, the rejection of mythology and the
banishment of the poets by the philosophers, especially Plato,
who, in a foreign and far-removed world, is a prophet of
Christianity?
But the fact that Christianity existed before, and independ-
ent of this, proves the necessity of its idea, and that even in
this relation no absolute antitheses exist. The Christian mis-
sionaries who came to India thought they brought unheard-of
tidings to the inhabitants when they taught that the God of
the Christians had become man. But the Hindoos were not
surprised ; they b} r no means denied the incarnation of God in
Christ, and only thought it strange that what had taken place
but once in Christianity took place often and continuously
with them. It is not to be denied that they had a better com-
prehension of their own religion than the Christian missionaries
had of theirs.
Oil the Study of Theology. 193
On account of the universality of its idea, the historical con-
struction of Christianity cannot be conceived without the
religious construction of all history. Hence it is no more to
be compared with what has hitherto been called universal
history of religion (although they contain less religion than
anything else) than with the more partial history of the
Christian religion and Church.
Such a construction is in itself only possible to the higher
stage of cognition, which rises above the empirical coordina-
tion of things ; therefore it is not without philosophy, which
is the true organ of theology as science, wherein the highest
ideas of the Divine Being, of nature as the instrumentality,
and of history as the revelation of God, become objective. No
one, of course, will confound the statement of the speculative
meaning of the principal theories of theology with the Kantian
view, whose chief aim is finally to eliminate entirely the posi-
tive and the historical element from Christianity, and to refine it
to a pure lleliuion of Eeason. The true religion of reason is
to see that there are only two manifestations of religion — the
real religion of nature, which is necessarily polytheism in the
sense of the Greeks, and that which, wholly ethical, sees God
in History. The Kantian refinement sees by no means a
speculative, but only a moral, meaning in those theories ; and
by this the empirical standpoint is not really given up, and the
truth of the theories is not accepted in itself, but only in the
subjective relation of possible motives of morality. Like dog-
matism in philosophy, dogmatism in theology is a transferring
of something which can be known only absolutely to the
empirical point of view of the understanding. Kant took nei-
ther the one nor the other at its root, since he knew nothing
positive to put in the place of either. Especially to explain
the Bible morally in schools, as he proposed, would be merely
to use the empirical phenomenon of Christianity for -purposes
which cannot be attained without misapplication, but not to
rise above it to the idea of Christianity.
The first books of the history and doctrines of Christianity
are nothing but a special, and moreover an imperfect, manifes-
tation of the same ; its idea is not to be sought in these books,
XIII — 13
194 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
whose value is to be determined by the degree in which they
express the idea and are in consonance with it. Already in
the soul of the heathen convert, Paul, had Christianity become
other than it was in the first founder. Let us not stop at any
single point of time, which can only be taken arbitrarily, but
let us have all history and all the world which created it be-
fore our eyes.
To the operations of the modern clearing-up (scepticism) —
which, in regard to Christianity, might rather be called clear-
ing-out — belongs the pretence of taking it back, as they say,
to its original sense, to its first simplicity, in which shape they
also call it original Christianity. We should think the Chris-
tian teachers must be grateful to modern times because they
have drawn so much speculative matter out of the meagre con-
tents of the first religious books, and formed this into a system.
It may, indeed, be more convenient to talk of the scholastic
chaos of the old Dogmatism, and to write popular dogmatical
expositions, and to busy oneself with minute inquiries into
the meaning of syllables and words, than to conceive Christi-
anity and its teachings in a more universal relation. Mean-
time one cannot avoid thinking what a hindrance to the con-
summation have been the so-called biblical books, which can
not stand comparison in real religious value with so many others
of early and later times, especially with the East Indian
books.
A merely political object has been ascribed to the hierarchy
in withdrawing these books from the people, but it might well
be the profounder reason that Christianity should continue as
a living religion, not as a past, but as an everlasting present,
just as the miracles in the Church did not cease, which Protes-
tants very illogically relegated to past times alone. In reality
it was these books which, as original records, needed by his-
torical investigation, but not by faith, have constantly put em-
pirical Christianity in the place of the idea, which can exist
independent of them, and is more loudly proclaimed by the
wdiole history of the modern world, in contrast to the old, than
by those books where it is still quite undeveloped. .
The spirit of the modern time aims with evident consistency
On the Study of Theology. 195
at the annihilation of all merely finite forms, and it is religion
to recognize it in this. According to this law, the condition of
a general and public life, which religion had attained more or
less in Christianity, must be evanescent, since it realizes only
a few of the purposes of the world-spirit. Protestantism arose,
and at the time of its origin was a new return of the spirit to
the non-sensuous, although this mere negative effort, beyond
the fact that it broke the continuity of the development of
Christianity, could never create a positive union and an exter-
nal symbolical manifestation of the same as a visible church.
In the place of a living authority came the authority of dead
books, written in dead languages, and as these from their very
nature could not be binding, a much more unworthy slavery,
the dependence on symbols which had a mere human authori-
ty. It was necessary that Protestantism, since it was anti-
universal in its very idea, should again fall into sects, and that
scepticism should attach itself to particular forms and to the
empirical phenomena, since the whole religion was made to con-
sist of them.
Not genial, but unbelieving ; not pious, nor yet witt} 7 and
frivolous — like the unhappy souls that Dante describes in the
limbo of the Inferno, who were neither rebellious nor true to
God, whom Heaven thrust out and Hell rejected, because even
the condemned would not own them — so, some German
savants, with the aid of a so-called "sound exegesis," of a
sceptical psychology, and lax morals, have taken away every-
thing speculative, and even subjective symbolism, from
Christianity. The belief in its divinity was built upon empiri-
cal historical arguments ; the miracle of the revelation proved
in a very manifest circle by other miracles. Since the divine,
from its very nature, is neither empirically cognizable nor
demonstrable, the naturalists, on this plane, were sure of the
game. It was already a capitulation when the investigations
into the genuineness of the Christian books, and the proof of
their inspiration from particular passages, was made the founda-
tion of theology. The reference back to the literal text of cer-
tain books necessitated the change of the whole science into
196 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
philology and the art of interpretation, by which it became
an altogether profane science, and where the palladium 01
orthodoxy is sought in the so-called science of language ; there
theology has sunk to the deepest depth, and is farthest
from its ideal. Its great point consists in taking out or
explaining away as man) 7 miracles as possible from the
Bible — as contemptible a beginning as to prove the divinity of
religion from these same empirical and meagre facts. Of what
use to get any number of them out of the way, when it is not
possible with all? for one alone would prove as much as a
thousand, if, indeed, this mode of proof had any value what-
soever.
With this philological attempt is associated the psychologi-
cal effort to explain as psychological illusions many stories,
which are evidently Jewish fables, discarded after the direction
of the Old Testament prophecies of the coming of the Messiah
(of whose source the originators leave no doubt, as is shown
by what they themselves add, viz. : " It must have happened
in order that what was written might be fulfilled ").
Closely related to the preceding is the favorite dilution-
method, by which, on pretext that certain phrases are but
expressions of oriental imagery, the shallow notions which
complacent " common sense " has of modern morals and relig-
ion are explained into them.
And finally this separation of science from speculation has
spread to public instruction, which they would make purely
moral, and without speculative ideas. Morality is, un-
doubtedly, not a characteristic of Christianity alone ; it would
not have existed in history, and in the world, for the sake of a
few moral proverbs like "Love your neighbor," etc. It is
not the fault of this common-sense understanding if such
moral preaching does lower itself still more, and teach mat-
ters of political economy. Preachers should really be, at
different times, farmers, physicians, and what not. They
should not merely recommend vaccination from the pulpit,
they should also teach the best method of raising potatoes.
I have been obliged to speak of the condition of theology,
On the Study of Theology. 197
because I could not hope to make clear what seemed neces-
sary to he said about the study of this science otherwise than
by contrasting it with the prevalent methods.
The divinity of Christianity cannot be known by any medi-
ate method ; it can only be known immediately, and in connec-
tion with the absolute view of history. Hence, among others,
the idea of a mediate revelation, except it is thought out in
behoof of a double meaning in speech, is entirely inadmissible,
because it is altogether empirical.
Everything in the study of theology, which is really a mat-
ter of empiricism, like the critical and philological treatment
of the first Christian books, is to be entirely distinct from the
study of the science in and for itself. The higher ideas can
have no influence on their interpretation, which must be as
independent as the interpretation of any other where the ques-
tion is, not whether what he says is reasonable, historically
true, or religious, but whether he really said it. On the other
hand, whether these books are genuine or not; whether the
stories they contain are really undistorted facts ; whether their
content is or is not in harmony with the idea of Christianity,
can change nothing of its reality, since it is not dependent on
this single fact, but is universal and absolute. And if Chris-
tianity itself were not understood as a mere phenomenon in
time, the interpretation would have long since been given up,
and we should have advanced much farther in the historical
appreciation of the documents so important in its early history,
and should not have continued to seek so many by-paths and
labyrinths in a matter so simple.
The essential thing in the study of theology is the union of
the speculative and historical construction of Christianity and
its principal doctrines.
First, in place of the exoteric and literal put the esoteric
and spiritual elements of Christianity, although this beginning
contradicts the evident intention of the early teachers, and of
the Church itself: for both were at all times agreed in protest-
ing against the entrance of evervthing which was not the con-
cern of all mankind and completely exoteric. It proves a
right feeling, a secure consciousness of what the early found-
198 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
ers, as well as the modern leaders of Christianity, must have
desired, that they deliberately kept away whatever could be
prejudicial to its publicity, expressly excluding it as heresy,
as inimical to its universality. Even among those who be-
longed to the Church and the orthodoxy, those who insisted
most strenuously on the letter, acquired the greatest authority,
and it was they who really made Christianity a universal relig-
ious form. Only the letter of the Occident could give body
and outward shape to the ideal principle from the Orient, as
the light of the sun, acting upon the earth, causes to grow
thereon the noblest organic products.
But this very condition, which originated the first forms of
Christianity, after these forms, in accordance with the law of
finitude, have fallen into decay, and it is a plain impossibility
to maintain Christianity in the exoteric shape, returns anew.
The esoteric side must therefore stand out, and, freed of its cov-
ering, shine for itself. The eternal, living spirit of all culture
and creation will clothe it in new and more enduring forms,
since there is no lack of a material in contrast with the ideal.
The Occident and the Orient have approached in one and the
same culture, and everywhere, where two opposites touch,
new life is kindled. In the ruthlessness with which it has
allowed the most beautiful, but finite forms to fall into decay,
after the withdrawal of their life-principle, the spirit of the
modern world has sufficiently revealed its purpose, which is
to bring forth the infinite in ever new forms. It has also just
as clearly testified that it is not Christianity as a single, empir-
ical phenomenon which it wishes, but as that eternal idea
itself. The lineaments of Christianity, not limited to the past,
but spread out over all time, are plainly enough to be recog-
nized in poetry and philosophy. The former claims religion
as the supreme, indeed the only possibility of the poetic re-
conciliation ; the latter, with the truly speculative standpoint,
has again conquered that of religion, has annihilated empiri-
cism, and its brother, naturalism, not only in part, but com-
pletely, and in itself has prepared the way for the new birth
of esoteric Christianity and the evangel of the Absolute.
The Spatial Quale. 199
THE SPATIAL QUALE.
AN ANSWER BY J. E. CABOT.
In the interesting and instructive article, of this title, con-
tributed by Dr. James to the January number of the Jour-
nal, he takes occasion to object to ray description of Space,
in the shape in which this notion first dawns upon conscious-
ness, as not sufficiently accurate. It is not, he says, the in-
definite otherness of the objects of perception, but a quite dis-
tinct sort of otherness, due to a special form of sensibility
which certain objects awaken in us. As to this, I do not see
that we disagree ; indeed, I think he ought to go still further
than he does, and make his distinction deeper — a distinction
of categories, and not merely of kinds within the same cate-
gory. For I hold the feeling of Space to be the first appear-
ance of Quantity, and thus the first intimation of external ref-
erence among feelings previously qualitative.
Without sharing Berkeley's view, that the external world is
only states of our own consciousness, we may suppose that to
some of the lower animals, or even to man in the earlier
stages of his development, it would so appear, if they could
have a clear view of their own mental situation. To an
oyster, we may suppose the universe consists of various affec-
tions of the oyster, more or less distinctly classified by their
different characters or qualities, as they are felt or remem-
bered. To such a consciousness, the only grounds of relation
among its facts would be these characters. Things would be
known as pleasant, gratifying, etc., or the reverse, and the
on\y place of their existence would be consciousness itself. I
do not mean that there would be no feeling of position ; a
polyp, e. g. , shows that he has this feeling by searching about for
a morsel of food that has escaped him — I only mean that
there is probably no reflexion upon the feeling ; there is ap-
prehension of external things, but no apprehension of exter-
nality.
But, however this may be, for I am not concerned here to
200 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
prove that there is :i merely qualitative consciousness, I only
concede that there may be ; admitting that there is, there
must come at a certain stage of development the intimation
of relations wholly untranslateable into terms of Quality,
other distinctions cutting right across the former ones, and in
virtue of which a feeling may be at the same time different
from itself, and different feelings may coincide, and this with-
out any disturbance of their quality ; a consciousness of much-
ness or many-ness in, say, the single color " blue," or the feel-
in<>- " warmth/' or again, the feeling that the " blue " is also
" warm."
The human mind, as we see, relieves itself from this embar-
rassment by the hypothesis of external objects, which are
able, as it were, to hold apart identical feelings, and to
identify different ones ; so that we tind no difficulty e. g. in
the tact that the tire gives us warmth and light from all its
parts at once. But a more accurate psychology, reflecting
that these feelings are not in the fire, but in us ; and further,
that the being in us, the sensibility in which they are mani-
fested, is not the mere form, but the very substance of knowl-
edge, the fact known as distinguished from the inferences w T e
may draw from it — such a psychology, I say, finds it neces-
sary to suppose that this further determination, this muchness
or collaterally of the feeling, if it is real, is also a quality,
an ultimate characteristic, which is given in it, as the charac-
ter " blue " or "■ warm " is given in the sensible impression.
When the attempt is made, however, to point out the Quale
of position, or extent, it seems so difficult even to make it
clear to ourselves that there can be such a Quale — that is, a
tixed character of being other than itself, of having dimen-
sions which are not dimensions of blueness, warmth, etc., but
only express that there is more of the same — that it is not
surprising to find many psychologists preferring to suppose
that the apparently simple fact of collaterality, or simul-
taneous otherness in a sensation, is really a complex fact, the
indiscriminate impression of several feelings, some answering
to the sameness and others to the difference, brought together
as one — as e. g. in the consciousness of motion, in which
The Spatial Quale. 201
several sensations overlap each other, and so are at once iden-
tified and discriminated, or again, in the coexistence of differ-
ent retinal impressions, etc.
This theory, however, either assumes spatial position to
begin with — points from which motion starts, or in which reti-
nal impressions are localized, etc., and then there is no explana-
tion but only a statement of the fact to be explained — or else
it merely states a contradiction without solving it ; for if these
different determinations of the same feeling really meet, they
must abolish each other; blue cannot be anything but blue,
or warmth than warmth, without ceasing to exist. If they do
not meet, but merely coexist, as a sound, a scent, and a taste
may co-exist, or several sounds be heard at once — this has
nothing to do with extent.
Yet the fact remains that this breadth, this collateral subdi-
vision belongs to all our sensations alike, as something perfectly
distinct from their protractedness, number, or intensity — in
short, from airy contrast inside of the particular quality. In
the view of a uniformly whitened wall, or the feel of a smooth
marble slab, there is no contrast of feelings, jet there is ex-
tent, and equally in the smallest of their parts, in the mini-
mum visible or tangible as truly as in the widest horizon.
Various circumstances — variety of color, consciousness of
movement, etc. — may call our attention to this breadth or en-
able us to measure it, but it is there before.
There is nothing for it, then, Dr. James considers, but to ac-
cept this primordial bigness as an ultimate quality of sensa-
tions, and of every sensation. The excitement of any extended
part of the body, he says, is felt as extended — why, we cannot
say. A punctiform organ could not give us the feeling of
Space.
By a punctiform organ he means, I suppose, one whereby we
should receive sensations having position, but no extent ; a
sensation say of blue, which is not spread out upon a surface,
a feeling of warmth not pervading any body. But then, I ask,
what would be wanting to such a sensation — what would have
to be added in order that it should give us the impression of
extent ? Only, it seems to me, that the relation to other points,
202 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
which is implied in its position, should be made explicit and
visible, or tangible. It cannot really have position except by
relation to other things, and all that is needed is that this fact
should be felt. And such is our actual case. Things are not
seen as blue, or felt as warm, except somewhere with regard to
other impressions, or without their parts being somewhere with
regard to the others. They are all somewhere in particular,
not merety somewhere in general.
Now, what is this but saying that the qualities of our sensa-
tions, are not ultimate or absolute, but relative ; that we have
no experience of things existing by themselves ; that such ex-
istence is a mental abstraction, not a reality?
If Dr. James means only that extent may be seen or felt, I
quite agree, and even that it may be heard, tasted, and smelt.
There is a difference, however, in the readiness with which we
ascribe extent to the affection of various organs, and this dif-
ference is instructive. Thus, we feel some hesitation, as Dr.
James remarks, in speaking of spacious tastes, or voluminous
sounds, or pains. Yet there are voluminous sounds, like the
rolling of thunder ; and extensive pains, like the pain of lum-
bago ; and others that are fine or attenuated, like the prick of
a pin, or the squeak of a slate-pencil. This proves, he con-
siders, that they all must have some extent or spatial bulk.
Dr. James does not mean that a pain could be halved and
quartered, and its separate parts set up at the right or the left
of each other. That is to say, he does not mean that it is a
thing having extent or bulk ; what he means, I take it, is that
in every sensation, over and above the particular quality of
blue, warm, etc., a sign is given us, which we are apt to over-
look because the import is of more practical moment to us
than the sign, but which indicates objective determinations of
things. Thus it is that the same extent of excited retina can
susfo-est the most various directions or sizes of the object, ac-
cording to the circumstances — i. e., according to the inter-
pretation. This is equally true of all our sensations ; but, in
the case of the impressions of sight and touch, we are so con-
stantly engaged in interpreting the signs they give us that we
pass at once to the thing signified, and take for granted that
The Spatial Quale. 203
the nervous affection is the quality of an object — the shock
communicated to the retina, a flash of light ; the pea between
the crossed fingers, two peas, etc. — whereas, in the case of a
taste, a sound, or a pain, there is more distinct survival of the
subjective affection.
But if this, or anything like it, is Dr. James's position, as I
gather from page 84 of his article that it is, then I do not
see why he should expect to find in the sign, as one of its
native qualities, before it becomes a sign, the objective deter-
minations of the thing signified, any more than he would expect
to find in the wood of a finger-post the native tendency to set
people on the right road. The thing does not exist until it is
so used. And so of extent, it does not exist until those rela-
tions of which it consists are in some degree determined by
the mind. I do not say that it is a conscious construction, in
which separate positions are first distinguished and then
brought into relations with each other. On the contrary, I
hold the perception that the positions cannot exist without the
relations, or the relations without the positions, to be the per-
ception of Space ; and that this confused, self-contradictory
feeling, when it is accounted for and its contradictions solved
by means of an adequate hypothesis, becomes the notion of
Space.
Of course, it is possible to imagine ourselves resting content
with the feeling, and this seems to be a favorite procedure
with the physiological psychologists. We may, if we please,
consider the extent of a scarlet nasturtium as a fact of the
same order with its color. That is to say, we may, and often
do, stop at the fact that each is an impression, a something
felt — and this being sufficient for our purpose, we may neg-
lect to inquire farther into what is implied in this fact. Only,
I say, this is not philosophizing. It is not the office of philos-
ophy to lead us to feel our thoughts (however useful this may
sometimes be, from another point of view), but to teach us to
understand our feelings — to find out what they signify, what
notions they imply, or what conclusions they oblige us to
adopt. In this direction — that is, in the attempt to dis-
cover what our feeling of extension means, or what Space
204 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy
really is — I do not see that the facts cited by Dr. James,
showing that we feel extent or motion without knowing what
they are, help us much. He says he is not conscious ot any
mental act of creation or production whereby the notion of
Space is put together out of non-spatial feelings. Neither, I
suppose, is he cognizant of the exact height of the stairs he
daily traverses. But his foot is ; and were the quarter of an
inch added to one of them, his foot would not fail to apprise
him of it. Now, such a fact as this he could verify with a car-
penter's rule, but there are other facts of which our feelings
apprise us which cannot be verified by a carpenter's rule, and
as to these the question may arise, whether they are real or
whether they are only feelings.
Such a fact is this of extent or spatial existence. The car-
penter's rule can tell us how much ; but, in the first place, is
there any much in the case, or how can there be ; at any rate,
how can we know for certain that there is, when our feelings ap-
prise us only of their own existence? How can they tell us that
something else is? If we are satisfied with the fact that they
do tell us, we may neglect the farther inquiry. But it is the
whole business of philosophy. As Dr. James says, the impor-
tant question is, Do the native forms of sensibility yield us a
priori propositions, .synthetic judgments? If they do not, one
does not see what call there is to continue this laborious trifling.
The Science of Education. 205
THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION.
[analysis of the first part of rosenkranz's "pedagogics as a system,"
with a commentary on certain paragraphs. to accompany the para-
phrase published in this journal, january and july, 1878.]
Analysis and Commentary.
§ 1. Pedagogics is not a complete, independent science by itself.
It borrows the results of other sciences [e. g., it presupposes the
science of Rights, treating of the institutions of the family and civil
society, as well as of the State ; it presupposes the scien ;e of anthro-
pology, in which is treated the relations of the human mind to nature.
Nature conditions the development of the individual human being.
But the history of the individual and the history of the race presents
a continual emancipation from nature, and a continual growth into
freedom, i. <?., into ability to know himself and to realize himself in
the world by making the matter and forces of the world his instruments
and tools. Anthropology shows us how man as a natural being —
i. e., as having a body — is limited. There is climate, involving heat
and cold and moisture, the seasons of the year, etc. ; there is organic
growth, involving birth, growth, reproduction, and decay ; there is
race, involving the limitations of heredity ; there is the telluric life
of the planet and the circulation of the forces of the solar sys-
tem, whence arise the processes of sleeping, waking, dreaming, and
kindred phenomena; there is the emotional nature of man, involving
his feelings, passions, instincts, and desires ; then there are the five
senses, and their conditions. Then, there is the science of phenom-
enology, treating of the steps by which mind rises from the stage of
mere feeling and sense-perception to that of self-consciousness, i. e.,
to a recognition of mind as true substance, and of matter as mere
phenomenon created by Mind (God). Then, there is psychol-
ogy, including the treatment of the stages of activity of mind, as
so-called " faculties" of the mind, e. g., attention, sense-perception,
imagination, conception, understanding, judgment, reason, and the like.
Psychology is generally made (by English writers) to include, also,
what is here called anthropology and phenomenology. After psychol-
ogy, there is the science of ethics, or of morals and customs ; then, the
206 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
Science of Rights, already mentioned ; then, Theology, or the Science
of Religion, and, after all these, there is Philosophy, or the Science of
Science. Now, it is clear that the Science of Education treats of
the process of development, by and through which man, as a merely
natural being, becomes spirit, or self-conscious mind ; hence, it
presupposes all the sciences named, and will be defective if it ignores
nature, or mind, or any stage or process of either, especially An-
thropology, Phenomenology, Psychology, Ethics, Rights, ^Esthetics,
or Science of Art and Literature, Religion, or Philosophy].
§ 2. The scope of pedagogics being so broad and its presuppositions
so vast, its limits are not well defined, and its treatises are very apt
to lack logical sequence and conclusion ; and, indeed, frequently to
be mere collections of unjustified and unexplained assumptions,
dogmatically set forth. Hence the low repute of pedagogical litera-
ture as a whole.
§ 3. Moreover, education furnishes a special vocation, that of
teaching. (All vocations are specializing — being cut off, as it were,
from the total life of man. The "division of labor" requires that
each individual shall concentrate his endeavors and be a part of the
whole).
§ 4. Pedagogics, as a special science, belongs to the collection of
sciences (already described, in commenting on § 1) included under
the philosophy of Spirit or Mind, and more particularly to that part
of it which relates to the will (ethics and science of rights, rather
to the part relating to the intellect and feeling, as anthropology,
phenomenology, psychology, aesthetics, and religion. "Theoretical"
relates to the intellect, "practical" relates to the will, in this phil-
osophy). The province of practical philosophy is the investigation
of the nature of freedom, and the process of securing it by self-
emancipation from nature. Pedagogics involves the conscious exer-
tion of influence on the part of the will of the teacher upon the will
of the pupil, with a purpose in view — that of inducing the pupil to
form certain prescribed habits, and adopt prescribed views and in-
clinations. The entire science of mind (as above shown), is pre-
supposed by the science of education, and must be kept constantly
in view as a guiding light. The institution of the family (treated in
practical philosophy) is the starting-point of education, and without
this institution properly realized, education would find no solid
foundation. The right to be educated on the part of children, and
the duty to educate on the part of parents, are reciprocal ; and there
is no family life so poor and rudimentary that it does not furnish the
The Science of Education. 207
most important elements of education — no matter what the subse-
quent influence of the school, the vocation, and the state.
§ 5. Pedagogics as science, distinguished from the same as an art:
the former containing the abstract general treatment, and the latter
taking into consideration all the conditions of concrete individuality,
e. g., the peculiarities of the teacher and the pupil, and all the local
circumstances, and the power of adaptation known as "tact."
§ 6. The special conditions and peculiarities, considered in educa-
tion as an art, may be formulated and reduced to system, but they
should not be introduced as a part of the science of education.
§ 7. Pedagogics has three parts : first, it considers the idea and
nature of education, and arrives at its true definition ; second, it pre-
sents and describes the special provinces into which the entire field
of education is divided ; third, it considers the historical evolution of
education by the human race, and the individual systems of educa-
tion that have arisen, flourished, and decayed, and their special func-
tions in the life of man.
§ 8. The scope of the first part is easy to define. The history of
pedagogics, of course, contains all the ideas or definitions of the
nature of education ; but it must not for that reason be substituted
for the scientific investigation of the nature of education, which alone
should constitute this first part (and the history of education be
reserved for the third part).
§ 9. The second part includes a discussion of the threefold nature
of man as body, intellect, and will. The difficulty in this part of the
science is very great, because of its dependence upon other sciences
(e. g., upon physiology, anthropology, etc.), and because of the
temptation to go into details (e. g., in the practical] department, to
consider the endless varieties of schools for arts and trades).
§ 10. The third part contains the exposition of the various
national standpoints furnished (in the history of the world) for the
bases of particular systems of education. In each of these systems
will be found the general idea underlying all education, but it will be
found existing under special modifications, which have arisen through
its application to the physical, intellectual, and Jethical conditions of
the people. But we can deduce the essential ^features of the differ-
ent systems that may appear in history, for there are only a limited
number of systems possible. Each lower form finds itself comple-
mented in some higher form, and its function and purpose then become
manifest. The systems of "national]" education (L e., Asiatic sys-
tems, in which the individuality of each person is swallowed up in the
208 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
substantiality of the national idea — just as the individual waves get
lost in the ocean on whose surface they arise) find their complete ex-
planation in the systems of education that arise in Christianity (the
preservation of human life being the object of the nation, it follows
that when realized abstractly or exclusively, it absorbs and annuls the
mental independence of its subjects, and thus contradicts itself by
destroying the essence of what it undertakes to preserve, i. e., life
(soul, mind) ; but within Christianity the principle of the state is
found so modified that it is consistent with the infinite, untram-
melled development of the individual, intellectually and morally, and
thus not only life is saved, but spiritual, free life is attainable for
each and for all).
§ 11. The histoiy of pedagogy ends with the present system as
the latest one. As science sees the future ideally contained in the
present, it is bound to comprehend the latest system as a realization
(though imperfect) of the ideal system of education. Hence, the
system, as scientifically treated in the first part of our work, is the
system with which the third part of our work ends.
§ 12. The nature of education, its form, its limits, are now to be
investigated. (§§ 13-50.)
§ 13. The nature of education determined by the nature of Mind
or Spirit, whose activity is always devoted to realizing for itself what
it is potentially — to becoming conscious of its possibilities, and to
getting them under the control of its will. Mind is potentially free.
Education is the means by which man seeks to realize in man his
possibilities (to develop the possibilities of the race in each indi-
vidual). Hence, education has freedom for its object.
§ 14. Man is the only being capable of education, in the sense
above defined, because the only conscious being. He must know
himself ideally, and then realize his ideal self, in order to become
actually free. The animals not the plants may be trained, or culti-
vated, but, as devoid of self-consciousness (even the highest animals
not getting above impressions, not reaching ideas, not seizing gen-
eral or abstract thoughts), they are not realized for themselves, but
only for us. (That is, they do not know their ideal as we do.)
§ 15. Education, taken in its widest compass, is the education of
the human race by Divine Providence.
§ 16. In a narrower sense, education is applied to the shaping of
the individual, so that his caprice and arbitrariness shall give place to
rational habits and views, in harmony with nature and ethical cus-
toms. He must not abuse nature, nor slight the ethical code of his
The Science of Education. 209
people, nor despise the gifts of Providence (whether for weal or
woe), unless he is willing to be crushed in the collision with these
moi - e substantial elements.
§ 17. In the narrowest, but most usual application of the term,
we understand by "education " the influence of the individual upon
the individual, exerted with the object of developing his powers in a
conscious and methodical manner, either generally or in special
directions, the educator being relatively mature, and exercising
authority over the relatively immature pupil. Without authority on
the one hand and obedience on the other, education would lack
its ethical basis — a neglect of the will-training could not be com-
pensated for by any amount of knowledge or smartness.
§ 18. The general province of education includes the development
of the individual into the theoretical and practical reason immanent
in him. The definition which limits education to the development of
the individual into ethical customs (obedience to morality, social
conventionalities, and the laws of the state — Hegel's definition is
here referred to : " The object of education is to make men ethical ")
is not comprehensive enough, because it ignores the side of the intel-
lect* and takes note only of the will. The individual should not only
be man in general (as he is through the adoption of moral and
ethical forms — which are general forms, customs, or laws, and thus
the forms imposed by the will of the race), but he should also be
a self-conscious subject, a particular individual (man, through his
intellect, exists for himself as an individual, while through his general
habits and customs he loses his individuality and spontaneity).
§ 19. Education has a definite object in view and it proceeds by
grades of progress toward it. The systematic tendency is essential
to all education, property so called.
§ 20. Division of labor has become requisite in the higher spheres
of teaching. The growing multiplicity of branches of knowledge
creates the necessity for the specialist as teacher. With this tendency
to specialties it becomes more and more difficult to preserve what
is so essential to the pupil — his rounded human culture and symmetry
of development. The citizen of modern civilization sometimes
appears to be an artificial product by the side of the versatility of
the savage man.
§ 21. From this necessity of the division of labor in modern times
there arises the demand for two kinds of educational institutions —
those devoted to general education (common schools, colleges, etc.),
and special schools (for agriculture, medicine, mechanic arts, etc).
XIII — 14
210 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy .
§ 22. The infinite possibility of culture for the individual leaves,
of course, his actual accomplishment a mere approximation to a
complete education. Born idiots are excluded from the possibility of
education, because the lack of universal ideas in their consciousness
precludes to that class of unfortunates anything beyond a mere
mechanical training.
§ 23. Spirit, or mind, makes its own nature ; it is what it pro-
duces — a self-result. From this follows the form of education. It
commences with (1) undeveloped mind — that of the infant — wherein
nearly all is potential, and but little is actualized; (2) its first stage
of development is self-estrangement — it is absorbed in the observa-
tion of objects around it; (3) but it discovers laws and principles
(universality) in external nature, and finally identifies them with rea-
son — it comes to recognize itself in nature — to recognize conscious
mind as the creator and preserver of the external world — and thus
becomes at home in nature. Education does not create, but it eman-
cipates.
§ 24. This process of self-estrangement and its removal belongs to
all culture. The mind must fix its attention upon what is foreign to
it, and penetrate its disguise. It will discover its own substance
under the seeming alien being. Wonder is the accompaniment of this
stage of estrangement. The love of travel and adventure arises from
this basis.
§ 25. Labor is distinguished from play: The former concentrates
its energies on some object, with the purpose of making it conform to
its will and purpose ; play occupies itself with its object according to
its caprice and arbitrariness, and has no care for the results or pro-
ducts of its activity ; work is prescribed by authority, while play is
necessarily spontaneous.
§ 26. Work and Play: the distinction between them. In play the
child feels that he has entire control over the object with which he is
dealing, both in respect to its existence and the object for which it
exists. His arbitrary will may change both with perfect impunity,
since all depends upon his caprice ; he exercises his powers in play ac-
cording to his natural proclivities, and therein finds scope to devel-
ope his own individuality. In work, on the contrary, he must have
respect for the object with which he deals. It must be held sacred
against his caprice, must not be destroyed nor injured in any
way, and its object must likewise be respected. His own personal
inclinations must be entirely subordinated, and the business that he
is at work upon must be carried forward in accordance with its
The Science of Education. 211
own ends and aims, and without reference to his own feelings in the
matter.
Thus work teaches the pupil the lesson of self-sacrifice (the right
of superiority which the general interest possesses over the particular),
while play develops his personal idiosyncrasy.
§ 27. Without play, the child would become more and more a ma-
chine, and lose all freshness and spontaneity — all originality. With-
out work, he would develop into a monster of caprice and arbitrari-
ness.
From the fact that man must learn to combine with man, in order
that the individual may avail himself of the experience and labors
of his fellow-men, self-sacrifice for the sake of combination is the
great lesson of life. But as this should be voluntary self-sacrifice,
education must train the child equally in the two directions of spon-
taneity and obedience. The educated man finds recreation in change
of work.
§ 28. Education seeks to assimilate its object — -to make what
was alien and strange to the pupil into something familiar and habitual
to him. [The pupil is to attack, one after the other, the foreign
realms in the world of nature and man, and conquer them for his own,
so that he can be "at home " in them. It is the necessary condition
of all growth, all culture, that one widens his own individuality by
this conquest of new provinces alien to him. By this the individual
transcends the narrow limits of particularity and becomes generic —
the individual becomes the species. A good definition of education
is this: it is the process by which the individual man elevates himself
to the species.] .
§ 29. (1) Therefore, the first requirement in education is that the
pupil shall acquire the habit of subordinating his likes and dislikes to
the attainment of a rational object.
It is necessary that he shall acquire this indifference to his own
pleasure, even by employing his powers on that which does not ap-
peal to his interest in the remotest degree.
§ 30. Habit soon makes us familiar with those subjects which
seemed so remote from our personal interest, and they become agree-
able to us. The objects, too, assume a new interest upon nearer ap-
proach, as being useful or injurious to us. That is useful which serves
us as a means for the realization of a rational purpose; injurious, if
it hinders such realization. It happens that objects are useful in one
sense and injurious in another, and vice versa. Education must
make the pupil capable of deciding on the usefulness of an object, by
reference to its effect on his permanent vocation in life.
212 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
§31. But good and evil are the ethical distinctions which furnish
the absolute standard to which to refer the question of the usefulness
of objects and actions.
§ 32. (2) Habit is (a) passive, or (b) active. The passive habit
is that which gives us the power to retain our equipoise of mind in the
midst of a world of changes (pleasure and pain, grief and joy, etc).
The active habit gives us skill, presence of mind, tact in emergen-
cies, etc.
§ 33. (3) Education deals altogether with the formation of habits.
For it aims to make some condition or form of activity into a second
nature for the pupil. But this involves, also, the breaking up of previ-
ous habits. This power to break up habits, as well as to form them,
is necessary to the freedom of the individual.
§ 34. Education deals with these complementary relations (an-
titheses) : (a) authority and obedience; (b) rationality {general
forms) and individuality ; (c) work and play ; (d) habit (general cus-
tom) and spontaneity. The development and reconciliation of these
opposite sides in the pupil's character, so that they become his second
nature, removes the phase of constraint which at first accompanies
the formal inculcation of rules, and the performance of prescribed
tasks. The freedom of the pupil is the ultimate object to be kept in
view, but a too early use of freedom may work injury to the pupil.
To remove a pupil from all temptation would be to remove possi-
bilities of growth in strength to resist it; on the other hand, to ex-
pose him needlessly to temptation is fiendish.
§ 35. Deformities of character in the pupil should be carefully
traced back to their origin, so that they may be explained by their
history. Only by comprehending the historic growth of an organic
defect are we able to prescribe the best remedies.
§ 36. If the negative behavior of the pupil (his bad behavior)
results from ignorance due to his own neglect, or to his wilfulness,
it should be met directly by an act of authority on the part of the
teacher (and without an appeal to reason). An appeal should be
made to the understanding of the pupil only when he is somewhat
mature, or shows by his repetition of the offence that his proclivity
is deep-seated, and requires an array of all good influences to rein-
force his feeble resolutions to amend.
§ 37. Reproof, accompanied by threats of punishment, is apt to de-
generate into scolding.
§ 38. After the failure of other means, punishment should be re-
sorted to. Inasmuch as the punishment should be for the purpose of
making the pupil realize that it is the consequence of his deed return
The Science of Education. 213
ing on himself, it should always be administered for some particular
act of his, and this should be specified. The *' overt act " is the only
thing which a man can be held accountable for in a court of justice;
although it is true that the harboring of evil thoughts or intentions is a
sin, yet it is not a crime until realized in an overt act.
§ 40. Punishment should be regulated, not by abstract rules, but in
view of the particular case and its attending circumstances.
§ 41. Sex and age of pupil should be regarded in prescribing the
mode and degree of punishment. Corporal punishment is best for
pupils who are very immature in mind ; when they are more developed
they may be punished by any imposed restraint upon their free wills
which will isolate them from the ordinary routine followed by their
fellow-pupils. (Deprivation of the right to do as others do is a
wholesome species of punishment for those old or mature enough to
feel its effects, for it tends to secure respect for the regular tasks by
elevating them to the rank of rights and privileges.) For young men
and women, the punishment should be of a kind that is based on a
sense of honor.
§ 42. (1) Corporal punishment should be properly administered by
means of the rod, subduing wilful defiance by the application of
force.
§ 43. (2) Isolation makes the pupil realize a sense of his depend-
ence upon human society, and upon the expression of this dependence
by cooperation in the common tasks. Pupils should not be shut up in a
darkroom, nor removed from the personal supervision of the teacher.
(To shut up two or more in a room without supervision is not isola-
tion, but association ; only it is association for mischief, and not for
study. )
§ 44. (3) Punishment based on the sense of honor may or may
not be based on isolation. It implies a state of maturity on the part
of the pupil. Through his offence the pupil has destroyed his
equality with his fellows, and has in reality, in his inmost nature,
isolated himself from them. Corporal punishment is external,
but it may be accompanied with a keen sense of dishonor. Isolation,
also, may, to a pupil, who is sensitive to honor, be a severe blow to
self-respect. But a punishment founded entirely on the sense of
honor would be wholly internal, and have no external 'discomfort
attached to it.
§ 45. The necessity of carefully adapting the punishment to the
■age and maturity of the pupil, renders it the most difficult part of the
teacher's duties. It is essential that the air and manner of the
teacher who punishes should be that of one who acts from a sense of
214 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
painful duty, and not from any delight in being the cause of suffer-
ing. Not personal likes and dislikes, but the rational necessitj- which
is over teacher and pupil alike, causes the infliction of pain on the
pupil.
§ 46. Punishment is the final topic to be considered under the head
of "Form of Education."
In the act of punishment the teacher abandons the legitimate prov-
ince of education, which seeks to make the pupil rational or obedient
to what is reasonable, as a habit, and from his own free will. The pupil
is punished in order that he may be made to conform to the rational,
by the application of constraint. Another will is substituted for the
pupil's, and good behavior is produced, but not by the pupil's free
act. While education finds a negative limit in punishment, it
finds a positive limit in the accomplishment of its legitimate object,
which is the emancipation of the pupil from the state of imbecility,
as regards mental and moral self-control, into the ability to direct
himself rationally, When the pupil has acquired the discipline which
enables him to direct his studies properly, and to control his inclina-
tions in such a manner as to pursue his work regularly, the teacher
is no longer needed for him — he becomes his own teacher.
There may be two extreme views on this subject — the one tending
towards the negative extreme of requiring the teacher to do every-
thing for the pupil, substituting his will for that of the pupil, and
the other view tending to the positive extreme, and leaving everything
to the pupil, even before his will is trained into habits of self-control,
or his mind provided with the necessary elementary branches
requisite for the prosecution of further study.
§ 47. (1) The subjective limit of education (on the negative
side) is to be found in the individuality of the pupil — the limit to his
natural capacity.
§ 48. (2) The objective limit to education lies in the amount of
time that the person may devote to his training. It, therefore,
depends largely upon wealth, or other fortunate circumstances.
§ 49. (3) The absolute limit of education is the positive limit
(see § 46), beyond which the youth passes into freedom from the
school, as a necessary instrumentality for further culture.
§ 50. The pre-arranged pattern-making work of the school is now
done, but self-education may and should go on indefinitely, and will
go on if the education of the school has really arrived at its " abso-
lute " limit — L e., has fitted the pupil for self-education. Emanci-
pation from the school does not emancipate one from learning
through his fellow-men.
Notes and Discussions. 215
NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.
PROFESSOR CAIRD REPLIES TO DR. STIRLING.
To the Editor of the Journal of Speculative Philosophy :
Sir: — In an article by Dr. Hutchison Stirling on "Schopenhauer
in relation to Kant," which appears in your last number, I find a criti-
cism of some passages of my book on Kant, in relation mainly to the
Category of Causality. As Dr. Stirling's remarks contain an entire
misrepresentation of my views, and as the points discussed are also
of considerable interest for students of Kant, I must ask you to
allow me a little space in your Journal to make my reply.
Passing over some almost verbal criticisms, Dr. Stirling's strictures
may be brought under two heads. He accuses me of asserting, and
asserting as the doctrine of Kant, that objective sequence cannot be
known except by a mind that connects phenomena as causes and
effects. He also accuses me of asserting, and asserting as the doc-
trine of Kant, that objects are known as objects through the Cate-
gory of Causality alone. The former of these assertions is mine,
and I am now prepared to reassert and justify it. The latter asser-
tion has never been made by me ; it is inconsistent with many ex-
press statements of my book ; and I should never have supposed that
any one could ascribe it to me, had not Dr. Stirling actually done so.
I shall say a few words upon each of these points.
1. Does Kant assert that the Category of Causality is involved in
the determination of objective sequence? To answer this question, I
must briefly point out the general bearing of Kant's Criticism of Pure
Reason.
Kant's view of experience may be summarized thus. In the ^Es-
thetic he shows that inner and outer perception, involving as they
do determinations of time and place, are possible only through the
pure perception of Time and Space. For, he argues, a moment in
Time and a place in Space can be represented by us only in relation
to other times and other places and, therefore, in relation to the
unity of Time and Space as individual wholes. We cannot perceive
21(3 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
any object of experience, as here and now present to us, except by
relating it to one all-embracing Space, and one all-embracing Time.
The particular is known through the universal, and as determined by
it. In the Analytic, Kant takes another step ; for there he seeks to
show that no one thing or event can be known as objectively existing
or occurring, except in so far as it is definitely related by means of
the categories to other things and events, and, therefore, to the unity
of experience as one all-embracing whole. Thus objective determina-
tion and reference to the systematic unity of experience are, for
Kant, one and the same thing.
In working out this last thesis, however, Kant finds himself obliged
to prove that the former determination of things, which was demon-
strated in the ^Esthetic, is not possible except through the latter, which
is discussed in the Analytic; i. e., that we cannot know things as in
Time and Space without determining them by the Categories in relation
to the unity of experience. In other words, while we cannot repre-
sent an object as existing, or an event as occurring, except in Space and
Time, we cannot determine either to a definite place or time, except
through the Categories, and especially through the Analogies of Ex-
perience. Now, these Analogies force us to treat every object as a
permanent substance, standing in relation of action and reaction to
other substances, and determined in its successive states by the law
of Causality. Hence, although there is no difficulty in thinking of
coexistence and succession in the abstract, without reference to the
Categories of Causality and Reciprocity, it is also true that nothing
can be known as existing or occurring at a definite place or time,
unless it be also determined as standing to other objects and events
in those definite relations expressed by the Analogies of Experience.
It is in this sense that Kant says that Time and Space cannot be
perceived in themselves, but only through the relation of objects and
events in Time and Space, and that no object or event is capable of
being determined directly in relation to Time and Space, but only
indirectly through its determination bj r the Categories in relation to
other objects and events.
Now, it may be alleged (cf. Phil, of Kant, p. 458) that men con-
stantly do speak of events as occurring, and of objects as coexisting,
without being aware that they are thus determining these events and
objects in relation to each other by Causality and Reciprocity, just
as men constantly reason without any knowledge of logical laws.
But it is Kant's view, as I understand him, that in the determination
of objects, as in Time and Space, there is involved an activity of
thought which is governed and guided by these Categories, just as it
Notes and Discussions. 217
is also his view that in all our knowledge of objects there is involved
a relation to the unity of the thinking self, although that relation is
not clearly recognized, except by the reflective consciousness. Just,
therefore, as Kant says that the "I think" must be capable of ac-
companying all our ideas of objects, seeing that all objects imply the
activity and unity of the conscious subject, so he also maintains
that no determination of objects as in Space and Time is possible
except by the Principles of the pure understanding, and especially by
the Analogies of Experience.
To say that " ten minutes to nine must absolutely precede five min-
utes to nine; one o'clock, two o'clock; Sunday, Monday; May,
June — in short, every one moment of time another," and that " these
are successions absolutely independent of Causality" (Dr. Stirling's
article, p. 47), is, therefore, not to the point. For the determination
of the separate times is possible, in Kant's view, only through the
determination of the successive states of objects in relation to each
other; and this, again, implies the permanence of substances, and the
causal relation of their successive changes of state. In order to
bring these presupposed relations into the light of consciousness,
Kant has an expedient of his own which he frequently uses. He
asks what would become of the unity of experience if the truth of
these principles were denied. If we were to deny the principles of
substance or causality, he argues, the consequence would be that we
should have two successive experiences between which no relation
could be established, and which, therefore, could not be determined
by us as comprehended in one time. And in the same way he argues
that, if we were to deny the principle of reciprocity, we should make
it impossible to determine things as coexisting in one space. It is,
therefore, a perfectly accurate account of Kant's position to say that
he met Hume's reduction of the propter hoc to the post hoc by show-
ing that "no mind is capable of the cognition p> os t ^ l0C which is not
already capable of the cognition propter hoc." Nor is it to the point
to say that there are many phenomena which are determined as suc-
cessive, and which yet we do not conceive to be related as causes and
effects. This, indeed, is palpable enough ; for, even when they are
so related we often do not know it, and have to search among the many
phenomena which are previous to an effect for that which is its
cause. But we assume that it is caused by something that went be-
fore it, and this assumption we make because it is just in relation to
these previous phenomena that we have determined it to a definite
moment in objective time. In dating it in short, we ipso facto assume
it to be necessarily determined in relation to what precedes it, and this
218 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
necessary determination is just the causal relation. To date it thus
in objective time would be " impossible, except to a mind that connects
phenomena as cause and effect." Is it necessary to quote Kant for
this? If so, take one passage where many are ready.
" That something happens is a perception which belongs to a pos-
sible experience, but it becomes an actual experience only when I
regard the phenomena in question as fixed to a definite point in time,
and, therefore, as an object which may always be found in the connec-
tion of perceptions by the aid of a rule. But this rule for the deter-
mination of things in relation to their sequence in time is, that in
what precedes an event the condition must be found under which the
event always (?'. e., necessarily) follows. Therefore, the principle of
sufficient reason is the principle by which alone we can have objec-
tive knowledge of phenomena in regard to their sequence in time."
(Kritik, Rosenkranz's edition, p. 170; Mr. Meiklejohn's translation,
p. 149).
In conclusion, upon this point. I may say what I have suggested
elsewhere, that Kant's argument would have been free from many
difficulties if he had seen the relation of the different categories, and
had not taken the principle of substance as pointing only to an under-
lying permanent identit} 7 . and the principle of causality as pointing
only to different successive events, without inner identity.
2. The second of Dr. Stirling's charges against me is that I assert,
and assert as the doctrine of Kant, that "objectivity results from the
Category of Causality alone" (Dr. Stirling's article, p. 48), without
the aid of any other categor}'. My answer is that I never asserted
anything of the kind, and that in many passages I assert the very op-
posite. Take one passage, in which I sum up the results of Kant's
discussion of the principles of the pure understanding:
" In the last chapter we have considered the principles on which
phenomena are determined as objects of experience, under conditions
of Space and Time. Taking these principles together, we reach the
general idea of Nature as a system of substances, whose quantum of
reality always remains the same, but which, by action and reaction
upon each other, are constantly changing their states according to
universal laws. And the proof of this idea of Nature is not dogmatic,
but transcendental, i. e., it is proved that without it there could exist
for us no Nature and no experience at all." (Phil, of Kant, p. 473 ;
cf., also, pp. 460, 470, etc.)
In these words I have declared, as clearly as possible, that the test
of objective reality is to be found in the connection of experience, as
Notes and Discussions. 219
determined by all the Categories. My view, in fact, is just that
which Kant expresses when he says that " nothing is to be admitted
in the empirical synthesis which could be a hindrance to the under-
standing in establishing the continuous connection of all phenomena in
one experience.."
Dr. Stirling's charge is based upon the fact that I refer to Schopen-
hauer, on one occasion, in connection with the Category of Causality.
But surely one may refer to an author without adopting, or (as was
the case here) without even remembering all his opinions. All that
I meant to say in the passage which Dr. Stirling quotes from my book
is that Kant, in his deduction of the principle of Causalit}', some-
times speaks as if we could be conscious of our perceptions as suc-
cessive states in our minds, before we determine them as objectively
successive. And to this Berkeleian way of looking at the matter it
seems fair to object that it supposes as known, irrespective of causality
in one instance, what, according to Kant's own principles, cannot be
known at all except through causality. When Kant says that the
fact that I see the parts of a house successively is not to be made
the ground of an objective judgment of sequence in relation to the
house, as it may be in the case of a vessel sailing (or " drift-
ing," if Dr. Stirling thinks the phrase of any importance) down
the stream, he supposes me to have determined my perception of
the parts of a house as successive. But what I contend is that,
on Kant's own principles, it is not possible to determine any series,
whether of perceptions or of external events, as an objective or real
succession, except through the Category of Causality ; and that, there-
fore, it is not open to him to treat any one succession as if it were
purely subjective, and then to use it as a stepping-stone to the de-
termination of other successions as objective. In any case, that is,
causality is involved in the determination of succession. That this
is my meaning will, I think, be perfectly obvious to airy one who will
read pages 278-281, or again, pages 352-356 of my book, where
another form of the same assumption is criticised. How Dr. Stirling
can find in my words anything like the assertion that " objectivity re-
sults from the Category of Causality alone," I am unable to discover.
The passage in question is concerned only with objective sequence,
and it is both preceded and followed by passages in which* objective
coexistence is shown to involve reciprocity, and objective existence
(the basrsof all) to involve the category of substance.
I have now answered all the matter of Dr. Stirling's attack upon
my views, so far as it seems to me to require any answer. The man-
220 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
ner of his attack I have no wish to retaliate. Under the torrent of
contemptuous words — some of them fearfully and wonderfully made
— which he has been pleased to pour upon me, I feel almost inclined
to say, with Falconbriclge —
"Zounds! I was never so bethumped with words,
Since first I called my brother's father 'dad.' "
Dr. Stirling is undoubtedly a man of great philosophical powers ;
I have always regarded him as in some sense a master in philosophy;
but I think it were well if he could learn to use the language of those
who can afford to respect others because thej 7 respect themselves.
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
Edward Caird.
University of Glasgow, March 8, 1879.
VOLUNTARY MOTION.
In the Popular Science Monthly for August, 1878, there is an in-
teresting discussion, by Professor Payton Spence, M.D., of the
question of the rise of voluntary motion. The muscles involved in
the pronunciation of the sound of A are assumed at twenty, includ-
ing those of the vocal chords, the back part of the mouth, the
tongue, the cheeks, the lips, and the chest. Allowing three distinct
degrees of contraction of each muscle, he finds 3,113,884,401 pos-
sible combinations of muscular contractions, only one of which can
produce the sound A. Supposing the child to know nothing about
it, and to have no organic tendencies in the direction towards it, in
learning how to make this sound by combinations of muscles, the
child would experiment for thirty years, making 100 experiments in
a minute.
When we consider that the child learns, not only one of the possi-
ble combinations of twenty muscles, but the entire command of the
combinations of the 450 muscles of the body, we see that the accu-
mulated acquisitions of the slow experience of his race, and of all
animals, form a reservoir of inherited acquirement in each individual,
and that, in comparison to this inherited ability, the ability that he
acquires by his own experience amounts only to the ratio of 1 in
100,000.
Notes and Discussions. 221
TWO SONNETS.
I. — R. W. E.
As pale-blue mountain that I see from far,
Its classic beauty marked against the sky ;
Or diamond splendor of some midnight star,
That first in sparkling grandeur awes my eye ;
Look I on him, who, parted from his age
By measure like none other of our day,
Stands, like some Teneriffe alone, while rage
Vain storms, and cast about his feet their spray.
For those same laws that placed the peak sublime,
And move each planet in majestic curve,
This man have guided in such noble rhyme
That from their limit would he never swerve.
Who lives on manna fallen from the skies
Must soon or late all other men surprise.
II. — J. G. W.
Capricious is the Muse ; no certain way
She holds directed by the will of man,
But ever seeks in fancy's sportive play
Her course by what strange mazy paths she can.
Wealth shuns she ; scorned are power and place ;
The eager lover toils for her in vain
AYhilst suddenly she bends with shining face
And showers on some shy boy her golden rain.
He in his turn power wealth and place doth leave
To muse on life — to watch the changing sky;
Till we through him a brighter world perceive,
With nobler forms, in inspiration high.
Why thus her course, he who is wise may tell :
That Fate approves it, be assured well. F. P. S.
College Hill, Mass., September, 1878.
H. K. HUGO DELFF.
We have received from Dr. H. K. Hugo Delff, of Husum, Schles-
wig-Holstein, a further series of writings on the life and works of
Dante, to the stud} 7 of whose works Mr. Delff seems to have specially
devoted himself of late. The first of these writings is on the relation
of Dante's Convito to the Divina Commedia ; the second treats of
Dante's philosophical relation to the scholastic and mystic, or the Aris-
totelian and Platonic schools of his time ; while the third, "Miscel-
lanie," is devoted to textual criticism. In another number of the
Journal we may publish a translation of one of the interesting essays.
222 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
BOOK NOTICES.
Outlines of Lectures on the History of Philosophy. By John J. Elmen-
dorf, S. T. D., University Professor of Philosophy and English Literature in
Racine College. New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 1876.
This is unquestionably one of the best manuals to place in the hands of the stu-
dent, as a syllabus of the course in Philosophy, for review and recitation. It is
expected by the author that it will accompany the lectures of the living teacher,
and not be used as "a substitute for the living guide who elucidates the student's
confused thought, and makes him to grow in mind as he traces the development
of human thought." The words of Plato (Phaedr., p. 270) are quoted: "Nobler,
far, is the serious pursuit of the dialectician who finds a congenial soul, and then
with knowledge ingrafts and sows words which are not unfruitful, but have in
them seeds which may bear fruit in other natures, nurtured in other ways — mak-
ing seed everlasting, and the possessors happy to the utmost extent of human
happiness." ''Text-books," our author holds, "will not do this." "Only the
living teacher can direct every lecture towards practical ends; books will not
answer the purpose." " These outlines are intended, first, to save the delay
caused by much writing in the lecture-room ; secondly, to aid a free use, by
lecturer and scholar, of original sources ; and, thirdly, to provide help in review
and recitation. If interleaved, the manual may prove still more serviceable."
The book contains seventeen chapters, the first of which is devoted to terms
and definitions, subjects, origin and progress, and Systems; the second, to an
outline of the East Indian philosophy; the third to the sixth, inclusive, to the
Greek philosophy ; the seventh, eighth, and ninth, respectively, to the rise of
Christian philosophy, Scholasticism, and the philosophy of the Renaissance; the
tenth, to Bacon, Hobbes, and Locke, and the development of English empiricism ;
the eleventh, to the development of rationalism, Descartes, Spinoza, and Leib-
nitz; the twelfth, to Hume and Skepticism, and Mysticism in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries; the thirteenth, to Condillac and the French Sensualistic
School of the eighteenth century ; the fourteenth, to the Scotch philosophy ; the
fifteenth, to Kant, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, and their opponents; the sixteenth, to
English and French empiricism in the nineteenth century; the concluding chapter,
to English, American, and French psychologic spiritualism in the nineteenth
century. Ernst Kuhn's "Memorial mid Repititorium zur Qeschiphte der Philoso-
phie " is the only work of the kind which we regard as of equal or superior merit.
The Ultimate Generalization. An Effort in the Philosophy of Science.
New York : Charles P. Somerby. 1876.
An attempt to present the doctrine of Evolution somewhat after the style of
Herbert Spencer, in a concise, systematic form. "Herbert Spencer has given us
Book Notices. 223
the perception of likeness and unlikeness as the oneness of all mental processes;
the rhythmic cycle of action and reaction as the constitution of all movement;
force, or the persistence of force, as the one cause existing in all causes ; and
evolution and dissolution as the summing-up of all phenomena in one common
movement, tendency, end, or purpose. These are all genuine inductions" (p. 7).
"But none of them are ultimate" (p. 12). "Mr. Spencer has accordingly, as I
have shown, got down to the unknowable without any induction that is strictly
universal'" (p. 14). "If, leaving the ground of Seience, we look for what has
been done by Philosophy, we find that in the system of Hegel there was reached —
not, of course, by induction — the conception of a unity in the nature and the mode
of all existence, and all movement or evolution, which, regarded simply as a con-
ception — the pure ideal of the law — is apparently the same as that of an all-
inclusive generalization. The germ of this was in Fichte's logical process of
'thesis, antithesis, synthesis:' it was imperfectly developed by Schelling, and
afterwards modified and completely formulated by Hegel, becoming his celebrated
'Logic' A similar idea arrived at by an analysis of number, and accompanied,
along with other additions, by a full development of the doctrine of Universal
Analogy — naturally favored by the conception, but not before so completely
elaborated — has been promulgated as the Integralism and Universology of Mr.
Stephen Pearl Andrews" (p. 15). " Oppositeness" (p. 18), or "Correlation" (p.
51), is suggested as the "Ultimate Generalization," and the evidence adduced
"is the fact that it answers all the tests by which the other great generalizations
were at the outset of this discussion shown to be defective" (p. 51). The oppo-
sites, Nothing and Something (p. 47), are correlated, the former as the " continent "
[containing?] or "Space and Time, unconditioned, absolute, and infinite, unqual-
ified (except negatively) and unquantified, considered as two, but really as one; "
the latter is the "content" [contained?] or Noumena and Phenomena, conditioned,
relative, and finite, qualified and quantified." This "content" as the noumena
is "self-existent, immutable, and permanent being; dual substance; matter and
motion as they are in themselves, or in their simplest conceivable state."
The book ends with the following note: "It will doubtless occur to some that
more attention should have been given to the subject of Intelligence. The inabil-
ity to conceive of intelligence as arising out of matter, when the nature of the
two seems so entirely different, will be, as it has always been, an obstacle to the
acceptance of any view not in accordance with the spiritualist or idealist philoso-
phies. In regard to this, biological science shows that intelligence actually has
grown up by the slowest and most gradual steps of evolution. And notwithstand-
ing the nature of it has been pronounced inconceivable by the whole scientific
world, and called one of the mysteries of the Absolute — all of which are past
finding out — the author will further say that he has a glimpse of an entirely con-
ceivable, rational, and simple theory of the nature of intelligence as belonging to
matter, of consciousness, of the thinking process, of the mental organism, and of
the Ego or conscious personality."
*
Imaginary Conversations. By Walter Savage Landor. First Series: Clas-
sical Dialogues, Greek and Roman. Third Series : Dialogues of Literary Men.
Boston: Koberts Brothers. 1876.
The English edition of Landor's writings comprises, under every head, the com-
pleted work, with the author's last revision. Omission is made only of such poet-
ical writings as he had deliberately rejected. It begins with the Dialogues of the
224 The Journal of Speculative PliilosopJiy .
Greeks and Romans, and continues with Shakespeare's Examination for Deer-
stealing, the Conversations of Sovereigns and Statesmen, the Five Dialogues of
Boccaccio and Petrarca, the first and second series of Conversations of Literary
Men, the Dialogues of Famous Women, and the Letters of Pericles and Aspasia.
The final volumes contain the Imaginary Scenes and Conversations in verse — in-
cluding his tragedies and minor dramatic pieces — and the minor pieces inverse
and prose.
Every reader of these neat volumes will feel grateful to Messrs. Roberts Brothers
for reprinting in so attractive a style the charming pages of Landor.
L'Esthetique de Hegel : Traduction Franoaise. Deuxieme Edition. Par
Ch. Benard. 2 vols, in 8. Paris : Librairie Germer-Baillere. 1875.
M. Benard deserves the gratitude of all non-German students of art for putting
in so accessible and manageable a form this completest and most exhaustive of all
works on the Philosophy of Art thus far published. The special student of Hegel
will indeed miss much of the purely speculative portion of the original, and will
perhaps be disposed to think that the translator has not in every instance pre-
sented the precise meaning of the author. But the latter point must, of course,
remain a question of interpretation — M. Benard believing in the JEsthetics be-
cause it does not agree with the author's system, and the special student of Hegel
believing in it because it does! Indeed, we are tempted to suggest that if M. Benard
will take the trouble to carefully review the system, he will find that at least the sys-
tem agrees with the ^Esthetics ! On the other hand, in point of the omissions made,
we can but commend the judgment which prompted them. It is true that, with-
out special preparation, most persons would find the strictly speculative portions
quite impenetrable ; while, in the form here presented, the work is quite compre-
hensible and will be read with intense enjoj-ment by the realhy earnest student, to
whom it will be a constant revelation. It is, therefore, with all heartiness that we
commend M. Be"nard's translation to the reader, for whose further information, in-
stead of attempting to compress an outline of so vast a work within the limits of
a book-notice, we will refer to the translator's extended and admirable essay on the
^Esthetics published in parts extending through the first three volumes of this
Journal. w. m. b.
SlTTENLEHRE FUER SCHULE UND HAUS. JSTaCH Dr. WlLHELM FrICKE'S SlTTEN-
lehre fuer Konfessionslose Schulen. Herausgegeben von Der Deutschen
Freien Gemeinde. B. G. Stephan, 403 N. Sixth Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
It is impossible to criticise from a universal point of view any system of applied
ethics. To criticise from that same standpoint a system of applied ethics, nar-
rowed down to the spheres of the school-room and the family, is, therefore, alto-
gether out of the question ; and we must leave this work, so far as the attainment
of the object sought for is concerned, to the judgment of the individual reader.
The selections, we may say, however, are made with good taste, though we cannot
understand, exactly, why even a Freie Gemeinde should show such an apparent
aversion to the introduction of Christian subjects in its readers. Why not leave
Confucius, Buddha, Mahommed, Socrates, Plato, etc., also, out of our readers, and
thus leave children absolutely free of preconceived, or rather prelearned, opinions ;
that is, in absolute ignorance ? a. e. k
THE JOURNAL
OF
SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Vol. XIII.] July, 1879. [No.
Q
FICHTE'S CRITICISM OF SCIIELLING.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICI1TE,
BY A. E. KROEGER.
III.
An Illustration, particularly of the Philosophical Judgment of
our A(j< j .
[this article completes the criticism: the first and second parts ap-
peared, RESPECTIVELY, IN THE APRIL AND JULY NUMBERS OF THIS JOURNAL
for 1878.]
It might be of use to characterize this almost universal insip-
idness and laziness of our age, particularly in matters of
philosophy, in a recent and still existing striking example.
Of the age, I say, in general ; for I do not desire that the man
whose name will be mentioned below should believe that I
oppose myself to him as an individual, or even that he is good
enough for me to use him as a representative of that universal
shallowness ; in which case I should, indeed, exaggerate and
become unjust towards the others. Only the fact that a pub-
lic — on the whole, nevertheless, better instructed — could
be deceived by him has won for him the honor of being men-
tioned here by name.
For this public had, nevertheless, through Kant's and our
XIII — 15
226 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
our own writings, been so far instructed as to make the
younger students — the old students, grown up in dogmatism,
were not converted — attain the conviction, in which they
seemed firmly to repose, that reality ought on no account to
be posited in the things, but in thinking and the laws of think-
ing, although no one very well knew how this could be accom-
plished, when at that very time one of the most confused
heads of these our days of confusion, Frederick Wilhelm
Schelling, through tire spectre of a subjectivism of the Science
of Knowledge, which only his excessive want of understanding
had created, succeeded in reducing this science of knowledge,
by his authority, to an error, — an error which the public, so
long as left to itself, had been too sensible to discover, — and
in scaring the people back from Kant and the Science of
Knowledge, to Spinoza and Plato. The public were astounded,
and knew not how further to proceed. They called repeatedly
and threateningly upon the author of the Science of Knowledge
to refute, if he could, what neither Kant nor the Science of
Knowledge were needed to refute, and what ought not to have
been mentioned as an open question since the days of Leibnitz.
That, by such a course of proceeding, this man has expressed
his absolute ignorance of what speculation is and should be,
and his natural unfitness for speculation is self-evident and
needs no further proof. But in so far as the rest of his dia-
lectical art, talent of composition, sophistical wit, and the dex-
terity of the man may plead as an excuse for the deceived,
and to shun what the man really has and can put to use of
mind and talent, it may be instructive to develop and follow
his views.
In order to proceed in this development with the utmost
fairness, we shall neither take up the former writings of this
man nor his so-called identity-system, though the latter has
been considered so important that we have been called upon
by name (by one of our standing literary tribunals) to either
refute or recognize it. Was there in this system, as repre-
sented in the second volume of the Magazine for Speculative
Physics — which representation Ave shall say only a few words
about, in passing — error so dextrously and deceptively
FicJiie's Criticism of Schelling. 227
worked out as to rentier its discovery impossible without out-
side assistance?
This representation commences with the statement (sec. 1) :
" I call reason absolute reason, or reason in so far as it is
thought, as the utter indifference of the Subjective and Ob-
jective."
Now that by this starting-point the man commenced at the
very beginning to distinguish reason from itself, and to renounce
being reasonable himself, as well as to consider how he ever
could come to make all the assertions which followed — all this
the public could not well be supposed to remark, because such
a supposition would presuppose the faculty of speculation,
which the public, of course, does not possess. But it might
well have been seen at once, even without the faculty of spec-
ulation, that the one and absolute reason, outside of which
nothing was to be, could not be the indifference of the sub-
tive and objective without being in the same undivided essence
their difference ; that the man, therefore, beside his own indif-
ferential reason, kept another differential reason in view, which
might come in very handy in a quiet way, and that this error
was not a small, unimportant mistake, but of most significant
consequence.
AVe will also be generous enough to forgive the public its
not perceiving that by this statement of the matter, reason was
at once completely determined, and in itself ended, i. e., dead ;
and that its philosophical hero might now, to be sure, repeat
his first proposition as often as possible, but never would be
able to find a way of getting honestly and logically out of it
to a second proposition. But that when he now really, in his
own manner, did begin to resurrect the dead, and to relate to
and happily demonstrate into this, his reason, all the deter-
minations of nothingness, totality, unity, self-equality, etc.,
which arise in his following paragraphs, his readers never felt
astonished at how he got at these determinations, nor ever
asked him about it (for if his first statement of the essence of
reason had been really exhaustive, these determinations ought
to have been deduced from an analysis of that statement, from
reason, as necessarily grounded in it; but they never should
228 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
have been taken — God only knows wheretVom — and been
held separate from reason by mere arbitrariness !) and that his
readers did not yet perceive the movement of that differential
reason, in the person of their author, had secretly been calcu-
lated upon in section 1 ; nay, that they were not even surprised
at his material arbitrariness in the arbitrary succession of the
predicates which he chose to apply to reason. All this is a little
more difficult to forgive.
But what shall we say when we look at these demonstrations
ourselves, and discover the contradictions, subterfuges, and ab-
surdities into which an uncultured and confused imagination
blindlv plunges the author : and when we see that a logical
development of his first proposition leads to the very opposite
of his assertion, and when, nevertheless, we are forced to ex-
perience how this monstrous system is received otherwise than
amidst universal and unceasing laughter?
Thus, for instance, section 2 states: " Outside of reason is
nothing, and in reason is all . If reason is thought, as we have
stipulated in section 1, it immediately appears that out of it
nothing can be. For, supposing something were outside of
reason, then it is either so for reason itself — Indeed ! For
itself? Why, we have not seen a word in section 1 that any-
thing could be for reason. This is tacitly assumed here without
our perceiving whence, merely so as to furnish a proof; and in
doing so the author himself has not thought reason as demanded
in his section 1, but lends the reader rather to the very oppo-
site view. But, certainly, the proof may, perhaps, be obtained
by this reasoning. It is obtained as follows: "It is either
outside of reason for reason itself, and then reason is the sub-
jective, which is against the presupposition ; or it is not for
reason itself outside of it, and then reason is related to this
outside as objective to objective ; in which case reason is objec-
tive, which, again, is against our presupposition.''
(By the bye, the second half of the proof is without sense
or meaning, as the reader may discover for himself, for we
have not time to dwell upon it.)
The correct section 2 of the previous section 1 would have
been : In reason and for reason is simply nothing. If reason
Fichte's Criticism of Schelling. 229
is thought, as we have postulated in section 1, it is immediately
clear that neither in nor for reason can anything be. For,
supposing anything to be in or for reason, this could be only
in so far as it were itself reason : and this anything could only
be the subjective, or the objective, or both ; for that is all we
have in our section 1. But to think reason as the subjective,
or the objective, or both, would be opposed to the first state-
ment, that reason is merely the indifference of both.
It is true, this proof presupposes that the one who fur-
nishes the proof does not reflect, in the meanwhile, that in the
proof reason is nevertheless for him. and is posited : and that
hence the only practical possibility of the proof presupposes
precisely that whereof the proof shows the impossibility; and
this presupposition is made justly, since the contrary, in a
system which is possible only by not reflecting, would be
opposed to the very first agreement.
Thus the begrinninsr of section 3 reads: ''Reason is abso-
lutely one, <<n<l absolutely self-equal; for if it were not the
former there would be still another ground of the being of
reason" — (Here, therefore, in order to have the second proof,
we have the second presupposition stealthily brought in. that
every being must have a ground. Whence, then, do we know
that? Whence, indeed, all at once, the category of ground,
and. — above all things, — with a view to prove by it the
[formal] unity of reason? Ground is a much more special
category, which arises onlv in the sphere of finite conditions
and consequences.) — •' still another ground than itself; for
reason itself contains the ground only of its own being, not
of the beinsr of another reason." Indeed ! How do we know
this, again? Is this also contained in section 1, or in sec-
tion 2? But let us relieve him of the question after the
whence ! Let us pass over his application of the ground-
category, and the unproved assertion that reason alone is the
ground of itself: what would his section 3 prove, after all?
Why could not reason, inwardly and in itself, as reason, remain
qualitatively one, even though there were a ground of its formal
existence outside of reason? It is true, however, that in this
case being would not be one, and reason not all being, and not
230 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
one with being. The unity of being, but not of reason, would
therefore be proved, if this doubly and triply false proof could
prove anything ; but our author adds : Reason is therefore one!
and thus shows that he does not even understand his own
proof.
The correct section 3 (concerning the predicate of unity
and self-equality), as resulting from the precedent sections 1
and 2, would be as follows :
Reason is absolutely neither One nor self-equal ; for if
it were, it could be so only in and for itself, since outside
of reason there is nothing. Now, it is impossible (sec. 2)
that there is anything in and for reason ; hence reason cannot
be unity and self-equality in and for itself; hence unity and
self-equality cannot be at all ; hence they also cannot belong
to reason.
True, in this proof, it is also presupposed that nobody must
reflect, on any account, how he comes, nevertheless, to pre-
sent unity and equality in this proof; for then the same con-
tradiction between doing and saying which we discovered in
the previous proof would arise again, and the whole joke
would dissolve into nothingness.
Now, in this manner the man proceeds throughout the whole
script um, and none of the demonstrations which follow are of
another nature than those we have quoted. But the result of
all these manoeuvres is this : that in an utterly fictitious man-
ner, by absolutely cancelling the first proposition from which he
started, the specific difference in many real things is explained
from the difference of the quantitative relation of the subjec-
tive and objective in them. That this explanation is utterly
arbitrary and a mere hypothesis is self-evident, for how can
anybody arrive at it who does not presuppose as well-known,
as a matter of course, that specifically different things do
exist, and who has not sot it into his head that he is o-ohio-
to explain their differences, whether it please God or no?
But that this explanation contradicts and cancels the first
fundamental principle appears thus : If reason is the absolute
indifference of the subjective and objective, and if there is no
other being than that of reason, then this indifference cannot
Fichte's Criticism of Schelling. 231
be cancelled and replaced by a quantitative difference in any
being.
But, as I said before, I will not even judge the man by this
antiquated sin, which, though the natural-philosophical pub-
lic may not have recognized it as vet, has probably been
already repented of by its author. I will base my investiga-
tion of his mind and talent upon another writing, which he
himself considers so holy that, by the inscription on its title-
page, " Touch it not, Goat, for it burns ! " he bids all profane
minds to depart at the very doorsteps, and which is really, also,
in my estimation, the best, i. e., the least bungler-like, of the
numerous productions of his pen. I refer to his work, Re-
ligion and Philosophy.
The by far greater portion of this work does not pretend to
conceal at all that it is merely a free and open play of the
imagination, without even the pretence of thinking or investi-
gating. Assertions, assurances, statements, are put forth
without the shadow of a proof. All this part condemns itself,
and needs not our attention. We proceed at once to the most
prominent part of the whole book, which really puts on the air
of thinking, and promises to explain the present highest prin-
ciples of this philosopher — leaving all the while, as I said be-
fore, unnoticed, the man's fundamental error of objectivating,
and merely considering the ability and dexterity with which
he moves about in error.
Be°-inuini>- at page 18, we have the announcement of a de-
duction of finite things from the absolute, and a representa-
tion of their relation, which ends as follows: "As sure as
this absolutely simple essence of intellectual contemplation " —
{by the word essence he means the object of that contempla-
tion : but he has his good reasons, well known to us, why he
does not utter that word in this connection, for to do so might
lead him into serious difficulties with the science of knowl-
edge) — as " sure as this essence is absoluteness, no other Be-
ing can be ascribed to it than what it has through its own con-
•ception ; for if there could, it would be determined through
something else outside of itself, which is impossible."
232 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Let us stop right here, at the swelling tide of this proof,
since we cannot get over some things so easily as the author.
I understand clearly : if it were not determined through itself,
it would be determined through another ; that is, if it must be
determined through anything, of which must the proof fur-
nishes no ground, but merely invents it. I see that this proof
tears its absolute, which at first was to be one, into two — the
determining and the determined — and that it thus begins with
an inward and material disjunction (the original and formal
disjunction — that is, the seen of a seeing — we will, accord-
ing to our promise, pass over), whereof he gives no account,
which is the first act of blind arbitrariness. If I look closer
at this mode of proceeding, I tind that the well-known concep-
tion of the Absolute as being of itself, from itself, and through
itself, is realized here; (Which — as mere conception, out-
ward characteristic, and scheme of the absolute, and mere
description of its form, in opposition to the form of the not-
absolute, which is not of itself — cannot at all lead us into
the absolute, hut rather shut it up forever to our eves), not to
remark which is the second blindness. I see, moreover, that
the expression " which is impossible," as it stands, expresses
merely an impossibility of thinking, the real importance of
which ought, above all things, to have been ascertained, which
is the third very great sin of omission. But if I let all this
pass and accept the Absolute in its duality as a determining
and determined, I still cannot see why it should be in its first
quality, as the determining precisely a conception, as I am re-
quired to believe without any show of reason, which is the
fourth blind arbitrariness. But I see very well, in the mean-
while, win' all this had to be stated thus, namely, because
there was no other way -to get at the desired result: "hence
the absolute is generally not real, but in itself only ideal."'
I will not only be agreeable, but go further; I will really
think what the proof demands of me, and thus do what the
author neglected to do, for we shall see, after a while, that he
really did not think the required result, but wrote down empty
words, which, if we should succeed in the promised proof,
Fichte's Criticism of Schelling. 233
would be the fifth blindness. " No being can be asserted of
the absolute but that which it lias through its own concep-
tion."
Now, if I have to think this in real earnest, and truly, but not
banterinsfly, as if it were to be true and not true at the same
time, I must think that the absolute has a conception of itself,
a contemplation of itself, a pictured Being outside of its
Being — for this is a conception — and of itself, i. e., of a de-
termined and limited Being, as which it conceives itself. And
now I see very clearly (what the author of the proof, who did
not truly think, but merely spoke, could have had but dimly
in view), that in this manner the absolute can in itself be only
ideal ; for I suppose I shall be logical enough to view the abso-
lute itself, and its conception of itself, as altogether one and
the same, and not to ascribe to it an}' other formal or material
Being, and any other seat and central point of such Being,
than in its conception of itself, immediately and wholly. The
absolute now again becomes one, determining and determined
at the same time in the formal unity of the conception, and
the other half of the real determination (which, doubtless, was
drawn merely as an assisting line in the construction of the
proof) is now wiped out. It is true that, instead of this
duality, I now get into my absolute the five-foldness which is
inseparable from the form of the conception into which the
absolute is now received ; but this is unavoidable, and I had
better submit with good grace to the unavoidable. But let
me on no account hold on and reflect that it is, after all, my-
self who has this conception of a conception of the absolute,
and that I have formed it with conscious arbitrariness at the
persuasion of this glorious proof; for by doing so I should fall
into the " empty reflection-system," and thus give a far more
difficult appearance to the whole matter.
Having thus far cleared matters up, let us proceed : " But
equally eternal with the absolutely ideal is the eternal form."
Equally eternal? We learn thus, by the way, that the abso-
lutely ideal is, amongst other things, also eternal. Whence
do we derive this knowledge, and what does it signify to be
eternal? But let us not worry ; the author does not intend to
234 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy.
lead us astray here, or to assume anything ; he does not think
what he says, and this time does not think anything at all ; he
has simply accustomed himself to an extravagant use of the
word " eternal," and it escapes him here involuntarily ; for if
he had thought of his uttering it, he would at the same time
have thought of what it might possibly mean ; which, there-
fore, is the sixth and seventh blindness at one stroke.
Equally eternal, therefore, the eternal form? This really is
a matter of course ; for we have seen already that the abso-
lute, as positively nothing but its conception of itself, is
absorbed by this form of the conception, which form is, there-
fore, as absolute as the absolute itself, since it is the same ; and
also as eternal, if the word " eternal " is to have any signifi-
cance, and if the absolute is assumed to be " eternal." Now,
does the author mean this form of the conception, or another
one? He means another one ; for that he has already, in the
self-comprehension of the absolute, a right good, tenable, and
even five-fold form, is still unknown to him, from which it very
clearly appears that he himself did not think what he required
his reader to think, and that our above assertion of this fact,
is fully confirmed. Why he requires a second form, however,
is thus explained : He erroneously supposes that with the first
form, even if he should make this form clear to himself, he
would not be able to deduce anything from the absolute, —
which, after all, is his real purpose. He supposes this erro-
neously, I say, — at least we, on our part, would not be
afraid, if such a self-comprehension of the absolute were given
us, to deduce from it, with the greatest ease, heaven, earth,
and all the hosts thereof. For in this conception we should
have the whole qualitative Being of the absolute, which it con-
templates ; and this, I suppose, would doubtless give us all the
manifold we might want. All we should have to do would be
to open hands and eyes, and accept whatever exists, and hold
ready for whatsoever might turn up the always same and
easy answer: Why, this is also a qualitative part of the abso-
lute, and this, and this, etc., ad infinitum. The only re-
maining difficulty would be to make comprehensible how others
also obtain a knowledge of the Being of the absolute, and a
FicJite's Criticism of Schelling. 235
participation in its comprehension of itself; but since it is
incontrovertible that the inner ground-form of the self-compre-
hension of the absolute is the Esro-form, why, it might be very
possible that through this very form every Ego had a partici-
pation in the absolute, and became a moment of it ; for which
somewhat bolder solution of the problem our author is, unhap-
pily, too timid and bashful, holding the absolute, as he does,
as far away from him as possible. From this reason the first
form remains unused, and a second form must be gotten some-
where, into which, as not quite so bright and noble a form, he
hopes, with a somewhat smaller degree of immodesty, to
squeeze his personality. There is, therefore, a form of the
absolute ; and this form is as " eternal " as the absolute. So
it has been told us, though without a shadow of a proof.
Whence does the author know what he maintains? And how
does he get to the assumption of such a form? This we shall
doubtless learn best when Ave see for what purpose he uses
it. But he uses it a little further on to deduce by its means
the reality from the absolute. Hence his need of this explana-
tion is the true creator, and the real, though concealed, ground
of the proof of the Being of such a form.
And thus we have here already exhibited to us, and before
our very eyes, this man's conception of philosophy — and his
whole course of proceeding. Reality is simply in itself. Of
this, not the least doubt is uttered, and it is the fundamental
pillar of his system. This can and must be explained, and it is
the business of philosophy to furnish this explanation. Of this
again, not the least doubt is uttered, and it is the second
fundamental pillar of the whole system. In order to get this
explanation, we must assume an eternal form, and, for the
purpose of tilling this form, we must assume an Absolute,
which is the third part and realization of this system. Its
starting-point, therefore, is the very blindest and stubbornly
believing empirism, and an Absolute is assumed only, for love
of the world. This is the true opinion which this man enter-
tains of the Absolute, for thus he uses it ; and if he once and
a while, for variety's sake, speaks of immediate cognition and
contemplation of the Absolute, such is mere phrase and a
23(3 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
joke, since he does not, in truth, judge and philosophize from
such a standpoint, but from its very opposite. At the utmost,
there maybe the following truth in this, as we will generously
suppose to be the case, namely : He comprehends, in a gen-
eral way, the necessity of an immediate knowledge, if a
mediated knowledge is ever to be arrived at ; but he knows
not how to attain it, nor will he ever get it in his way. As
for the rest, this not comprehending his own real opinion, and
not remarking his blind empirism, and this, his explaining
through an arbitrarily posited hypothesis, characterize the
radical blindness of the man, whereof the instance just ex-
amined is the eighth in number.
But let us in the meanwhile obtain some further information
in regard to this eternal form. " Not the absolute ideal stands
under this form, for Itself is outside of all form, as sure as it
is absolute." Outside of all form : hence what was just this
moment by the same conception asserted of itself is now
denied, without the denial being perceived by our author ;
which is the ninth blindness. But let us look a little closer, to
see what this man is really talking about. The itself he itali-
cized also in the original, and it was well to do so, though, from
another point of view, it may lead to unpleasant consequences.
For 1 ask: Is this, then, the same one absolute of which it
was said above that it must be in the eternal form? I suppose
it must be the same ; for else we have a second absolute, and
have had our trouble with the first absolute all for nothing.
But it would surely have been wrong not to take us at once to
the true forge of the pregnant and productive absolute. Hence
it is nevertheless the absolute which is in the form. But, now
again, it is not to be itself in the form. Hence we have a self
which is at the same time a not-self, an identity which is at
the same time a not-identity ! Are there, then, no means at
hand to show up clearly this utter nonsense? I hope the
following will suffice :
I ask, is the absolute wholly and undivided!}' present in this
self-forming, or is it not so present? If the former, then it
is in its whole and undivided essence in the form, and it is
nowhere and in no other manner except in the form. Our
Fichte's Criticism of Schelling. "2?u
philosopher does not wish this to be so, because he is afraid of
his own independent individuality, which would then vanish
away in the absolute. He maintains, therefore, the latter ;
but if this is so, then the absolute, in thus forming itself,
separates into two absolute halves, with one of which it remains
out of all form, and with the other one of which itself is in
the form. Will our philosopher admit this? I hope not; but
in the meanwhile he has asserted it, without knowing what he
was speaking about ; which is the tenth blindness.
It tires me, and perhaps also the reader, to follow this man
step by step and count up his instances of confusedness ; and
I the more gladly drop the subject here, as the two following
lines involve such thick and tough nonsense as to require
many words to make it at all current. I add onlv the con-
elusion of his explanation of the eternal form.
" This form is, that the ideal, immediately as such, and
without, therefore, going outside of its identity, exists also as
a real."
What may this mean : "real?' Well, thinks this man, I
suppose every child knows it — and so takes no pains to define his
conception. But, nevertheless, we should like to know, what
sense he attaches to this conception, and hence must trace it
out ourselves from its connections. The author holds real to
be the opposite of ideal ; the ideal, however, he holds to
be — partly according to his own express words, and partly
according to the higher degree of clearness which we have
thrown upon them by realizing the thinking required by
him — that which needs not and is not capable of wx\y other
being than it has through its conception ; and hence the real
must be a being which cannot have any other being than
outside of the conception, i. e., absolute unconsciousness.
Thus, I say, the real must be thought according to our
philosopher, though at other times he is far from thinking it
thus ; for on page 23 he says : " The form of the determmedness
of the real enters through the ideal into the soul as knowledge"
At first we had only the self-forming of the ideal, by means
of and in the form, into the real, the immediate dissolving of
the ideality into reality (TxR) ; where, then, do we get now
238 The Journal of Speculative Philosopliy.
all at once this new form of a higher abstraction, of a deter-
minedness of the real through the ideal, which must be recipro-
cal, and which adds at once to the mere reality the ground of
its thus-being (qualitative determination) (I F R) ; and, more-
over, where do we get the mid, into which this form of
the form enters? It seems, indeed, as if the Wuertemberg
Catechism r allusion to the charge against Schelling, that the
theology of the university in Wuertemberg, where he was now
teaching, had induced him to change his views,] has had as
much to do with this system as speculation itself. The real
deduction of Unite things from the absolute he tinallv succeeds
in accomplishing, thereby getting rid of much trouble and
annoyance, as follows: "The absolute would not become
truly objective in the real, if it did not give the real the power
to change, like it, its ideality into reality, and to objeetivate
this reality in particular forms."
Very well ; thus we have gained everything all at once, and
the object of all speculation is solved, to everybody's joy and
comfort, with immeasurable clearness and ease. There is no
doubt that all of us others are the real, wherein the absolute
has become truly objective ; the power to change our ideality
into reality, and to objeetivate it in particular forms, belongs
also to us, therefore ; and hence the whole world will in all
probability turn out to be nothing but the exercise of this, our
power. If we now but open our senses, or, to use the ter-
minology of our philosopher, exercise the power communicated
to us, to change our ideality into reality, we shall doubtless
see how this power does objeetivate itself in particular forms ;
and thus we have arrived, indeed, though by a somewhat rough
and troublesome circuitous route, at the very point for which
I suggested above that the self-comprehension of the absolute
might be useful. Whatever may now happen, we shall always
be ready to say this is a manifestation of the power to change
our ideality into reality, through which power the absolute has
become objective in us.
Unfortunately, the iovful emotions which this result might
give rise to are quenched soon after by these unexpected and
remarkable words : "In one word, from the absolute to the real
Ficlite's Criticism of Schelling. 239
there is no gentle gradation ; the origin of the sensuous world '
(remark that this word is made here to have the same meaning
as ' the real ' ) "is to be thought only as a perfect breaking
oft' from the absoluteness, through a sudden leap." Again:
" The ground of all finite things cannot lie in a communication
of reality to them, or to their substratum; — which communi-
cation would have to come from the absolute — that ground
can lie only in an estrangement, in a falling-off from the abso-
lute. This equally clear and sublime doctrine [Indeed ! It
seems tastes vary] is also the true Platonian doctrine. Only
by a falling oft* or lapse from the original does Plato represent
the soul to sink down from its original blessedness. This was
also one of the more mvsterious doctrines in the Grecian mvs-
teries, to which Plato refers pretty plainly."
Well, if Plato and the Grecian mysteries assumed this, we
others must, of course, show the proper respect and submit to
it also, although it were to appear that there is no sense or
meaning in the whole doctrine, and that this assumption can
only be spoken, but never realized in actual thinking.
AVe vastly suspect that the latter will turn out to be the rase.
For what is that to be which falls off from the absolute. Two
cases alone are possible : either it is the absolute itself, in which
case this must fall oft" from itself, i. e., annihilate itself in
itself and through itself, which is absurd ; or it is not the ab-
solute itself, and then it is of, from, and through itself, and we
have two absolutes. It would not do to say that the absolute
has made this other, and has made it good, and that it has
fallen oft' only afterwards ; for then the possibility to fall oft'
(to lapse) must either have been given to it by the absolute —
in which act of giving the absolute would have indeed fallen off
from itself, which is the first absurdity — or it must have had
that power from and out of itself, which would make it abso-
lute at least in regard to this power, which is the second
absurdity. *
Put, supposing that we overlook all this in our author ; how
does this expression agree with all his previous operations? I
beg you, is, then, the absolute really and indeed existent or not ?
Is there, then, a word of truth in the becoming objective on the
240 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
part of this absolute, in a power to change its ideality into
reality, and to objectivate this reality again in various forms,
or is there not a word of truth in it? If the former, then
reality is indeed explained, and the steady progression from the
absolute to the real has been found. But if we assume the
latter — and the assertion that the real cannot be explained
from the absolute, warrants us in it — then everything that has
been said before is now taken back and pronounced untrue,
and all speculation — the true as well as that of this system —
is forever stopped. Why, then, did the author not wipe out
his beoinninir, after he had come to such an end?
But have we, perhaps, misunderstood him? He proceeds
to remark that he has indeed thus deduced something, but
that this something is, after all, merely the pure idea ; and hence
it is possible that the objectivating of his ideality into different
forms, whereat we so rejoiced, may also signify merely the
abstract acting, but not, as we hoped, at the same time the
original representations of the universe. I suggest: Is, then,
the idea not real, can it not become real, and is it not in
fact realized in the first half of the book, in the proud deduc-
tion of our author? O, yes, if we were not too humble to
accept such an assumption ! "This is all very well," says the
man, "but still it is not the true real, not the real real. I
only permit the sensuous world to pass for the true real."
But did he, then, never, in the course of his philosophical life,
hear the assertion that the sensuous world generally has real
existence only in the senses, and the senses only in the idea,
as spheres of the independent life of the idea? Now, if he
does not want to admit this — as he certainly does not — how
then does he, first of all, form his conception of reality?
Evidently, only through distinction from the idea — a Being
of matter, utterly independent of the idea ; and since, doubt-
less, we are not to have a third besides the idea and matter,
independent of anything else, hence a true in-itself, and inner
Absolute, the second in number; i. e., if he is at the same
time in earnest when he claims the Being of an absolute idea.
And thus we find in our philosophical hero, when we come to a
serious investigation, nothing but the old and well-known
Fichte's Criticism of ScJielling. 241
joke of a materialistic dualism. Not Kant, not the Science of
Knowledge, but thou, O holy Leibnitz, pray for him !
Again : how does this man imagine that he protects himself
against those who insist on the unity of the absolute, and on
the idea, as the only possible reality? He will never find
another manner than that which he really does adopt, namely,
of appealing to the testimony of his senses and to common
sense, and maintaining, by all that is holy, that the material
objects must exist, since he sees them, hears them, etc., and
that nobody can ever alter this, his belief. Thus drops from
our man the mask of speculation, which he always carries a
little loosely, and we see the natural skin of the coarsest,
blindest empiricism ; and indeed he never utters were it but the
suggestion of a suspicion of the in-itself-existence of matter.
Since it is necessary to tell our public everything expressly,
and never to assume that anybody will follow one's thinking,
and admit the consequences of one's assertions, I add that
all natural philosophy rests upon this blind belief, this horror
and dismay in the face of matter, and this terror to be self-
alive, and not a mere product of nature ; and that all such
men can never find another answer for those who oppose them
than that they lack feeling. Now, since Ave live probably
quite as much as the}', it is to be presumed that we also hear
and see quite as well as they, the only difference being that
we do not accept these appearances of the senses immediately
and at once, upon mere belief, but penetrate them with our
comprehension, and thus understand them in their significance
as the true real of them. Hence what we lack, indeed, is
their blind superstition ; and if they mean this by their
i( feeling," they are quite right in supposing that we lack
something which they possess. May they never learn what
fools they became when they considered themselves wise.
To return to our philosopher. This immeasurably clumsy
and bungling sophist is, therefore, the man who succeeded in
leading the philosophers of our age astray. In the meanwhile
it might involve injustice as well towards myself as towards
this man if herewith I concluded this chapter. Towards my-
self, because I do not wish that certain opponents of his of
XIII— 16
242 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
whom he complains, of whom he has found particularly a num-
ber in the district of his present residence, should believe that
I have joined them ; towards him, because there was a time
when I judged him less disparagingly, and because, since it is
known that we once had personal relations, some one might
believe he had thus disparaged himself in my esteem in an-
other manner than as a philosopher : Now, as regards, firstly,
my former less disparaging judgments, I would have it eon-
sidered that in these times the man was utterly incapable of
philosophical ripeness and clearness by reason of his youth,
and that I therefore neither could nor desired to praise in him
that ripeness and clearness ; but I hoped that he would be dili-
gent, and did not doubt that bv diligence he might succeed
iu something, and it was only this hope which I expressed.
But how I have always judged the philosophical attainments
which this man really possesses can be seen in the very first
numbers of my Philosophical Journal, in one of my notes to
an essa}^ written by him, wherein the first traces of the error
which has now shaped itself into a "philosophy of nature'
can be clearly discerned. Those good hopes of mine he has
not fulfilled, but allowed himself to be soon corrupted by
senseless flatterers, and since then has paid attention to noth-
ing but his pride and self-conceit, being anxious to run ahead
in the race of the man whom but to understand he all the
while remained incapable.
To separate myself from these opponents of his, whom I
do not like to join, I add : I see clearly that if the system of
this man is logically carried out, no God remains but Nature,,
and no morality but that of the manifestations of Nature. But
it is as unjust to impugn men for what they merely sa}' as it
would be to interpret it to their advantage. Words are,
after all, nothing, and only the life is of significance. But so
far as the life, the inner religion of this man, is concerned, I of
course refrain from all judgment, and hold that the public
should do so likewise. So far as his morality is concerned, it
may not be improper to also allude to the following :
It seems to have been believed, and it was but lately that I saw
the insinuation repeated in a public paper, that the man whom
Fichte's Criticism of Schelling. 243
I have named belonged to those who did not come up to their
pledged word when I left Jena. I deem it proper at the pres-
ent opportunity to deny this. I stood by no means on such a
footing with him as that I should have taken his advice on im-
portant steps to be taken. "Whatever was told him was told
him after the step had been taken. The man who, by his 1111-
asked-for interference, changed my fixed resolution to resign
my position at Jena, in a certain contingency, into an attempt
to capitulate, and who thus gave nry just and proper resolve —
which I approve yet, after the lapse of eight years, and would
repeat in the same contingency — the appearance of weakness
and double-facedness, was another man, and was only one,
not many,. In the meanwhile I bear no grudge even against
this one, since immediately after the step was taken I con-
demned myself. For it serves strength but justly if, making
common cause with momentary weakness, it finds itself de-
serted ; and I have been reconciled with myself only by the
thus acquired certainty that the same thing will not happen
again.
Let this, therefore, be said as a last word on the subject,
and let us hope that the confused passionateness of those days
may now be cooled oil', and that it is now understood how
it must be all the same to the whole world, excepting the
finances of the duchy of Weimar, whether this or that man is
professor at Jena, or whether Jena has a flourishing, or a de-
serted, or no university at all.
Besides all this, what this man seeks and strives to attain
by his speculation is by no means anything bad or common,
but rather the highest to which man may aspire, the cognition
of the unity of all Being with the Divine Being. His purpose is,
therefore, worthy of all honor. Mine is the same, and I fulfil
it ; but he speaks of it only in a roundabout way, and cannot
realize it ; he puts himself in the way of those who can realize
it, and leads others astray avIio might, perhaps, have listened
and understood, if it had not been for him. It is this which
causes him my reproaches. He hates and flies from collected
reasoning, in which alone lies the remedy of error ; and he
does this purposely, because he considers it empty clearness,
244 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
and thus he makes diffusedness of thought the fundamental
principle of all realism, expecting salvation from a blind
nature. Now, this is absolute Anti-Philosophy ; and so long as
he clings to this maxim, everything he utters is necessarily
false, erroneous, and foolish, and not a spark of philosophy
can enter his soul. And thus, leaving him as man in all his
possible worth, I cast him utterly aside as a philosopher ; and
as an artist, I assert him to be one of the greatest bunglers
that have ever played with words.
What I have said here against him, being grounded simply
in general logic, suffers no contradiction and no evasion, and
cannot be refuted. If his co-disputants, sorrowful to see their
leader thus treated, should try to refute it, I shall reply or
not, as it may please me, for I do not wish to bind myself to
it. But to the man I have named I never speak, since we
proceed from utterly opposite maxims ; nor have I here spoken
to him, but to his public.
HEGEL ON ROMANTIC ART.
[TRANSLATED FROM THE SECOND PART OF THE jESTHETIK.]
BY WM. M. BRYANT.
Chapter III. — Of the Formal Independence of Indi-
vidual Peculiarities.
If now Ave take a view of what lies behind us, we see that we
have, in the first place, considered personality in its absolute
circle ; consciousness in its mediation with God ; the universal
process of the spirit reconciling itself within itself. Here the
abstraction consists in this : The soul withdrew, by abnegation,
into itself from the secular, natural, and human, as such (even
where this was moral, and therefore permissible), in order to
secure contentment in the pure heaven of the spirit. Secondly,
it is true, human subjectivity, without representing the nega-
tivity which lay in the former mediation, became affirmative
Hegel on Romantic Art. 245
for itself and for others. The content of this secular (welt-
lichen) infinitude, as such, was, nevertheless, only the inde-
pendence of honor, the internal ity of love, the vassalage of
fidelity ; a content which can, indeed, make its appearance in
multiform relations, in a vast complexity and varied degree of
sentiment and passion, and under a great variety of external
circumstances. Within these phases, however, it is nothing
more than the above-mentioned independence of the person
and of his externality, that is represented. The third point,
therefore, which still remains for us to consider is the form
and method (Art und Weise~) by which the further material of
human existence, in accordance with its inner and outer char-
acteristics, may enter into the Romantic form of art ; and how
nature and its conception and significance for the soul may be
admitted to the same realm. Here it is also the world of the
particular — existence in general — which becomes free for
itself, and, in so far as it does not appear to be penetrated
with religion, and to be distinctly comprehended in the unity
of the absolute, places itself upon its own feet, and goes for-
ward independently in its own realm.
In this third circle of the Romantic form of art, therefore,
the religious material and chivalry, with its lofty conceptions
and aims produced in the inner being, and to which nothing
in the present and actual immediately corresponds, have van-
ished. On the contrary, what is now gratifying is the thirst
for this present and actual world itself, satisfaction in what is,
contentment with self, with the finitude of the human, with
the finite and particular in general ; in a word, with the spe-
cifically-realistic (Portraitarligen). In his immediate now,
man demands, even at the sacrifice of the beauty and ideality
of the content and of the manifestation, that the present
itself, re-created in still more present vitality by art, shall
stand out before him as his own spiritual, human work. As
we saw, even at the outset, the Christian religion has not
grown out of the ground of the phantasy, as did the Oriental
and Greek gods, in respect of both content and form. If now
it is the phantasy which creates from itself the significance in
order to complete the union of the true internal with the per-
perfected form of the same, and, in Classic Art, 'actually
246 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
brings about this combination ; so, likewise, on the other
hand, we find that in the Christian religion the mundane
peculiarity of manifestation from the center outward, as it
comes and goes, is taken up, as an element, into the ideal,
and that the soul is satisfied with the commonplace, and with
the accidentally of the external, without demanding beauty.
Still, man is, at first, only potentially, and as a possibility,
reconciled with God. All are, indeed, called to happiness,
but few are chosen ; and the soul to which the Kingdom of
Heaven, as well as the kingdom of this world, remains a be-
yond, must, in the spiritual, abjure worldliness and egotistic
temporality (selbstischen Gegenwartigkeit). It (the soul) ad-
vances from an infinite distance, and in order that what was
to it at first onlv something to be sacrificed may become
affirmative and valid, this positive finding of self and willing
of self in its (the soul's) present, — which [phase] is in other
respects the beginning, — constitutes the termination in the
development (Fortbildung) of Romantic Art; and this is the
final stage in which man simply continues to add to the depth
and precision of his own inner nature.
With respect to the form for this new content we found
Romantic Art burdened from its very beginning with this con-
tradiction : That subjectivity or personality, since it is essen-
tially infinite, is for itself incapable of uniting with external
matter and must remain uncombined therewith. This inde-
pendent opposition of the two sides and the seclusion (ZurilcJc-
gezogenheit) of the internal within itself constitutes the char-
acteristic content of the romantic. Developing themselves
within themselves, these two elements are found to ever sepa-
rate anew until they ultimately fall asunder altogether, and
thus show that it is in another field than in that of art that they
must seek their absolute unity ( Vereinigung). Through this
falling-asunder the elements (Seiten) become, in respect of
art, formal, since they cannot come forth as a whole in that
perfect unity which the classic ideal gives to them. Classic
Art has its appropriate range in a circle of clearly defined im-
ages ; in a mythology completed through art and in the indis-
soluble forms pertaining thereto. The dissolution of the
classic, therefore (as we have already seen in the transition to
Hegel on Romantic Art. 247
the Romantic form of art), is, aside from the very limited
region of the comic and satirical, an over-refinement (Aus-
bilduny) for the sake of the agreeable ; or it is an imitation
which is lost in erudition, in something dead and cold, and
which finally degenerates into a negligent and clumsy technique.
Still, on the whole, the objects remain the same and merely
exchange the earlier, more spiritual mode of production for a
less and less spiritual representation, and a tradition altogether
mechanical and external, or formal. On the contrary, the
progress and termination of Romantic Art is the inner dissolu-
tion of the artistic material itself, which separates into its
elements — into a free-existence of its parts — with which, on
the other hand, the subjective skill and art of the represent-
ation rises ; and, the more completely disengaged the spiritual
(das Substantielle) becomes, by so much the more does it
render itself perfect.
We may now indicate the more precise divisions of this last
chapter, as follows :
In the first place, we have before us Independence of Cliar-
acter. But this is a particular, definite individual, who, with
his own peculiar characteristics and aims, is secluded within
himself, within his own world.
Secondly, in contrast with this formalism of the independence
of character stands the external form of situations, accidents,
and acts. And, since Romantic internality in general is indif-
ferent respecting the external, there appears here the real
phenomenon, free for itself, as neither pervaded by the inner
[quality] of the aims and deeds, nor formed adequately with
reference to the same. Thus, in its unrestricted mode of mani-
festation, importance comes to be attached to the accidentally
of the development, of the circumstances, of the succession
of events, of the quality of execution, etc., [and this makes
its appearance] as adventurousness .
In the third place, finally, there is exhibited the falling
asunder of the elements (Seiten) whose perfect identity con-
stitutes the specific idea of art ; and thus the dissolution and
decay of art itself become manifest. On the one side, art goes
over to the representation of ordinary actuality as such, to the
representation of things present just as they are in their acci-
248 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
dental individuality and their peculiarities ; and has now for
its aim the transformation of this reality into an appearance
through the dexterity of art. On the other side, it turns itself
about, to the complete, subjective accidentally of conception
and representation — to Humor — as the inversion and de-
rangement of all objectivity and reality through wit and the
play of the subjective fancy (Ansicht), and terminates with
the productive power of the artistic subjectivity over every
content and every form.
/. Of the Independence of Individual Character.
1. Of Outward Energy of Character. — 2. Of Concentration of Character. — 3. Of
the Interest which the Representation of such Character produces.
The subjective infinitude of man considered with reference
to his ideal, from which we set forth in Romantic Art,
remains also in this present sphere the fundamental character-
istic. On the other hand, what enters anew into this substan-
tially (fiir sich) independent infinity is, on the one part, the
particularity of the contest which constitutes the world of the
subject or person ; on the other part, the being of the subject
or person in immediate combination with this its particularity,
and the wishes and aims belomxino- thereto : thirdlv, the living:
individuality to which character in itself sets the limits. We
must here, however, not understand by the expression " char-
acter " what, for example, the Italians represent in their
masques. For the Italian masques are, indeed, also dentate
characters, but they exhibit this detiniteness only in their
abstraction and universality, without subjective individuality.
On the contrary, the characters of the present stage are, each
for himself, a more specific character, an independent totality,
an individual subject or person. If, therefore, Ave still speak
here of formalism and abstraction of character, this relates
only to the fact that the chief content, the world of such char-
acter, appears on the one hand as limited, and hence abstract ;
while on the other hand it appears as accidental. What the
individual is, becomes established (gehalten) and sustained
(getragen) , not through that which is substantial and essentially
valid in its content, but through the mere subjectivity of the
Hegel on Romantic Art. 249
character. This, therefore, rests only formally upon its own
individual independence, instead of upon its content and its
sensibility developed to consistency and independence (fur
sick festen Pathos ) .
Within this formalism two principal distinctions are brought
to light.
On the one side stands the energetic, self-reliant (sick
durchfilhrende) firmness of character, which restricts itself to
definite ends, and throws the entire force of one-sided individ-
uality into the realization of these ends. On the other side,
character appears as subjective totality, which, however, re-
mains uncultivated in its internality, and in the undeveloped
depth of the soul, and is not in a position to render itself
explicit and to bring itself into complete manifestation.
1. Thus, what we have before us at first is the particular
character which chooses to be precisely what it immediately
is. As the animals are different one from another, and yet in
this difference find their independence, so here the variously-
distinguished characters, whose circle and chief peculiarity
remain accidental, cannot be given a precise definition through
the general conception.
a. Such merely self-related individuality, therefore, pos-
sesses no views and aims which it has thought out, and which
it connects with some universal sentiment (Pathos) ; but what
it has, does, and accomplishes, it creates immediately, and
without any further reflection, out of its own particular na-
ture, and this its nature is in that very tact developed to the
precise state it is now found to be in. It is not grounded
through anything else higher, nor will it accept vindication
from something substantial; but, inflexible, and relying unfal-
teringly upon itself, it goes forward in this resoluteness (Fes-
tigheit) until it either accomplishes its purpose or perishes in
the attempt. Such independence of character can only make
its appearance where the non-religious (Ausserguttjtiche) , the
specially human, has attained to its completest acceptation.
Of this class especially are the characters of Shakespeare, the
intense persistence and concentration of which constitute the
pre-eminently admirable quality. There it is in nowise a
250 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
question of piety (Religiositat) , and of an activity proceeding
from the religious reconciliation of man in himself, and from
the moral as such. On the contrary, we have before us indi-
viduals who are independent only through self-assertion, who
possess particular aims which belong exclusively to them-
selves, which proceed alone from their own individuality, and
which they now, for their own personal satisfaction, pursue to
the end with the unswerving consistency of passion, and without
accompanying reflection and universality. In particular, the
tragedies such as "Macbeth," "Othello," "Richard the
Third," and others, have each as its central object one such
character, who is surrounded by less remarkable and less ener-
getic characters. Thus, for example, Macbeth is distin-
guished by his characteristic of ungoverned greed of power.
At first he hesitates, but presently he stretches forth his hand
towards the crown, commits murder to obtain it, and, in order
to preserve it, storms onward through every atrocity. This
desperate hardihood, the identity of the man with himself and
with the aim which proceeds solely from himself, gives him an
essential interest. Neither respect for the sacredness of maj-
esty, nor the insanity of his wife, nor the revolt of his vassals,
nor the threatening: ruin — nothing can cause him to falter.
Before nothing, before neither divine nor human right, will
he yield his purpose, but perseveres to the end. Lady Mac-
beth is a similar character, and only the insipid prating of a
modern criticism has been able to consider her as possessed of
kindliness of spirit. With her first entrance upon the scene
(Act I, scene 5), as she reads the letter of Macbeth, which
tells of the meeting with the witches and of their prophecy,
"Hail, Thane of Cawdor ; hail, king that shall be!' she
cries out: " Glands thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be what
thou art promised ; — but I do fear thy nature ; it is too full
o' the milk of human kindness, to catch the nearest way."
She exhibits no kindly tenderness, no gladness at the good
fortune of her husband, no moral emotion, no sympathy
(Theilnahme), none of the regret of a noble soul. She fears
but one thing: that the character of her husband may become
an obstacle in the wav of her ambition. As for him, she con-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 251
isiders him solely as a means ; and in this respect there is no
hesitation, no uncertainty, no deliberation, no faltering. She
experiences no regret, as Macbeth himself does at first ; she
only exhibits pure abstraction and relentlessness (Harte) of
character, and pursues to the end, without further thought,
whatever serves her purpose, even to her final undoing. This
catastrophe, which, with Macbeth, comes storm-like upon him
from without, after he has consummated his crimes, is, in
the feminine concentration (Innern) of Lady Macbeth, in-
sanity. The same may be said of Richard the Third, of
Othello, of the old Margaret, and of so many other like char-
acters. This is quite the contrary of the wretchedness of
modern characters — of those of Kotzebue, for example, —
which appear in the highest degree noble, great, excellent, and
yet are at the same time inwardly mere rags (jiur Lumpen).
In other respects the later writers who have majestically
spurned Kotzebue, have done no better ; as, for example,
Heinrich von Kleist, in his Kathchen und Prinzen von Hom-
burg ; characters in whom, in opposition to the rational condi-
tions (wachen Zustande~) of established sequence, we see rep-
resented magnetic states, somnambulism, as the highest and
most excellent. The Prince of Homburg is a wholly miserable
{der erbarmlichste) general ; he is distracted in assigning
positions, writes his orders in a bungling manner, at night
urges forward puerile affairs with morbid haste, and in the
day-time in battle commits gross blunders. With such utter
want of unity, and such deeply penetrating dissonance of
character, these writers have imagined themselves to be follow-
ing in the footsteps of Shakespeare. But the}' are far from so
doing ; for Shakespeare's characters are in themselves consist-
ent (Consequent) ; they remain true to themselves and to their
passion, and whatever they are, whatever opposes them, they
perform their deeds with vigor and promptitude, and always
in accordance with their own unalterable characteristic.
b. Now, the more peculiar the character is which holds fast
only upon itself, and thus so much the more easily joins
itself to the evil, by so much the more has it, in concrete
actuality, not only to sustain itself against hindrances which
252 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
present themselves in its way and check the realization [of its
designs], but so much the more, also, will it, through this very
realization, be driven onward to its own ruin. For, even
while it is attaining its end, there falls upon it the destiny that
proceeds from the particular character itself, which thus incurs
the ruin it has prepared for itself. The maturing of this
destiny is, however, not merely a development from the deeds
of the individual, but it is at the same time an inner unfold-
ing ( Werden), a development of the character itself, in its
stormy violence, in its wild raging, until it becomes shattered,
or sinks exhausted. With the Greeks (with whom pathos,
the substantial content of deeds, rather than the subjective
character, is the thing of importance), destiny does not so
closely concern this peculiar character, which, it is true, does
not in its deeds attain essentially to any further development,
but is at the end what it was at the beginning. But at the
present stage, the development of the action is, none the less,
a further unfolding of the individual in his subjective internal-
ity. It is not merely an external progress. The deeds of
Macbeth, for example, appear at the same time as a madden-
ing ( Ver wilder unc/) of the soul, with this consequence : that,
so soon as indecision ceases, the die is cast, and from this
moment he no longer permits himself to pause at any obstacle.
His wife is decided from the first moment. In her the develop-
ment shows itself only as an inner anxiety which rises to phy-
sical and spiritual ruin, even to insanity, in which she perishes.
It is so, also, with the greater number of the characters, the
principal and as well as the subordinate. Antique characters,
indeed, also show the same firmness, and even with them it
happens that there are contradictions wherein no help is any
longer possible, and Avhere, for the deliverance [of the charac-
ter], a Deus ex machina must enter. Nevertheless, this firm-
ness, as for example that of Phlloctetes, is rich in significance
(inhaltsvoll) , and on the whole filled with a sentiment which
is grounded hi morality.
c. In the personages of the present circle, with the acci-
dentally which characterizes their aims, and with the inde-
pendence of their individuality, no objective reconciliation is
Hegel on Romantic Art. 253
possible. Their inter-relation, what they are, and what befalls
them, remains partly indefinite, but is also for itself explained
in part as no whence and no whither. [It is capricious, rather
than rational.] Fate, as the most abstract necessity, here
makes its appearance once more, and the sole reconciliation
for the individual is his infinite potential being, his own inflexi-
bility, in which he stands above his passion, and above the
destiny involved therein. "It is so," and whatever happens
to him, whether it comes from an overriding fatality, from
necessity, or from accident, it nevertheless is, without reflec-
tion as to why or wherefore. It happens, and the man,
by his resolution, becomes firm as a rock in presence of this
imperious power.
2. In the second place, again, and in a wholly opposite
fashion, the formal or abstract phase of character may have
its foundation in interndlity as such. Here the individual,
not being able to attain to the real enlargement and comple-
tion [of his own powers], remains at this stage of internality
[or concentration upon self].
a. These are the substantial souls which contain a totality
within themselves, but, in simple concentration ( Gedrungen-
Jteit), complete each deep movement only in themselves,
without being developed or rendered outwardly explicit.
Formalism, as we have already considered it, relates to the
definiteness of the content, to the existence of the individual
completely focused in a single aim. This aim is permitted to
appear in perfect clearness, while the individual develops him-
self, presses toward his aim, and in this effort, according as
circumstances permit, either perishes or attains to success.
The present and second phase of formalism, on the contrary,
consists in non-development, in formlessness, in the lack of
manifestation and unfolding. Such a soul is like a costly
precious stone which emits light only at a single point ; it
sends forth one ray alone, but this is like a flash of lightning.
b. Such a concentration is of interest and value ; for it is in
this that we find a more spiritual (innerer) realm of the soul
which permits its infinite depth and fullness to be known, but
only in rare and, so to speak, mute manifestations directly
254 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
through this silence (Stille). Such simple, naive, silent
natures can exert the strongest attraction. But their silence
must be the unmoved stillness upon the surface of the un-
fathomable sea, not the silence of shallowness, emptiness, and
dullness. For we sometimes meet men who are altogether
ordinary, and vet who, through a careful reserve, giving: out
only here and there something to be but half understood,
create the impression of immense wisdom and spiritual depth,
so that one is led to think it a miracle that all this should be
hidden away in this heart and soul : and yet we discover at
length that there is nothing in them. On the other hand, the
infinite content and depth of those quiet souls become manifest
(and this demands great address and skill on the part of the
artist) through isolated, scattered, naive, and unintentional
but deeply significant utterances, which escape without refer-
ence to the ability of others to comprehend them. From
which it is evident that such souls seize in a profound manner
the substantial in whatever relations lie before them ; that,
nevertheless, their reflection does not extend through the entire
chain of particular interests, motives, and finite aims — from
which they are free (rein) and with which they are unfamiliar ;
and that, finally, they do not permit themselves to be distracted
by the ordinary emotions, by eagerness, and affections of that
type.
c. For a soul thus shut up within itself there must none the
less come a time in which it will be aroused (ergrijfen) at a
definite point of its inner world and thenceforward throw its
undivided force into a single sentiment determining its entire
life. To this sentiment it will cleave with undiminished (unzer-
splitterter) energy, and either attain to happiness, or perish
while yet its purposes are unfulfilled. For, to realize his pur-
poses, man requires a developed breadth of moral substance,
which alone gives an objective permanence (Festigkeit). To
this class of characters belong the most charming personages
of Romantic Art, such as Shakespeare has created them in most
admirable perfection. Such, for example, is Juliet to be
esteemed, in " Romeo and Juliet." * * * She may be con-
sidered at the commencement of the drama as a childlike,
Hegel on Romantic Art. 255
simple maiden of fourteen or fifteen years. She appears to
have no consciousness of herself or of the world, no emotion,
no agitation, no desire; but, in her native simplicity, has
beheld the surrounding world as in a magic lantern, without
learning anything therefrom or arriving at any reflective idea.
Suddenly we see the development of the entire strength of this
soul, — cunning, prudence, force, sacrifice of all things, sub-
mission to the most dreadful [experiences], — so that now the
whole appears to us as the bursting forth at once of the perfect
rose in all its leaves and folds ; as an infinite outpouring of the
innermost pure sources of the soul in which hitherto nothing
had become distinguished, defined or developed, but which
now, as an immediate product of the awakened single interest,
steps forth unconscious of itself, in its beautiful fullness and
power, out of the previously closed spirit. It is a brand which
a single spark has inflamed ; a bud which, scarcely touched by
love, unexpectedly stands out in perfect bloom. And yet,
however swiftly it has unfolded, it is stripped of its leaves
and sinks away more swiftly still. Even more distinctly is
Miranda, in "The Tempest," of this class. Reared in solitude,
Shakespeare presents her to us in her first acquaintance with
man. He pictures her in two simple scenes, but he gives us
therein an absolutely complete representation of her. So, too,
Schiller's Thekla, though she is a product of a more reflective
poetry, may be named as an example of the same class.
Though in the midst of so great and rich a life, she does not
become affected by it, but remains without vanity, without
reflection, in the naivete of one single interest which alone
animates her. In general, those are especially fine, noble,
feminine natures for whom the world, as well as their own
inner being, unfolds for the first time in love ; so that they
seem to be born only then into spiritual life.
It is to the category of such internality, which is unable to
bring itself into complete development, that popular songs
mainly belong. And this is especially true of the' German,
which, in its rich concentration, however much it may show it-
self to be affected by one specific interest, is still able to bring
about only isolated manifestations, and by this means to reveal
256 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
the depth of the soul. It is this mode of representation which,
in its muteness, likewise returns to the symbolical, since what
it gives is not the open, clear presentation of the whole inner
being, but only a sign and intimation thereof. Still we have
not here a symbol whose significance, as in the earlier stage,
remains a mere abstract generality, but a manifestation whose
central significance is precisely this subjective, living, actual
soul itself. In the later days of a thoroughly reflective con-
sciousness, which is far removed from the naivete to which we
have referred and which is cencentrated upon itself, such repre-
sentations are of the utmost difficulty, and give proof of an
original poetic genius. Goethe, as we have already seen (and
especially in his songs), is a master of this art of symbolic
portrayal ; that is, of laying open to view the whole truth and
infinitude of the soul in a few simple, apparently external, and
insignificant characteristics. Of this class is, for example,
the King of Thule, one of the most beautiful things Goethe
has written. The kino- o-ives no sign of his love, save through
the cup which he has long preserved as a memento from his
loved-one. The carousing old man is about to die. Around
him, in the great hall of the palace, are ranged the knights ;
he makes for his heirs the division of his kingdom and of his
treasures ; but the cup he casts into the sea. None other shall
possess that.
"Er sah ihn stiirzen, trinken,
Und sinken tief in's Meer,
Die Augen th'aten ihm sinken,
Trank nie einen Tropfen mehr."
Nevertheless such deep, silent souls in which is contained
the energy of the spirit, like a spark shut up in the flint, do
not assume definite outward form ; their existence and their
reflection thereon do not attain to perfection. Thus they fail
to become free through this culture. They remain exposed to
this violent contradiction : that when the dissonance of misfor-
tune resounds in their life they possess no aptitude, no bridge
to reconcile their own hearts with the actual world, and thus
to shield themselves against external circumstances, to support
themselves in presence of the same, and to preserve themselves
Hegel on Romantic Art. 257
within themselves. Drawn into collisions, they know not how
to escape ; they plunge heedlessly into action, or passively
permit events to take their own course. Thus, for example,
Hamlet is a tine, noble soul. He is by no means weak, yet
lacks energetic, vital feeling {Lebens-gefiihl) . Hence, in the
torpor of melancholy he gropes, heavy-hearted, in a maze. He
has his own keen scent. There is no outward sign, no ground
for suspicion, but he has a feeling of insecurity ; all is not as
it should be ; he divines the monstrous deed that has been
perpetrated. The shade of his father gives him the clue. From
that moment he is inwardly ready for revenge. He thinks
constantly of the duty which his own heart has prescribed for
him ; but he does not permit himself, like Macbeth, to rush
at once to action ; he does not kill, does not rage, does not
strike at once, like Laertes, but preserves in inactivity a fair
inner soul which does not make itself actual, and cannot iden-
tify itself with the present state of things. He waits, seeks
in the tine integrity of his own soul for objective certainty ;
and yet, even after he has attained to this certainty, he comes
to no firm resolution, but permits himself to be guided by out-
ward circumstances. In this unreality he now errs, even in
respect of what actually lies before him. Instead of the king
he kills the aged Polonius. He proceeds with precipitation
where he had desired to be discreet; and, on the contrary,
where he has neeQ of active enerirv, he remains absorbed within
himself so far that, without his participation in this broad course
of circumstances and accidents, the destiny of the whole has
become unfolded along with that of his own inner being, which
is ever anew withdrawn into itself.
In modern times, however, this moral disposition makes its
appearance among men of the humbler classes, who are desti-
tute both of the culture leading to general aims and of the
manifoldness of objective interests. For this reason, when
the one aim escapes them they are unable to find in any other
a support for their inner life and a basis (Stiitzpunkt) for their
activity. This lack of culture explains why these taciturn
characters ( Gemiither), in proportion as they are undeveloped,
hold fast only so much the more inflexibly and obstinately
XIII — 17
258 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
to what they have once undertaken, though that be ever so
narrow and one-sided. Such monotony of men essentially
without words, and shut up within themselves, lies especially
in German characters, who for this reason are likely to appear
headstrong, bristling, knotty, unapproachable, and in their
deeds and manifestations completely uncertain and contradic-
tory. As a master in delineating and representing such
reserved (stummen) characters of the lower classes, I will
here name only Hippel, the author of the Course of Life in
the Ascending Scale, one of the few really original German
works of the humorous type. He holds himself completely
aloof from Jean Paul's sentimentality, and from the bad taste
of his situations ; yet possesses, on the contrary, a wonderful
individuality, freshness, and vitality. He understands especi-
ally how to delineate in the most striking manner those intense
characters who know not how to make room for themselves,
and who when they come to act, do so in a violent and fearful
fashion. They solve the infinite contradiction of their inner
being, and of the unhappy circumstances in the midst of
which they are themselves developing, but it is done in a dread-
ful manner, and thus they complete what would otherwise be
accomplished by an external destiny; as, for example, in
" Romeo and Juliet," external accidents bring to nought the
prudence and ingenuity of the monk and occasion the death of
the lovers.
3. Thus, then, these abstract characters show, in general,
on the one part, only the immeasurable force of will belong-
ing to particular subjectivity, which assumes importance just
as it is, and storms forth in its resoluteness : or contrariwise,
it shows us an independently total, unrestricted soul which
rests upon some definite phase of its own inner being, and
concentrates the breadth and depth of its entire individuality
upon this single point; and yet,- since it (the particular sub-
jectivity) is still undeveloped outwardly, it falls into collis-
ions, in the midst of which it is unable to collect itself or to
act wisely in its efforts to extricate itself. A third point which
we have now to mention consists in this : that if those char-
acters which are altogether one-sided and limited in their aims,
Hegel on Romantic Art. 259
though still developed in their own consciousness, are to inter-
est us not merely in a formal but also in a substantial manner,
we must form our conception of them in such wise that this
narrowness of their individuality shall seem only as a fatality ;
that is, only as a development of their special peculiarity along
with profounder spiritual qualities. This depth and this
wealth of the spirit, Shakespeare makes visible to us in his
characters. He exhibits them as men of a free imaginative
force and of a genial spirit, while their reflection stands above,
and renders them superior to what, they are in respect of their
surroundings and their particular aims, so that they appear
driven to the performance of what they bring about only
through the misfortune of circumstances, or through the col-
lisions growing out of their position. Still this is not to be
understood as if, with Macbeth, for example, what he dared
do were to be imputed to the wickedness of the witches. The
witches are, far rather, only the poetic image or reflex of his
own settled will. What the Shakespearean characters bring
about — their particular aim — has its origin and the root of
its power in their own individuality. But in one and the same
individuality they preserve at the same time that elevation
which causes us to forget what they are actually — that is ,
what they are in their aims, interests, and deeds — and which
aggrandizes and ennobles them in their essential natures. So,
too, the coarser characters of Shakespeare — Stephano, Trin-
culo, Pistol, and the absolute hero among all these, Falstaff —
remain sunk in their vulgarity, but at the same time they give
evidence that they are intelligences whose genius comprehends
all in itself, and possesses a wholly free existence. In short,
what great men are, these might also be. On the other hand,
in French tragedies the greatest and best are, when seen in full
light, often enough found to be but strutting, base creatures
(Bestien) in whom there is only spirit enough to justify them-
selves by sophisms. In Shakespeare we find no justification,
no condemnation, but only the contemplation of a universal
destiny whose stand-point of necessity is assumed by the char-
acters without complaint or regret, even though these behold all
things, themselves included, sinking in the abyss.
260 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
In all these respects the realm of such individual characters
presents an infinitely rich field, but one wherein, also, there is
great danger of falling into emptiness and platitude ; so that
there have been very few masters who have possessed sufficient
poetic genius and genuine insight to enable them to seize the
true [and properly represent it in such themes].
//. Of the Spirit of Adventure.
1. Accidental Character of Enterprises and Collisions. — 2. Comic Representation
of Adventurous Characters. — 3. The Modern Romance.
Since now we have considered the phase of the inner or sub-
jective, so far as this can appear in the representations of the
present stage, we must, in the second place, turn our attention
also to the external, to the particularity of circumstances and
situations which arouse the character, to the collisions in which
the character is developed, as well as to the total form which
the internal assumes in the midst of concrete actuality.
As we have already more than once observed, it is a funda-
mental characteristic of Romantic Art that spirituality, the
soul as reflected into itself, constitutes a totality ; and that,
therefore, it relates to the external, not as to something belong-
ing to and pervaded by itself, but as to the merely external
which is separated from the inner, or spiritual. [Thus con-
sidered, the external is] something which is distinct from and
abandoned by spirit, and which thus isolatedly persists {fur
sich forttreibt), develops, and whirls about as a finite, forth-
flowing, perpetually changing, confused accidentally. To the
soul, firmly enclosed within itself, it is thus quite indifferent
what are the circumstances it finds itself in presence of; as,
again, it is quite accidental what the circumstances may be
which present themselves to the soul. For, in its activity, it is
of far less importance to the soul that it should bring to com-
pletion an independent and thoroughly permanent [external]
work than that it should develop itself into universal validity
and perform [moral] deeds.
1. In this way there comes to light what may in other
respects be called the undeifying of nature. Spirit has with-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 261
drawn itself from the externality of phenomena into itself.
Since, therefore, the inner being of subjectivity or spirituality
no longer beholds itself in the external, the latter, on its side,
also takes shape independently and aside from and without
reference to the former. In accordance with its truth, indeed,
spirit is in itself mediated and reconciled with the absolute ;
but in so far as we here stand upon the ground of independent
individuality, which proceeds from itself as it immediately
finds itself and thus holds fast to itself, in like degree does
this undeifying [of nature] concern also the actively employed
character, who therefore makes his entrance with his own
accidental aims into an accidental world, with which, however,
he does not unite himself at once to [the extent of forming with
it] an essentially congruent totality. This relativity of aims
in the midst of relative conditions — whose determinateness and
development do not lie in the individual (Subject), but are
determined externally and accidentally, and thus bring about
accidental collisions as strange, confusedly-intertwined (durch-
einandergeschlungene) ramifications — constitutes the adven-
turous, which, for the form of events and deeds, provides the
fundamental type of the Romantic.
To action and event, in the more precise sense of the ideal,
there belongs an end which is in itself truer and essentially
more necessary ; in whose content, besides, the determining
cause, with reference both to the outer form and to the order
and mode of execution, lies in actuality. In the deeds and
circumstances of Romantic Art this is not the case. For when
here, also, essentially universal and substantial ends are to be
represented in their realization, these ends still do not possess
within themselves detiniteness of action, the ordering and
arrangement of their inner course, but must let 2:0 this side of
the realization, and leave it, therefore, to accidentality.
a. The Romantic world has only an absolute work to bring
to completion. It has for its task the dissemination of Christi-
anity, the showing forth of the spirit of the Church. In the
midst of a hostile world (partly that of incredulous antiquity,
partly that of the barbarism and rudeness of the consciousness)
this work, until it departed from mere doctrine and entered
262 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
upon deeds, was in the main a passive work of the endurance
of pain and martyrdom, the sacrifice of individual temporal
existence for the eternal welfare of the soul. The further fact
{That) which relates to the like content is, in the Middle
Ages, the work of Christian knighthood, the expelling of the
heathen (der 3fauren), the Arabs, the Mahometans generally,
from Christian lands ; and, above all, the conquest of the Holy
Sepulchre. This was, however, not an end which concerned
man as man, but which had to be completed only through the
collective totality of particular individuals, so that these now
also poured forth voluntarily {beliebig) in accordance with
their own individuality. In respect of this phase, we may
pronounce the Crusades to be the grand collective-adventure of
the Christian Middle Ages, an adventure which was, in itself,
disjointed (gebrochen) and fantastic. It was of a spiritual
type, yet without true spiritual aim ; and, with reference to its
deeds and character, it was false. For, with respect to the
religious element, the Crusades have an external scope which is
in the last degree empty. Christianity must now find its per-
manent well-being only in the spirit, in Christ, who is arisen
and is at the right hand of God, and whose living actuality
finds its dwelling-place in the spirit; not in his tomb, and in
the sensuous, immediate present places of his one-sided,
temporal abode. The impetuosity and religious aspiration of
the Middle Ages, however, sought only for the place, the
external locality of the history of the passion and of the Holy
Sepulchre. In no less contradictory fashion was the purely
secular phase of conquest and gain immediately bound up with
the religious aim ; for the secular bears in its externality a
wholly other character than that of the religious. Thus the
people sought to attain to the spiritual and internal, and yet
aimed at the mere external locality, from which the spirit had
departed. Again, they strove after temporal advantage, and
joined this temporality on to the religious as such. This two-
foldness constitutes here the disjointed, phantastic quality in
which the external perverts the internal, and the internal the
external, instead of bringing both into harmony. Thus, in
their realization, these two terms appear as two irreconcilable
Hegel on Romantic Art. 263
opposites which have been joined together. Piety becomes
transformed into rudeness and barbarous ferocity, and this
rudeness, which permits every species of selfishness and human
passion to break forth, casts itself again, on the contrary, into
the perpetual, deep emotion and contrition of the spirit upon
which it specially depends. With these opposing elements,
then, there is wanting any single and same purpose in the
deeds and events, so that there is no unity or sequence of
direction. The totality dissolves, breaks up into adventures,
conquests, defeats, promiscuous accidentalities ; and the sequel
does not correspond to the means and vast preparations.
Nay, even the very end itself becomes cancelled through its
own attainment. For the Crusades would again verify the
words : Thou wilt not permit Him to remain in the grave ;
neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption.
But this lonoqno; to seek Christ, the living, to find the satisfac-
tion of the spirit, in such a place — in the place of the dead —
is itself, however much vitality ( Wesen ) Chateaubriand may
ascribe to it, only a corruption ( Verwesung ) of the spirit,
above which Christianity must rise in order to return to the
fresh, full life of concrete actuality.
A similar aim, mystic on the one side, fantastic on the other,
and in its pursuit adventurous, is the Quest of the Holy
Grail.
6. A higher work is that which each man has to complete
within himself, namely, his own life, through which he deter-
mines his own eternal destiny. This object lias, for example,
been conceived by Dante in his Divina Commedia, according
to the Catholic conception, since therein he conducts us
through hell, purgatory, and heaven. Even here, in spite of
the rigorous arrangement of the whole, there are not wanting
either fantastic conceptions or adventurous phases, in so far as
this work of reward and punishment (Beseligung und Ver-
dammniss) appears in the representation, not merely in and for
itself in its universality, but as completed in a countless num-
ber of individuals in their particularity. And, aside from these,
the poet arrogates to himself the right of the Church, takes
in his own hand the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven, pro-
264 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy ■.
nounces blessing and condemnation, and constitutes himself
the judge of the world, and assigns the most renowned indi-
vi duals of the ancient and the Christian world — poets, citi-
zens, warriors, cardinals, popes — to hell, to purgatory, or to
paradise.
c. The other materials which lead to actions and events
exist, then, upon a secular basis. They are the infinite, mani-
fold adventures of the imagination, the external and internal
accidentally of love, honor, and fidelity. Here, to enter into
conflict for the sake of one's own honor ; there, to flv to the
aid of persecuted innocence ; to accomplish the most marvel-
lous exploits in honor of one's mistress ; or, through the might
of one's own hand, and the ability of one's own arms, to re-
lieve oppressed right, even though the "innocence" ( Un-
schuld) should appear under the form of a chain-gang of crimi-
nals [such are the aims in the present sphere]. In the
greater part of this material there is at hand no crisis ( Lage),
no [critical] situation, no conflict through which the action
becomes necessary ; but the individual sets forth and deliber-
ately seeks adventures. Thus, for example, the deeds of love
have here (for the most part, and in accordance with their
special content) no other purpose (Bestimmung) than this: to
give proof of the firmness, of the fidelity, of the permanence
of love. The surrounding actuality, with the entire complex
of its relations, is of value onlv as a material through which
love is to be made manifest. Thus the definite fact of this
manifestation, since it depends only upon the verification
itself, is not determined through itself, but is subject to ca-
price, to the whim of the woman, to the arbitrariness of outer
accidentally. Quite the same thing occurs in case of the aims
of honor and valor. They belong for the greater part to the
individual (iSubjekt), far removed as it still is from all further
substantial content, and which introduces itself into everv con-
tent that by chance lies at hand, and finds itself wounded
therein, or can find therein an opportunity to prove its cour-
age and its adroitness. As no standard is here given by which
it might be determined what shall be content and what not, so
also there is complete lack of rule as to what may be consid-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 265
ered an actual wounding of honor, and what is the true object
of valor. With the maintenance of right, which is likewise an
aim of knighthood, there is no essential difference. Right
and law, indeed, do not here prove to he an essential, inde-
pendent, and (in accordance with law and its necessary con-
tent) always self-completing object and aim. Rather they
prove themselves to belong only to subjective caprice ; so
that not only the interference, but also the judgment of the
same — what in this or that case may be right or wrong — is
still left to the accidental opinion of subjectivity or individ-
uality.
2. What we have before us in general, therefore, espe-
cially in the sphere of the secular — in chivalry and in the
formalism of character [pertaining thereto] — is, in greater or
less degree, the accidentally both of the objects within which
the action takes place and of the soulwhich wills [the per-
formance of the action]. For those one-sided individual fig-
tires may accept for their content the wholly accidental,
which can be sustained (getmgen) only through the energy of
their characters, and which will be carried out or prove abor-
tive in consequence of collisions which are conditioned from
without. Thus it happens that in chivalry the higher or truly
moral is placed upon the same level with honor, love, and
fidelity. On the one hand, through the particularity (Einzeln-
heit) of circumstances, upon which it [the moral] reacts, it
comesto be directly an accidentally, since, instead of a uni-
versal work, only particular aims are to be realized ; and [in
such case] essential and necessary relations are wanting. On
the other hand, in respect of the subjective spirit of the indi-
vidual, there is found caprice or deception, with relation to
[fantastic] projects as opposed to [rational] plans and under-
takings. This entire phase of adventurousness, therefore,
consistently carried out, proves in its deeds and enterprises,
as well as in the consequences of the same, to be r a self-de-
structive, and, therefore, comic world of accidents and fatalities.
The deca}' of chivalry is portrayed with especial effect in
Ariosto and Cervantes, while the peculiarity of individual
26Q The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
characters belonging thereto is most adequately represented
in Shakespeare.
a. What is especially amusing in Ariosto is the boundless
development of destinies and aims, the fabulous entanglement
of fantastic relations and comic (narrischer) situations, with
which the poet plays adventurously, even to frivolity. Tt is
sheer folly and madness, which the hero must take quite
seriously. Above all, love here sinks away from the divine
love of Dante, and from the fantastic tenderness of Petrarch, to
sensual, obscene stories and ridiculous collisions, while heroism
and valor appear strained to such a point as no longer to excite
a credulous astonishment, but only to occasion laughter at the
fabulousness of the deeds. But aloDg with the indifference in
respect to the form and fashion in which the situations take
shape, in which strange divisions and conflicts are occasioned,
begun, broken off, again become involved, are cut short, and
at length are ended in an unexpected manner ; with all this,
no less than with the humorous treatment of chivalry, Ariosto
knows quite as well how to preserve and bring to light what-
ever there is that is noble and great in chivalry — courage,
love, honor, and valor — how to portray in a striking manner
the other passions, such as craftiness, cunning, presence of
mind, etc.
b. If Ariosto inclines rather to the fabulous side ot adven-
turousness, Cervantes, on the contrary, adopts the style of
Romance. In his Don Quixote, it is a noble nature with whom
chivalry has become a madness, while we tind the adventurous-
ness of the character placed in the midst of the settled, definite
conditions of an actuality portrayed precisely in accordance
with its external relations. This presents the comic contra-
diction between a rational, self-regulated world and an iso-
lated soul which desires to create this order and fixity (Festig-
keit), in the first place, through itself and through chivalry,
notwithstanding the fact that, through chivalry, regularity
and order could only be overthrown. In spite of this
comic aberration, however, there is all that in Don Quixote
which we have previously commended in Shakespeare. Cer-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 2(>7
vantes has also created his hero with an originally noble
nature, possessing many-sided spiritual gifts which at the same
time always truly interest us. Don Quixote is a soul who, in
his madness, has become perfectlj r assured of himself and his
affairs, or rather the madness consists precisely in this : that
he is and remains so assured of himself and his affairs. With-
out this unreflecting tranquility with respect to the content
and consequence of his deeds, he would not be genuinely
romantic ; while at the same time this imperturbable assurance
in relation to the substantial nature of his conceptions is
throughout great and genial, and adorned with the most bean-
ie o c? "
tiful characteristics. Nevertheless, the whole work is, on the
one side, a perpetual scoffing at Romantic chivalry. It is
throughout a genuine irony, while with Ariosto the like ad-
venturousness remains only a frivolous amusement. On the
other side, however, the occurrences belonging especially to
Don Quixote are only the thread on which are ranged, in the
most delightful manner, a whole series of genuinely romantic
novels, in order to show that to be preserved in its true worth
which the other portion of the romance dissolves by ridicule.
c. Just as we here see chivalry, even in its more serious in-
terests, reduced to ridicule, so Shakespeare either places comic
figures and scenes in opposition to his firm individual charac-
ters and tragical situations and conflicts, or he elevates those
characters, through a profound humor, above themselves and
their vulgar {scltroffen), narrow, and false aims. For exam-
ple, Falstaff, the fool in King Lear, the scene of the musicians
in Romeo and Juliet, are of the first, while Richard III. is of
the second class.
3. To this dissolution of the Romantic, as far as concerns
its form up to this point, there is joined in the third place,
finally, the romantic in the modern sense of the word, and
which is chronologically preceded by the romances of chivalry
and those of a pastoral type. The romantic in this sense is
again something to be taken seriously. It is chivalry become
an actual content. The accidentally of external existence has
become transformed into a substantial, secure order of civil
society and the State, so that now magistrates, courts of jus-
268 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
tice, armies, the general government, make their appearance in
the place of the chimerical aims which the knight formed for
himself. Thus the chivalry of the heroes of modern romances
becomes transformed. These, as individuals, with their sub-
jective aims of love, honor, ambition, or with their ideals for
the improvement of the world, assume a hostile attitude
toward this existing order and prose of actuality which upon
all sides lies as difficulties in their way, whence the subjec-
tive wishes and demands intensify themselves, in this contra-
diction, to an immeasurable degree. For each finds before
him a world under enchantment and to be condemned, — a
world which he must do battle against, since it closes itself
airainst him, and in its stern inflexibility refuses to yield to his
passions, but interposes as a hindrance the will of a father, of
an aunt, of a civil relation, etc., etc. These modern knights
are generally youths who, since the course of the world does
not realize their ideal, must break through the same. They
hold it to be a misfortune that there should be such relations
as those of the family, of civil society, of the State, of law, of
a calling, etc., because these substantial relations of life with
their limitations grimly oppose the ideals and the infinite
rights of the heart. It behooves, then, to make a breach in
this order of things, to transform and improve the world ; or
at least, in spite of the world, to carve out of it a heaven on
earth, to seek and find a maiden who is what she should be,
and to gain her, by persuasion, or by conquest and defiance,
from morose relatives, or other unfavorable connections. But
these conflicts are, in the modern world, nothing further than
the disciplinary period (Leltrjahre), the education of the indi-
vidual for the succeeding actuality, and thus preserve their
true significance. For the end of such apprenticeship consists
in this: that the individual attains to wisdom through his ex-
perience {die Horner ablauft), conforms in his wishes and be-
liefs to the existing relations and their rationality, takes his
place in the established order of the world, and in it acquires
a favorable standpoint. However much he may have fallen
out with the world, however much he may have been jostled
about, at last, in most cases, he obtains his maiden, and per-
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 2(i9
haps a position, marries and becomes a Philistine 1 just like
others. The wife superintends the household ; children are
not wanting ; the adored woman, who was at first the " only '
one, and an " angel," proves, perchance, to be precisely like
all others ; responsibility brings work and vexation, marriage
its domestic difficulties, and so there is the whole story of
commonplace and tedious trivialty. We perceive here the
same character of adventnrousness, only that this now finds
its true significance, and the fantastic must thus undergo its
necessarv correction.
JACOB BOEHME.
[TRANSLATED FROM HEGEL'S HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY, BY EDWIN D. MEAD.]
(II.)
While Boehme calls all forces the Father, he distinguishes
these, again, as the seven first fountain-spirits. But here there
is confusion : no determination of thought, no fixed distinction,
by reason of which the number is precisely seven ; such accu-
racy we do not find in him. " These seven qualities are also
the seven planets, which work in the great salitter of God ;
the seven planets signify the seven spirits of God, or the
princes of the angels." But they are in the Father as one
unity ; and this unity is a source, and stirring in itself. " In
God triumph all spirits as one spirit, and one spirit always
helps and loves the others, and there is nothing but simple
joy and delight. One spirit stands not beside the other, as
the stars in the heaven, but all seven are in one another, as
one spirit. Each spirit of the seven spirits of God is with all
the seven spirits of God pregnant." Each is thus in God
himself a totality. " One produces the others in and through
itself." This is the illumination of the life of all qualities.
2. As the First is the source and germ of all forces and qual-
ities, so the Second is their sprouting (arising, or manifesta-
1 /. e. an unromuntic pros} 7 individual.
270 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
tion). This second principle is a cardinal idea which appears
in Boehme, under very many forms and methods — as, the
Word, the Separator, the Revelation, the selfhood generally,
the source of all separation, of the will, and of the being-in-self
which exist in the powers of natural things ; so that, however,
at the same time, the light therein arises which leads them
back to rest.
a. God, as the simple, absolute Being, is not God abso-
lutely ; in Him nothing is perceivable. What we perceive is
something else ; but this something else is contained in God
himself, as God's contemplation and conception. Concerning
the Second, Boehme, therefore, says : A separation must have
occurred in this "temperament." "No thing can become
apparent without opposition; for if it has nothing which
opposes it, it forever goes forth out of, but enters not again
into itself. But if it enters not again into itself, as into that
out of which it originally proceeded, then it knows nothing
of its TJrstand." He uses the latter expression ( Urstand) for
substance; and it is a pity that we cannot use this and so
many other strikingly suitable expressions. " Without opposi-
tion life has no sensibility — willing, working, understanding,
or knowledge. If the hidden God, who is a simple Being and
Will, had not manifested Himself with His will out of Himself,
out of the eternal knowledge, in Temper amento, in separate-
ness of the will, and this separateness in an identity — in
a natural and creaturesome life ; and if this separateness in life
were not engaged in a struggle, how could the will of God,
which is but one, become manifest to it? How can there be,
in a single will, a knowledge of itself?" We see that Boehme
has risen infinitely above the empty abstraction of the " highest
Being,'* etc.
Boehme continues : * h The beginning of ;ill beings is the
Word, as tin 1 out-breathing of God; and God has been from
eternity the eternal One, and so eternally remains. The Word
is the eternal beginning, and as such it eternally remains ; for
it is the revelation of the eternal One with which and through
which the divine power is brought to a knowledge of some-
what. By the Word we understand the revealed will of God ;
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 271
bv the word "God,'' the hidden God out of whom the Word
eternally flows. The Word is the outflow of the divine One,
and yet God himself, as his revelation." Aoyoq is more accu-
rate than Word ; and it is a fine ambiguity of the Greek ex-
pression that it signifies at the same time reason and lan-
guage, for language is the pure existence of spirit ; it is a thing
that, perceived, is returned into itself. " That which Aoavs
out is Wisdom, of all powers, colors, virtues, and qualities the
beginning and the cause."
This is the Son, of whom Boehme says: "The Son is,"
from the Father and " in the Father — the Father's heart or
light ; and the Father brings Him forth forever, from eternity
to eternity. The Son is," therefore, indeed, " another person
than the Father, yet not another," but the same " God as the
Father," whose resplendence he is. " The Son is the heart,"
that which pulsates " in the Father. All powers which are
in the Father are the Father's property. The Son is the
heart, or kernel, in all the powers of the Father ; yet He is the
cause of the joy which rises in all the powers of the Father.
From Him arises the eternal heavenly joy, and flows forth into
all the Father's powers, even as the sun is the heart of the stars.
The sun represents rightly the Son, the circle of the stars rep-
resent the Father's varied powers ; the sun illuminates the
heaven, the stars, and the space above the earth, and works in
all things which are in this world. It gives to all the stars
light and power, and tempers their power. As the sun is
born of the stars, so from eternity is the Son of God ever born
of all the powers of his Father, but not made, and is the heart
and resplendence of all powers. He shines in all powers of
the Father, and His power is the moving, forth-flowing joy in
all powers of the Father : and He shines throughout the Father
as the sun throughout the world. For if the Son shone not
in the Father, then were the Father a dark valley ; and the
Father's power would not flow from eternity to eteraity. The
divine Being could not exist." This activity of the Son is a
main point in Boehme's system ; and, concerning this forth-
flowing and manifesting, Boehme brings the most important
determinations possible to bear.
272 The Journal of Speculative Pliilosopliy.
b. " From such a revelation of the forces in which the will
of the Eternal One views itself, flows the understanding and
the knowledge of the Aught — the Ego — because the eternal
O O C
Will contemplates itself in the Aught, or Ego." Aught is a
pun on the word naught ; for, although it is the negative, it is
at the same time the contrary of the naught, since the aught —
the somewhat — is the Ego of self-consciousness. The Son, the
aught, somewhat, is thus an Ego, consciousness — self-con-
sciousness; God is, therefore, not alone the abstract neutral,
but also the self-gathering into the point of bcing-for-self.
Thus the other of God is the image of God. " This image is
the mysterium magnum, as the Creator of all beings and
creatures ; for it is the Separator [of all] in the outflow of the
will, which makes the will of the Eternal One separable — the
separableness in the will, out of which proceed all powers and
qualities." This Separator is ordained the governor of nature,
by whom the eternal Will rules, makes, forms, and shapes all
things. The Separator is the active, the self-distinguishing;
and Boehme names this aught or Ego, also Lucifer, the first-
born son of God, the creaturesome, first-born angel, who was
one of the seven spirits. But this Lucifer fell, and Christ came
in his place. This is the connection of the devil with God,
viz. : the otherness, and then the being-for-self, or being-for-
one, so that the other is for one ; and this is the origin of evil
in God and from God. This is the profouudest attainment of
Jacob Boehme's thinking. This fall of Lucifer he makes
conceivable, thus : that the Ego — i. e., the knowledge-of-self,
the Egohood (a word which he uses), the self-imaging-in-self,
the self-forming-in-self (the being-for-self) — is the tire that
consumes all in itself. This is the negative in the Separator,
the torture ; or it is the wrath of God. This wrath of God
is hell, with its devil, who images Himself through Himself
to Himself. This is very bold and speculative. Boehme thus
seeks to prove the source of the divine wrath to be in God
himself. He also calls the will of the Ego, or aught, the self-
hood : it is the transition of the aught into naught which the
Ego images for itself to itself. He says : " Heaven and hell are
as far from each other as day and night, as aught and naught."
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 273
Boehme here, indeed, has entered into the very depth of the
divine Being; the evil, matter, or whatever it may be called,
is the 1=1, the being-for-self, the true negativity. Formerly
the nonens, which is itself positive, was called darkness. The
true negativity, however, is the Ego. It is not something bad
because it is called the evil ; in Spirit alone the evil is as it is in
itself, since in spirit it is comprehended as it is. " Where the
will of God wills in a thing, there God is revealed ; in such
revelation the angels also dwell. And wherever in a thing;
God wills not with the will of the thins; God is not there
revealed to Himself; but he dwells [there] only in himself ',
without the co-working of that thing". In that case there is in
the thing its own will, and there dwell within it the devil and
all that is out of God."
The next form of this appearing, Boehme represents, figura-
tively, in his manner, thus : This " Separator produces qual-
ities out of Himself. From this comes the infinite manifold-
ness, and through this the eternal One makes itself sensible [so
that it is for others], not according to the unity, but according
to the outflow of the unity." Even thus are being-in-self and
manifoldness absolutely opposed through a conception which
Boehme lacks, namelv, being-for-self is at once beiug-for-
another and the taking it back, as the other side. Boehme
strays hither and thither in apparent contradictions, not rightly
knowing how to help himself. " But the outflow carries itself,
even to the greatest sharpness, into the fiery condition " —
the dark fire without light, the darkness, the closedness, the
selfhood — "in which fiery condition," however, while this
fire lifts and points itself, " the eternal One becomes majestic
and a light; " and this there-outbreaking light is the form into
which the other principle proceeds. This is the return to the
One. " Through this [through fire] the eternal power be-
comes eager and active, and [the fire] is the original con-
dition of the sensitive life, because in the Word of the powers
an eternal, sensitive life is its original condition. For if life
had no sensibility, it would have neither willing nor working ;
but the pain, [the agitation, torture] makes it [all life] first
working and willing. And the light of such kindling,
XIII — 18
274 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
through the fire, makes it joyful ; for it is an annointing with
salve, the joy and loveliness of pain."
Boehme expounds this in many forms, in order to conceive
the Ego, the Separator, as he " uplifts" Himself out of the
Father. The qualities rise in the great salitter, move, lift,
" censure" themselves. Boehme has in the Father the quality
of bitterness; and he represents the appearing of the Ego as a
becoming harsh or sharp, a drawing together, as a stroke of
lightning that flashes forth. This light is Lucifer. The being-
for-self, self-perceiving, Boehme calls drawing together into
one point. That is harshness, sharpness, penetration, fierce-
ness; to this pertains the wrath of God ; and here, in this
way, Boehme conceives the other of God in God Himself.
" This source can be kindled through the great censuring and
uplifting. Through the drawing together the created being is
formed, which is imaged for the understanding as a heavenly
corpus. If it, however, [the harshness,] be kindled through
uplifting (which is only possible to the creatures that are
created out of the salitter), then it is a burning artery of
the wrath of God. Lightning is the mother of light, for
the lightning gives birth to light from itself: and it is the
father of furv, for fury abides in the lightning, as a seed
in the father. And the same lightning also produces tone
or sound; " — lightning is, in general, the absolute producer.
Lightning is still accompanied by pain ; the light is the self-
explaining. The divine birth is the appearing of the light-
ning, the life of all qualities. All this fire-giving is from the
"Aurora."
In the Qucestionibus Theosophicis, Boehme uses — and espe-
cially for the Separator — the form of yea and nay to signify this
opposition. He says : " The reader must know that in yea and
nay all things consist, be they divine, devilish, earthly, or what-
ever they may be called. The One, as the yea, is mere power
and life, and is the truth of God, or God himself. This were
in itself unknowable, and there were therein no joy or uplift-
ing, nor sensibility [life] without the nay. The nay is a re-
bound of the yea, or the truth ; [this negativity is the principle
of all knowing, of understanding] in order that the truth may
Hegel on Jacob Boeltme. 275
be manifest, and become something wherein there may be a
cont far ium, and wherein the eternal love, working, feeling, will-
ing, and the to-be-loved may be. Yet we cannot say that the
yea is asunder from the nay, and that these are two things
side by side ; but they are only one thing, separating, how-
ever, into two beginnings, and making two centra; since each
works and wills in itself. "Without these two, which yet stand
in unceasing strife, all things were a nothing, and would stand
still, without movement. If the eternal Will flowed not out
from itself, and directed itself not into pleasure, then were there
no form nor distinction, but all powers were only one power.
So, also, could there be no understanding ; for understanding
originates [has its substance] in the differences of the manifold-
ness, since one quality observes, proves, and wills the others.
The outflowed Will wills the unlike, in-order that it may dis-
tinguish from the like and be its own somewhat ; in order that
there may be somewhat which the eternal Seeing may see and
feel. And from the Will itself originates the nay ; for it lives in
its own essence, as its seif-agreeableness. But it wants to be
somewhat, and hence likes not the unity ; for the unity is an out-
flowing yea, which remains eternally a breathing out of itself,
and is an insensibility ; having nothing wherein it may feel itself,
since only in the reabsorbtion of the sent-forth Will, as in the
nay, which is a contrary of the yea, does the yea become mani-
fest, and only therein it has somewhat which it can will. And
the na}^ is called a nay because it is an inward-turned craving,
including the naught in the aught. The outflowed, desiring
Will is contracting, and grasps itself in itself; from this arise
forms and qualities: (1) sharpness, (2) movement, (3) sensa-
tion. (4) The fourth property is the Are, as the lightning ot
the brightness, which originates in the joining of the great,
troubled sharpness and the unity. There is, therefore, a shock
in the joining, and in this shock the unity is seized as a glance
or brightness, as arising joy." This is the breaking of the
unity. "Thus the light originates in the darkness; for the
unity comes to a light, and the desire of the craving Will in
the qualities comes to a spirit-fire, which has its source and
origin in the harsh, cold sharpness. And, accordingly, God is
276 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
an angry and jealous God ; " and therein lies the evil. " (a)
The first quality of the contracting is the nay, (6) sharpness,
(c) hardness, (d) sensibility, (e) fire-source, hell, concealment.
(5) The tilth quality, love, makes in fire, as in pain, another
principium, as a great love-tire."
These are the chief outlines of the characterization of the
Second. In this depth Boehme struggles about, because
he lacks logical terms, and has only religious and chemical
forms of expression ; and since he uses these in forced mean-
ings, in order to explain his ideas, the result of the effort is, not
only barbarism of expression, but also un intelligibility.
c. " Out of this eternal working of the sensibility the visi-
ble world has risen ; the world is the outflowed word, which
develops itself into qualities, since in qualities the particu-
lar will has originated. The Separator has brought it into a
particular willing, after such a form." The Cosmos is noth-
ing other than the essence of God made creaturesome.
"When thou beholdest," therefore, "the depth" of the
heavens, " the stars, the elements, the earth," and their pro-
ductions, " then thou gatherest with thine eyes," indeed, " not
the bright and clear Godhead, although it is " also " therein."
Thou beholdest only its creaturesome exhibition. "But if
thou liftest up thy thoughts and thinkest on God, who reigns
in holiness in this all, then thou breakest through the heaven
of all heavens, and seizest God at His holy heart. The powers
of heaven work ever in images, plants, and colors to reveal
the holy God, that He may be recognized in all things."
3. The third, finally, in these forms of the Trinity, is the
unity of the light or the Separator , and the power. This is the
Spirit, which already is implied partially in the foregoing.
" All the stars express the power of the Father ; from them is
the sun" (they make themselves an opposition to the unity).
" Now, out of all the stars goes forth the power that is in every
star; now, also, goes forth the power of the sun, heat and
brightness, into the depth," back to the stars, into the power
of the Father. " In the depth is the power of all the stars,
with the brightness and heat of the sun, one thing — amoving
lgitation like a spirit. Now, in the entire depth of the Father,
Hegel on Jacob Boehme. 211
outside the Son, is nothing but the manifold and immeasur-
able power of the Father and the light of the Son ; this is in
the depth of the Father a living, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-
hearing, all-seeing, all-smelling, all-tasting, all-feeling Spirit,
in which are all power, and brightness, and wisdom, as in the
Father and the Son." This is love, the softening of all pow-
ers through the light of the Son. We see that the sensuous
thus belongs to it.
Boehme has substantially this representation : " God's
essence [gone forth from the eternal depth as world] is thus
not something remote, belonging to a certain place or region ;
for [the essence] the ground of nature and creation is God
himself. Thou must not think, that there is in heaven a
■corpus, as it were," — the seven fountain-spirits produce this
corpus, or heart — " which above everything else is called God.
No, but the whole divine power which is itself heaven, and the
heaven of all heavens, is also born, and is called God, the
Father, from whom all the angels of God, also the human
souls, are eternally born. Thou canst name no place, neither
in heaven nor in this world, where the divine birth is not.
The birth of the Holy Trinity takes place also in thy heart ;
all the three persons are born in thy heart, God the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Ghost. In the divine power everywhere
is the fountain of divine birth ; there already are all the seven
fountain-spirits of God, as if thou enclosedst a spacious,
<jreaturesome circle, and hadst the Godhead therein." In each
spirit all are contained.
This Trinity is to Boehme the entire, universal life in every
individual ; it is the absolute substance. He says : " Every-
thing in this world has become after the likeness of this
Trinity. Ye blind Jews, Turks, and heathen, open the eyes
of your mind ; I must show you in your love, and in all natural
things — in men, animals, birds, and worms, as well as in
wood, stones, herbs, foliage, and grass — the likeness of the
holy Trinity in God. You say there is a single nature in God —
God has no Son. Open now thine eyes and observe thyself!
A man is made after the likeness, and from the power of God
in His Trinity. Observe thine inner man ; then wilt thou see
278 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
this clearly and purely, if thou art not a fool and an unreason-
ing animal. Thus observe: in thy heart, arteries, and brain
thon hast thy spirit ; all the power which moves in thy heart,
arteries, and brain, wherein stands thy life, denotes God the
Father. Out of the power thy light uplifts [produces] itself,
that thou iu this power canst see, understand, and know what
thou shouldst do ; for the same light shines in thy whole body,
and the whole body moves in power and perception. This is
the Son, who is born in thee." This light, this seeing, under-
standing, is the Second determination ; it is the relation to
itself. " Out of thy light there go into this power reason,
understanding, art, and wisdom, to rule the whole body, and
also to distinguish all that is out of the body. And these two
are, in the constitution of thy mind, one thing — thy spirit;
and this denotes God the Holy Ghost. And the Holy Spirit
from God rules also in this spirit in thee, if thou art a child of
the light, and not of darkness. Now observe : in wood, stones,
and herbs are three things, and nothing can be born or grow
if, in a thing, one of the three should be wanting. First we
have the power out of which a body originates, be it of wood,
or stone, or a plant. Next there is in this [thing] a sap,
which is the heart of the thing; and, thirdly, there is in the
thing an uprising force, smell, or taste, which is its spirit, and
by which it grows and increases. Now, if one among the three
is wanting, no thing can exist." Thus Boehme contemplates
everything as this Trinity.
When he deals with the particulars, we see that he becomes
obscure ; out of these particulars we cannot, therefore, obtain
much. As a specimen of his manner of conceiving natural
things, I will give only a single example more, showing the
way in which the further pursuit of the idea of the existence of
nature as an opposition to the divine knowledge, he uses, as
logical terms, what we call things. The creaturesome, he says,
has " three sorts of powers, or spiritus, in different centris, but
in one corpore. (a) The first and outer spiritus is the coarse
sulphur, salt, and mercurius, which is a substance of the four
elements [tire, water, earth, air] or of the constellation.
It forms the visible corpus, according to the constellation of
Hegel on Jacob Boelime. 279
the stars, or quality of the planets, and now inflamed ele-
ments — the greatest power of the spiritus mundi. The Sep-
arator makes the designation or mark ' ; [the selfhood]. The
salt, the salitter, is the neutral ; the mark, the working,
the unrest, in reference to the nourishment ; the coarse sul-
phur, the negative unity. (&) " The other spiritus lies in the
oil of the sulphur, the fifth essence, as a root of the four ele-
ments. This is the softening and joy of the coarse, painful
sulphur, and salt spirit ; the real cause of the growing life, a
joy of nature, as the sun is in the elements ' [the immediate
life-principle]. " In the inner ground of that coarseness we
see a fair, clear corpus, in which shines the light of nature
therein formed from the divine outflow." That which is taken
up is signified by the outer Separator in the forming and form
of the plant, which takes into itself this coarse nourishment.
(c) "The third is the Tincture, a spiritual fire and light:
the deepest ground, from which originates the first distinc-
tion of qualities in the substance of this world. Fiat is the
Word of everything, and belongs, according to its very quality,
to eternity. Its source is the holy power of God. The smell
is the sensibility of this Tincture. The elements are only a
receptacle and opposition to the inner power, a cause of the
movement of the Tincture." The sensible things lose entirely
the power of this sensible conception; Boehme uses them, but
not as such, for determinations of thought ; this makes the
hardness and barbarity of the Boehmian presentation, but at
the same time produces this unity with the reality and this
presence of the infinite Being.
The opposition in creation Boelime describes as follows : If
nature is the original outflow of the Separator, two sorts of
life are to be understood, in the opposites of the divine Being :
beyond that temporal life, an eternal life, to which divine
understanding;; is given. It stands in the ground of the eternal,
spiritual world, in the myslerio mag no of the divine ppposition
[selfhood] ; a receptacle of the divine Will, through which it
manifests itself, being manifested in no particularity of particu-
lar will. The man who stands in this centre has both lives in
himself; he is of time and of eternity; is («), in general, in
280 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
the " eternal understanding of the sole good Will, which
is a temperament; (b) the original Will of nature, as the
comprehensibility in itself of centrorum, since each centrum
in the diversity contracts itself into a point, to Egohood
and self-willing — as a particular mysterium, or mind. The
former wants only an opposition to its identity; this — the
self-born natural will, in place of the Egohood of dark Impres-
sion — wants also an identity, as an opposition, on account of
its own comprehensibility ; through which comprehending it
wants nothing except its corporality as a natural ground."
This Ego, now — the dark, the torture, the tire, the wrath of
God, the being-in-self, the conceiving-in-self, the harshness —
this it is which, in the new birth, is broken up ; the Ego is
broken to pieces ; the torture is brought into the true rest, as
the dark fire breaks out into light.
These are the chief thoughts of Boehme. The deepest are :
(a) the generation of light, as the Son of God, from the
qualities, through the most living dialectic ; (b) God's diremp-
tion of Himself. As little as the barbarism in the execution
can be denied, even so little can we deny the great profound-
ness which exercises itself with the uniting of the most abso-
lute contradictions. Boehme seizes the contradictions in the
harshest, crudest manner ; but he does not allow himself to be
prevented by their brittleness from fixing the unity. This
crude and barbaric profoundness, which is without concep-
tion, is ever a presence, a speaking out of itself, which has
and knows all in itself. There still remains to be men-
tioned Boehme's religious nature, his edifying discourse, the
progress of the soul in his writings. This is in the highest
degree deep and earnest ; and if one is familiar with his forms,
one will find this depth and earnestness. But it is a form to
which one cannot reconcile one's self, and which admits of no
accurate representation in detail, although no one can deny
that this man possessed a profound speculative impulse.
Kant's Anthropology . 281
ANTHROPOLOGY.
[TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF IMMANUEL KANT.]
by a. e. kroegek.
§ 29. — Concerning the Sensuous Power of Productive
Imagination According to its Different Kinds.
There are three different kinds of the Sensuous Power of
Productive Imagination. These are the constructive power of
contemplation in space (imaginatio plastica), the associating
power of contemplation in time (imaginatio associans), and
the relating power, which deals with the common derivation of
our representations from each other.
A. The Sensuous Power of Imagination as a Constructive
Poiver.
Before an artist can represent a bodily form palpably, as it
were, he must have constructed it in his Power of Imagination,
and the form is in that case a fiction, which, if it arises invol-
untarily, as in dreams, is called a phantasy, and does not
belong to the artist ; but which, if directed by free will, is
called a composition or an invention. If the artist, further-
more, works after images that resemble the works of nature,
his products are called natural; but if he works after images
that do not occur in nature, such objects are called fantastic,
unnatural, caricatures ; and such works are, as it were, dream-
pictures of a waking man (yelut cegri somnia vance Jinguntur
species). We often and enjoyingly play with our power of
imagination ; but our imagination also plays very often — and
frequently very inopportunely — with us.
The play of imagination with us in our sleep is called dream-
ing, and occurs even when we are healthy. But if it takes
place when we are awake, it betrays an unhealthy condition.
Sleep, as the relaxation of all our faculties of external per-
ception, and specially of arbitrary motions, seems to be neces-
282 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
saryfor all animals, nay, even in plants (in accordance with the
analogy between the latter and the former), in order that they
may recuperate the forces used up while awake. But the
same seems to be the case in regard to dreams ; so that our
vital forces, if they were not always kept aroused in sleep by
dreams, would expire, and the deepest sleep would necessarily
bring death along at the same time. If we do say sometimes,
nevertheless, that we have had a profound sleep, without
dreams, it means, after all, probably nothing more than that
we do not remember those dreams when waking up. This,
indeed, when our fancies succeed each other quickly, may
happen even when we are awake — as, for instance, when we
are distrait; in which condition, when some one asks us what
, we have been thinking about all the time — we having gazed
with fixed look at a certain point all the while — we answer,
Nothing ! If there were not on awakening many gaps in our
memory (connecting links between the images of our dreams,
which we have passed over through inattention), and if we
were in the following; night to begin dreaming; again where we
left off on the previous night, I do not know but we should
fancy that we were living in two different worlds. Dreaming
is a wise arrangement of nature to excite our vital force by
means of emotions which are related to arbitrarily conceived
events ; while those movements of the body that depend upon
our free will, namely, those of the muscles, are suspended.
But we must not take the visions of our dreams to be revela-
tions of an invisible world.
JB. The Sensuous Power of Imagination as an Associating
Power.
The law of association is this : that empirical representations,
which follow each other, effect a habit in the mind of connect-
ing the last one with the one preceding it. It is in vain to seek
for a physiological explanation of this phenomenon, whatsoever
hypothesis one chooses (which hypothesis is, after all, again a
fiction) — as, for instance, that of Descartes, with his so-called
material ideas in the brain. At any rate, none of these expla-
Kant's Anthropology. 283
nations are pragmatical; that is, they cannot be used for any
practical purpose, since we have no knowledge of the brain,
and the places therein, in which we might discover the traces
of representative impressions sympathetically harmonized by
contact with each other, as it were, at least mediately.
The close vicinity however, oftentimes goes so far, and the
power of imagination goes from the hundreth to the thousandth
link often so quickly that it seems as if we had skipped cer-
tain connecting links in the chain of our representations,
although not having become conscious of them : so that we
often need to ask ourselves, Where was I? At what point did
I begin the conversation, and how did I arrive at this conclu-
sion
?i
C The Sensuous Poiver of Imagination as a Relating
Power.
In speaking about the relation of representations, I speak of
the union which results from the derivation of the manifold
from one common ground.
In social intercourse it is in form a sort of nonsense, break-
ing off and disturbing all conversation, for people to jump from
one topic of discussion to another utterly foreign subject ;
a bad habit, which is caused by the empirical association of
notions that are of purely subjective origin. (In one man
notions are associated in one way, and otherwise in another).
It is only when one topic of conversation has been exhausted,
and a short pause intervenes, that a person can introduce
another interesting subject. When the power of imagination is
made to roam about without rule or guidance, simply by the
change of representations that are not connected by anything
1 Hence a person who starts a social conversation must begin with that which is
near and present to him, and thus gradually lead on to that which is more remote,
in so far as he can make it interesting. The bad weather is, for ting purpose, an
excellent medium for any one who comes in from the street and enters a social
gathering. But to start a conversation, for instance, by citing the latest news from
Turkey, as ascertained from the newspapers, would do violence to the imagination
of others, who cannot understand why conversation should be turned precisely on
the subject of Turkey. The mind needs for the communication of all its thoughts
a certain order, as much in conversation as in a sermon.
284 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
objective, the brain gets so confused that a person who comes
from a conversation of this kind feels as if he had been dream-
ing-. There must always be a theme, us well in solitary think-
ing: as in the communication of thoughts, by which we connect
the manifold of our representations ; and hence the under-
standing also must always be employed in our thinking ; but in
the present instance of association the play of imagination fol-
lows the laws of sensuousness, which furnishes the material
for the imagination. Hence the association is here formed
without consciousness of a rule, although according to a rule,
namely, of sensuousness ; or, it is here formed conformably to
the understanding, though not derived from the understanding.
The word relation (affinitas) recalls here to mind an ana-
logical reciprocal relation — taken from the science of chem-
istry — of two specifically distinct, material ingredients,
intimately acting upon each other and striving to effect a unity ;
in which case this uniting of both, forms a third body, with
qualities that can be produced only by the union of two hetero-
geneous elements. In spite of their heterogeneousness, our
understanding and sensuousness so assimilate of their own
accord towards the production of our cognition that it seems as
if the one were the product of the other, or as if both had a
common origin, which, however, cannot be the case; at any
rate, it is to us incomprehensible how heterogeneous elements
can originate from one and the same source. 2
2 The two first mentioned kinds of the combination of our representations might
be called mathematical combinations (of enlargement), and the third a dynamical
combination (of generation), whereby an entirely new substance is produced — as,
for instance, a neutral salt in chemistry. The play of forces in inanimate as well
as animate nature, in the soul as well as the body, is based upon the analysis and
synthesis of the heterogeneous. It is true that we arrive at a cognition thereof
only through our perception of their effects ; but the highest cause and the simple
components wherein their substance can be analyzed are for us attainable. What
may be the cause, that all organic beings of which we have knowledge propa-
gate their species only through the union of the two sexes, which we call the male
and the female? We surely cannot assume that the Creator arranged it so only as
if He were at play, or for curiosity's sake, and for no other cause than to have such
an arrangement set at work on this earth-globe of ours ? It seems, rather, that it
must be impossible to have organic creatures originate from out the substance of
our eailh-globe by propagation in any other manner than by means of two sexes.
In what darkness does human reason lose itself here when it attempts to fathom —
nay, merely to guess at, the origin !
Kant's Anthropology . 285
§ 30 . — Illustrations .
The power of imagination is, however, not so creative as is
sometimes asserted. We cannot imagine rational beings as
existing in any other shape than the human form. Hence the
sculptor or painter, who sketches an angel or a god, always
sketches a human being. Every other figure seems to his
mind to have ingredients which cannot be united in his mind
with the construction of a rational being ; for instance, wings,
talons, or hoofs. But he feels at perfect liberty in regard to
the size.
Deception, occurririg through the force of the imagination,
reaches sometimes such a degree in a man that he believes he
sees or feels outside of himself what, after all, is merely in his
head. Hence the dizziness which seizes a person who looks
down into an abyss, although he stands on a platform large
enough to prevent his falling, and perhaps even has hold of a
stout railing. Very odd is the fear which some people of
sickly mind have of an inner impulse to throw themselves volun-
tarily down from a steep height.
Seeing nauseating matters swallowed by others — as, when the
Tungusces suck out and swallow the dirt of their children's
noses — affects the spectator towards vomiting, in the same
manner as if he himself were forced to do it.
The Homesickness of the Swiss — and, as I have been told
by a General of experience, also of Westphalians and Pom-
eranians from certain districts — which befalls them when they
are removed to other countries, is the effect of a yearning for
the places where they have tasted the very simple enjoyments
of life, which yearning is produced by recalling the pictures of
their youthful years, with their freedom of care, and neigh-
borly social intercourse. When they return, however, after
a longer absence, the}' find themselves greatly deceived in their
expectations, and thus become cured. It is true, they attribute
this to a notion that everything has changed at home while
they were gone ; but the real cause of their disappointment is,
that they cannot take back their youth to the scenes of their
286 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
youth. It is curious, however, that this homesickness occurs
more amongst the country people of a province poor in money,
but for that very reason more closely united by ties qf brother-
hood and consulships, than amongst those who are busy mak-
ing money, and have chosen patria ubi bene for their motto.
If we have heard of some one that he is a villain, we are
inclined to think that we can see malice written in his face ;
and thus imagination consolidates with perception into one
sentiment, especially when passion is added. Helvetius tells
of a lady who, looking through a telescope, saw in the moon
the shadows of two lovers. The clergyman, who took the
glass after she was done with it, said : " Oh, no, madam, those
are the two towers of a church."
To all this we may add still further the etl'ect produced by
imagination, through sympathy. The sight of a person in a
convulsive or epileptic attack inclines others to similar cramp-
like movements, just as yawning infects others with a desire
to yawn ; and Dr. Michaelis says, in speaking of a man belong-
ing to the army in North America, who was seized by violent
raving, that two or three of the spectators fell into the same
condition, though the attack was but temporary. Hence
weak-nerved people, hypochondriacs, should not visit mad-
houses from motives of curiosity. Usually, however, they
avoid it of their own accord, fearing for their minds. It will
also be found that persons of a lively disposition, when very
attentively listening to some one who is speaking in a passion
(especially when the passion is anger), are involuntarily
betrayed into a play of their features corresponding to that
passion.
People also pretend to have observed that married people
who live happily together gradually assume a similarity of
features ; and the explanation given is, that they married each
other on account of this similarity (similis simili gaudet),
which, however, is wrong. For, in the instinct of the sexes,
nature impels rather towards differences in the persons who
are to fall in love with each other, so that all the manifoldness
which nature has implanted in their germs may be developed.
The explanation is, that the intimacy and inclination, where-
Kant's Anthropology. 287
with, in their private intercourse, being close together, they
look often and long into each other's eyes, produces sympa-
thetic, similar plays of features, which in course of time become
permanent forms of countenance.
Finally, we may count as belonging to this unintentional play
of the productive power of imagination, which is then called
phantasy, the inclination to unmalicious lying, which is always
found in children, and ingrown people (however good-natured
they are otherwise) now and then, and sometimes almost as an
inherited disease. In these cases, when a story is being told,
events and adventures crowd upon each other like a down-roll-
ing snow-avalanche, being constantly cast forth by the imag-
ination without the story-telling person's having any other
benefit to himself in view than to make himself interesting.
As an instance, I may cite Shakespeare's knight, John Fal-
staff, who changed two men in buckram into eleven before he
finished his storv.
a/
§ 31. — Concerning the Means of Arousing and Temper-
ing the Play of the Power of Imagination.
Since the power of imagination is more rich and fruitful in
representations than our sensuousness, it becomes, when pas-
sion is added to it, more active under the absence than it is in
the presence of its object ; that is to say, more aroused when
something occurs which recalls to the mind the representation
of that object which seemed to have been eradicated for a while
by other matters. Thus a German prince, a noble-minded
man, though otherwise a rough warrior, had undertaken a voy-
age to Italy in order to rid himself of his love for a lady of
common birth ; but on his return, the first view of her dwell-
ing-place stirred up his imagination far more powerfully than
permanent intercourse could have done, and he yielded with-
out further delay to his inclination, which happily fulfilled all
his expectations. This disease, being the effect 'of a fan-
tastic power of imagination, is incurable except through mar-
riage. For marriage is truth. {Eripitur persona, manet res.
Lucretius.)
288 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
The fantastic power of imagination creates a sort of self-
communion, and, although merely with phenomena of the in-
ternal sense, yet in analogy with the external senses. It gives
life to night, and elevates it above its actual state ; even as the
moon, which in broad daylight is to be seen only as an insig-
nificant cloud, makes a errand figure on the skies at evening-
time. It is at work in him who lucubrates in the silence of
the night, or disputes with his imaginary opponent, or, pacing
his room, builds castles in the air. But everything that ap-
pears to such a one important at that time loses all its impor-
tance on the next morning following the night's sleep, and in
the course of time he will experience a decline of his mental
faculties as the result of this bad habit. Hence it is a very
useful rule, as a measure of psychological diet, for such a per-
son to tame his imagination by going to sleep early in order
to be able to rise early ; although women and hypochondriacs —
who generally derive their morbid state from that very cause —
prefer the opposite.
Why can we still listen late at night to ghost-stories, which
in the morning, soon after getting up, appear to everybody
absurd and utterly unfit for conversation ; whereas at that time
we rather ask what has happened new in the house, or in the
world at large, or continue our labors of the previous day?
The reason is, because that which is in itself mere play is ap-
propriate for the relaxation of the forces exhausted in the day-
time, while that which is business is proper for the man who has
been strengthened by his night's rest, and been born anew, as
it were.
The shortcomings (vitia) of the power of imagination are
these : that its working is either unbridled, or, worse still, rule-
less (ejfrenis aut perversa). The latter is the worst fault.
For the first class of production might, after all, find a place in
a possible world — in the world of fable ; but the latter have
no place in any world, since they contradict each other. As an
instance of the former class of imaginations, I may refer to
the shudder with which the Arabs regard the stone figures of
men and animals so frequently met with in the Lybian desert ;
looking upon them, as they do, as human beings petrified by
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 289
the curse. This is unbridled imagination. But it is a contra-
diction when the same Arabs imagine that these images of
animals will, on the day of universal resurrection, snarl at the
artist who made them, and upbraid him because he was not
able to endow them with souls. A merely unbridled phantasy
can, after all, always take a side-turn ; as, for instance, in the
case of the poet, of whom Cardinal Este asked, when he was
presented with a copy of the book dedicated to him : " Master
Ariosto, where the devil did you pick up all this mad stuff? '
This sort of phantasy is superabundance and luxury from pure
wealth ; but ruleless phantasy approaches insanity, wherein
the imagination plays unlimited revel in the mind, and the un-
happy victim has no control whatever over the course of his
ideas.
It is still to be remarked that the political artist has, as well
as his testhetical brother, the power to rule and govern the
world (?nundus vult decipi) by the power of imagination, which
he causes to pass current as actuality ; for instance, of liberty
(as in the English Parliament), or of equality (as in the French
Parliament), which, however, consist of mere formalities.
Nevertheless, it is better that mankind should have were it
but the semblance of this ennobling good, than feel itself palp-
ably deprived of it.
RAPHAEL AND MICHAEL ANGELO.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF HERMANN GRIMM BY IDA M. ELIOT.
The first of Raphael's letters is dated at Florence, in the
year 1508, and contains nothing of importance; the second,
written in the same year, is only a few lines in length, and is
addressed to Domenico Alfani :
"I beg you, Menecho," he writes, "send me Tiiciardo's
love-songs, which tell of the passion that once overcame him
when travelling." Also, he wished for a sermon, and asked
Menecho to remind Cesarino to send it to him ; and he would
XIII— 19
290 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
like to have Menecho ask Madonna Atalanta for the money —
he preferred gold. Love-songs, a sermon, and gold — in these
few lines we find the whole century.
The next letter, also in 1508, is written from Rome. Bra-
mante, who was related to Raphael, had caused him to be re-
called there. The pope commanded him to come, that he might
paint the Vatican. Here he met Michael Angelo. Until now
he had seen him only a few times in Florence. In this letter
he thanks Francesco Francia for the portrait which he has sent,
and excuses himself for not having had his own painted, that he
might send it in return for the present, according to agreement.
Passavant believes that Raphael had in person sought out the
famous old master in Bologna. The way in which he gained
Francia' s love, his- expressions of praise, and at last his confi-
dence in him, all show a charming youthful feeling. How
Francia felt towards him is shown in a sonnet which is quoted,
and in which he gives Raphael the highest place in art, while
he himself modestly steps into the background.
Next is a letter to Simon Ciarla, written in 1514, in which he
speaks of marriage, and will not consent to any plans in regard
to it. He treats this subject in a business-like way, and still
not without the graceful ease with which he always handles
great subjects as well as trifling ones. From these things he
passes to the building of St. Peter's, and breaks out into
hearty praise of the life in Rome. Every day, he concludes,
the pope summons him, and converses with him concerning
the building. It is to be the first temple in the world. It will
cost one million in gold, and the pope thinks of nothing else
than its completion.
Raphael wished to remain unmarried. He says in his letters
that in Rome he would have expected quite different matches
from those offered him. He did not wish any wife; with a
Avife he would never have reached the point where he now
stood, and every day he thanked God because he had acted so
wisely.
In spite of these reasons, afterwards he did not feel himself in
a conditionto refuse the hand of the young Maria di Bibbiena,
niece of the cardinal of the same name. The proposal was as
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 291
advantageous as it was honorable for him. His death and
Maria's occurred at almost the same time. The grave-stones
stand side by side, and the inscriptions say that Maria and
Raphael died betrothed lovers.
He died, therefore, without having been married. Michael
Angelo also, as well as Leonardo da Vinci and Titian, died
unmarried. Dr. Guhl has remarked, on this subject, that per-
haps it may be advisable for artists thus to take their freedom,
and seems to give the lives of these three men in a certain
way as illustrations. I cannot agree with him. The similarity
of these three lives seems to me only accidental in this respect.
It is well known how people married in Italy at that time, and
above all, in what relation the women stood to the men. One
can most easily obtain an insight into this from the life of
Benvenuto Cellini. The most unlimited freedom ruled. Titian
had children, for whom he provided very handsomely. It is
nowhere recorded of Michael Angelo or Leonardo da Vinci
that they had any dislike to women. Legitimate marriage
through the church and before the law was not at that time the
means by which the favor of beautiful women was gained. It
was no reproach to be an illegitimate child. If Michael Angelo
had met Vittoria Colonna in his younger days, and a marriage
between them had been proposed, he would not have consid-
ered marriage a hindrance to his artist career. Everywhere —
among artists as well — it is a sad sight when wife and chil-
dren change free work into an oppressive burden, but all such
doubts may be answered where one happy marriage gives the
purest impulse to work and true development.
Raphael liked women. Vasari tells how once love drew him
off from his work, and his friends at last knew no better plan
than to bring the beautiful lady to his scaffolding, where she
sat the whole day with him, and he, not missing her, kept at
work. In Arnim's novel, " Raphael and his Women Neigh-
bors," the artist's life is pictured in the midst of beauty.
Without care, and with a fancy full of noble thoughts, he gave
himself up to their charms, obeying without any constancy the
pleasant law of indolence till at last, the life he was leading
grated upon him.
292 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
He must have had misgivings ; he tried to tear himself
away, but at his work his thoughts gave him no rest. One of
the three sonnets which were in his handwriting on the back
of some studies, and in that way preserved to us, gives us this
most direct insight into the soul whose passion he was trying to
conquer. He seems to have written the poem to get free
from the thoughts which hovered around him, alluring him on ;
one feels his struijofle, and how impossible resistance will
finally become.
The next letter is written to Count Castiglione. In it he
speaks of Ideals. He expresses himself in the clearest way.
What cannot be understood by those who lack the inspiration
of the creative spirit — that the Ideal is no mere universal,
abstract, vanishing, to be obtained out of things like an
essence lry persevering individuals, but that it is a form of the
thing itself, created by a real mind ; that it hovers over
everything which we call nature, but is revealed only to him
who has received the power to see it, to each one by himself,
and in his own way — all this Raphael now declares, and he
does it in such ordinary words that one feels he is speaking of
something very usual and common.
"With regard to Galatea," he writes, " I should consider
myself a great master if there could be found in it only half
the great things of which your highness writes. I recognize
in }^our words the love which you feel towards me. For the
rest, I must tell you that in order to paint a beautiful woman's
figure, I must see many beautiful women, and also your high-
ness must stand by me to select the most beautiful. But since
a just decision is as rare as a beautiful woman, I shall make
use of a certain fancy which has come into my mind. I do not
know whether it possesses artistic excellence or not, but I shall
strive hard to carry it out ; and herewith I commend myself to
yoxw highness."
Count Baldassare Castiglione was one of the most brilliant
and honored men of his time, distinguished on account of his
intellect and his good taste. This letter is dated in the
same year that Raphael was definitely appointed by the pope
as director of the building of St. Peter's, with a yearly salary
Raphael and Michael Angela. 293
of three hundred gold scudi. Raphael undertook the building
under the' worst conditions ; he changed it from the founda-
tion, for he put aside Bramante's plan, to which years after-
wards Michael Angel o returned.
At the same time with Raphael's appointment appeared a
letter from the pope, in which he announces to the people of
Rome that no stone shall be cut for building St. Peter's except
with Raphael's consent. Under a penalty of from one hun-
dred to three hundred gold scudi, to be enforced according to
Raphael's own discretion, all the stone-cutters in the city were
constrained to obey the command. By these means Raphael
was enabled to control the excavations, and save many monu-
ments of ancient art. The greater part of the beautiful statues
of antiquity which are now admired in the museum of Rome
were discovered here and there about this time.
Four years later the artist gave an account to his master of
his acts as conservator of the city of Rome, and the document ,
with his quiet, clear statement, should be taken as a model for
such reports. He begins by recognizing the superiority of the
old Romans — at that time nothing was known of Greek
art — who accomplished very easily many things which we
consider impossibilities. He tells how he has searched
through the city with this thought in mind, how he has studied
the old authors, and how it has tilled him with pain to see the
body of the beautiful city, once the queen of the world, so
grievously torn to pieces.
He then speaks of those who took part in the work of
destruction, and does not hesitate to say that popes themselves
formerly gave up the splendid buildings to ruin, but that
now Leo X. was called upon to restore them.
He afterwards describes how he has drawn a plan of ancient
and modern Rome ; gives his opinion about some single build-
ings ; and then general statements about the architecture of
the old Romans, and its progress down to his own time ; and
ends with an account of technical geometric expedients which
one might use.
The whole letter is divided in the clearest way into different
parts, and contains, besides this account, from a practical point
294 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
of view, the noblest enthusiasm for the art of the old Romans.
Involuntarily one places himself by Raphael's side and follows
him from time to time, as if these things were the most
important affairs of to-day, and as if centuries had not passed
since then. One feels with what freshness he attempts every
thing and how easy to him were the things which he under-
took. During the time that such a commission formed one of
the incidental works which he carried on, and when even the
direction of the building of the enormous church is of less
importance than his paintings, which followed one after the
other, each being a new and unexpected revelation of his soul,
still he found time to spend with his friends, and with women,
whose society he enjoyed. He did not seek solitude, like
Michael Angelo ; he spread out his arms and drew to his heart
the world, for which he cared. And with this power was
united what youthful beauty ! When he died there was no
artist in Rome who did not follow his body weeping, and when
the pope received news of his death he burst into bitter tears.
" O felice e beata animal" exclaims Vasari, after he has
described with what honors and solemnities his funeral was
celebrated, " who does not like to speak of thee, to praise
thee and thy works. When such an artist died, the art of
painting might well lav itself in the grave, for when he closed
his eyes, it was left upon the earth, as it were, sightless. We
who survive him must imitate the good, yes, the excellent
example which he has set us : and according to the merit of his
an. ami following our duty toward it. must speak of him for-
mer with honors a thousand-fold. For creative genius, color-
ing, and power o( execution have been brought to perfection
by him : no one has imagined how far he could advance, and no
one may hope to reach higher than he."
When Vasari write- in this way. he seems for the moment
to have forgotten Michael Angelo entirely. At other times he
always mentioned the latter as the greatest artist, and the
same feeling was shared by many of his contemporaries, who
gave Raphael a subordinate rank.
But it seems as if the thought of the death of this wonder-
ful spirit had erased even the memory of Michael Angelo, who,
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 295
after Raphael was gone, continued working alone and without
rivals for many years, preventing by his powerful creations
that decline of art which immediately followed his death.
Michael Angelo was in Florence when Raphael died. From
what we learn, more through suggestions than direct informa-
tion, it appears that these two men stood in opposition to one
another. The one had no need of the other ; each sought to
surpass the other, and to contend for mastery. This seems
quite natural to us, as it does when in old poems we read that
two heroes who meet begin at once to tight with one another,
until it is decided which is the victor. But when two eagles
fly towards the sun in emulation, on that account they need
not be enemies, and the feeling between them is not the jeal-
ousy which holds lower natures apart. These men felt their
strength, and each strove to be first ; modesty was out of place.
Both placed the art of the ancients higher than their own, as
Goethe considered Shakespeare very far above him, but neither
of them wished that any living person should call his rank in
question. It was the same feeling which kept Schiller and
Goethe apart for so many years, although they lived close
together; and this gives- to their correspondence that strange
admixture which is called coldness bv those who must give a
name to everything.
Each recognized the greatness of the other, but neither
would descend from his height. One thing, however, will
serve least of all as an index of their feeling towards one
another — that is, the disputes of their disciples, and the hate
with which they persecuted each other. Parties may hate
each other, as nations may do, while the leaders quietly and
respectfully defend each his own standpoint. When men like
Raphael and Michael Angelo stand as opponents, there is no
use in repeating single incidents or expressions. If one
observes them both, weighs their power, tries to picture to
himself Rome at that time — the centre of political power and
the fine arts — remembers popes like Julius and Leo — one
sees that necessarily there must have been a personal rivalry,
and this may be described in a poetical form, just as the scenes
of a drama unfold in the fancy, as soon as characters which
29B The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
are noble and freed from all narrow relations meet each other
in their full power. The usual enmity which results from
mutual misunderstandings occasioned by ignorance, or when
one intentionally holds his hands over his eyes, and when there
is also a feeling of weakness on both sides, had no place
between these men. Michael Angelo may have said that
Raphael accomplished nothing through his genius, but every-
thing through effort. Would Michael Angelo have intended by
this to disparage Raphael — Michael Angelo, who knew so well
what work meant? In my opinion this speech is such great
praise that I do not know how he could have spoken so as to
express more clearly that he understood his youthful com-
panion, admired, and honored him.
Raphael's never-failing loveliness of character — by which, as
Vasari says, he showed all artists how they should behave
towards nobles, the middle class, and the poorest people — was
not at all a trait of Michael An^elo's. He did not hover over
the mountains of life as if borne on clouds ; he seized hold of the
solid stone, threw the pieces on either side, and so made a path
for himself over these mountains. He «;ave rough, brusque
answers, and never troubled himself about any one. When
Pope Julius was urging him to finish one of his works, and
asked when he would be ready with it, he answered, " When I
can" — ''quando potiS." The pope broke into a passionate
rage, and raised his staff against the artist, and as he echoed
the words " quando potio" " quando polio" he struck him.
That was the position these two men held towards each other.
They were even with one another. They knew one another
too well to separate. They quarrelled whenever together, for
this was not the only time ; but neither could do without the
other, and since each had his own footing, upon which he stood
his ground proudly before the world, it came to pass that they
were drawn together by the very things which would have
separated weaker natures.
Every one who feels himself great is attracted to any one
whom he recognizes as his equal in that respect. Even the
bloodiest quarrel cannot drive these asunder. Involuntarily
their glances seek and find each other, for every one searches
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 297
out him whose character is a measure of his own, and the
desire to compare himself with him conquers all obstacles.
Thus it follows that the great attracts the great ; the common,
the common. This law determines the lives of beggars and
kings. Some relations could not be explained without it.
Voltaire and Frederick learned to know each other thoroughly.
The king knew that Voltaire was false, deceitful, and much
more vain of the connection with him than attached to him.
Still he wrote to him, opened his heart to him, and waited for
his answers. He felt that this man stood high enough to
understand him, and all other feelings sank into insignificance
before this.
If one should read through Michael Angelo's poems, and his
life, as written by Vasari and Condivi, one would have an
impression of a man who travelled over a terrible road entirely
alone. But if one looks through the notices of the lives of
contemporary artists, then one will see how boundless was his
influence over all, and how all rays of art centred in him.
Everywhere his hand is busy ; unselfishly he helps one and
another in their work ; blocks of marble wrongly cut, and
lying spoiled and useless, excite him to see what can be made
from them ; in the midst of the fortification-work of his native
city, he carves in the stone of the wall the Flying Victory.
Work itself interests him — it makes no difference what it is.
His impetuous nature continually carries him away, but he
always returns to himself; and the way in which this happens
is doubly touching and affecting. No one can be in doubt as
to whether the heart of this man was hard and unfriendly, or
whether it was gentle, and full of a noble love of humanity.
When I read how Beethoven loved mankind, and still avoided
them, the reserved bearing of the great Florentine occurred to
me, while Mozart's sociable manners toward all who met him
reminded me of Raphael. But how different were the lives of
these two. Like two butterflies from the garden of the Hes-
perides, the storms of life blew them out into the world, where
they perished, — one because he was carried into the fields of
too luxurious bloom ; the other, because he flew over stony
places, till wearied out, he fell to the ground.
298 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy '.
Mozart's creations, like Raphael's, stand complete, as if they
had arisen so at first. There is nothing to change in them.
They show no effort ; they exist ; their only aim is to till a
void which could not be h'lled without them. They may be
studied from all points. One walks around them as round
a blooming aloe. Shakespeare's poems, also, are so made.
But although they are so finished and perfect, one thing is
wanting to them — one thing that Michael Angelo's works
possess, that Beethoven's music has, and that brings these
men into such a human relation with us — the evidence of a
divine }^earning for expression which filled the souls of these
composers, and which is the true origin of their works. They
do not let us sink into careless rapture, but represent the
struggle and the victory, or perhaps only the anticipation of
victory, in vivid light and forms that cannot be forgotten.
When I study Raphael's Madonna, in the Dresden gallery,
the whole world around seems to dissolve in mist, and this
figure alone is present to my eyes. In one word, it deprives
the mind of freedom ; it takes possession of one, and soars with
him into higher reoions.
How different is the impression which a piece of sculpture
by Michael Angelo, though unfinished, has upon me. I know
it only through a plaster-cast in the new museum. The
original is in Paris. It represents a dying } 7 outh, one of the
figures which were to surround the monument of Pope Julius,
according to the first plan and beginning of the work. These
were meant to represent the conquered provinces of the king-
dom. The body stands upright ; a band passing round below
the breast holds it up like a chain, and keeps it from falling
to the ground ; one arm touches the breast, the other stretches
up over the head, that bends on one side wearily, with the look
of death. The divine tenderness of youth is shed all over the
figure. A dying smile plays around the lips ; an expression of
the deepest grief weighs down the eyes. One stands before it,
and his very soul is touched with grief for the beauty thus dis-
solving in death. One feels himself more free and noble, and
he would like to perish in the same way. Every line carries
out the same thought. The narrow hips, the powerless knees,
Raphael and Michael Angela. 299
the relaxed hands, the eyes over which the lids have fallen,
before which the vanishing world already surges back and
forth, soon to disappear altogether — this work draws me for-
cibly to the heart of a man who is so powerful an artist ; and
thinking of Michael Angelo, the dark clouds under which he
walks seems to me more home-like than the unending; clearness
to which Raphael carries me on wings.
We Germans place the artist above all his works. Goethe
is greater than all his poems ; Schiller himself dearer to us
than what he wrote. This is the reason that for us Hamlet is
Shakespeare's greatest work, for it reveals most deeply his own
soul, while the others give only visions which do not come
near to us. In Hamlet one plunges with the poet into the
great questions of life, and realizes with a shudder the narrow-
ness of the lines between clearness and madness that form the
paths on which the soul travels. This play does not let us rest ;
it drives us on at its own pace. Michael Angelo does the
same ; and I would more willingly follow him, although his
path is lighted by dim stars, than rest with Raphael in the full
light that bestows everything, but leaves nothing for which
one's thoughts can strive.
The "Artist Letters " contain nothing written by Michael
Angelo at the time of Raphael's death. His first three let-
ters are dated 1496, 1504, 1529 ; they cover a long space of
time ; his youth, his first stay in Rome, and the troubles in
Florence ; after which, again in Rome, he entered upon that
period of his life when, ruling alone in the realm of art, he
piled work upon work until his death. There are extant numer-
ous letters written at this time ; to this period belong most of
his poems, and, generally, what we have learned about him from
his contemporaries relates to these later years of his life.
The first letter, of July 2, 149(3, announces his arrival in
Rome. Born in 1474, he was in his twenty-second year, but
he had already experienced a great deal. His whole life was
one continued struggle with men and circumstances, beginning
with his first step in his artist career. When a child at school,
he passed all his leisure hours in drawing. No persuasion, no
punishment, could break up this fancy. He conquered his
300 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
father's opposition, and at fourteen years was apprenticed to
Domenico Ghirlandajo. His friendship with young Granacci,
who was studying painting there, led him to the workshop of
the master. He made astonishing progress. We have still
preserved one specimen of his style and manner, which shows
how his capability and his character were early developed.
One of his fellow-students had a study of drapery by Ghirlan-
dajo to copy. Michael Angelo took the sheet, and with a few
touches improved the figure and the style of the teacher.
Granacci preserved the sketch, and afterwards gave it to Vasari,
who sixty years after showed it to Michael Angelo. Laugh-
ingly he recognized his work, and added, " At that time I
knew more about art than now." He often felt a desire to test
himself on new work, and to compete with others. It was a
delight to him to perceive in visible form what he could do — a
kind of rejoicing in the consciousness of power. Where he
felt it belonged to him to be first, he did not wish to seem to
be second. There is a trace of the rivalry of the artisan in
this striving. He was not satisfied with the consciousness that
he himself was the greatest, but desired the public to perceive
it also. It must know that he understood more than all others.
He wished for favor, but he insisted upon justice. Schiller
had somewhat of this feeling when he criticised severely the
poems of Burger and Matthisson, and even Goethe's Egmont.
He was considering then only the works, not the persons ;
while Goethe, when he in his youth attacked Wieland, had in
mind the person, and disposed of the works in a few lines.
But although Michael Angelo was jealous of his position, still
he never entertained the thought that because he was great,
others were small. He gave assistance in their work to many
artists, made sketches for their pictures, gave them good
advice as to how they should progress. Had a greater artist
than he appeared — had he been forced to confess to himself in
his inmost heart, " He knows more than you" — he would not
have hesitated a moment to declare openly what he thought.
We can see how true this is from an anecdote which De Thou
has preserved for us in his memoirs. This shows that the
pride of the great master was very different from the self-
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 301
laudation of people with limited power, and his modesty
sprang from a source quite distinct from that of the deceitful
self-depreciation of lower minds, who blame themselves in the
presence of other people, in the hope of hearing their own
praises in answer.
De Thou was once in Mantua, where the Princess Isabella
D'Este was showing him and others the art treasures in her
palace. Among them was a Cupid, a work in marble bv
Michael Angelo. After the company had studied it admiringly
for a lono- time, some one unveiled a second statue which was
standing near, covered with a silk cloth, a work of antique art.
The two were now compared, and every one was ashamed that
he had estimated so highly the work of the Florentine. The
antique was still covered with traces of the earth in which it
had lain ; but it seemed to be alive, while the other was merely
a stone, without life. Then the guests were told that Michael
Angelo had enjoined upon the princess never to show his work
except with the Greek, and, moreover, in this unexpected way,
so that connoisseurs could judge how far the art of the ancients
surpassed the modern.
It has been asked what has become of these two statues, and
the truth of the story has been by some altogether doubted.
But that makes no difference ; whether it has happened or not,
the story bears in itself a truth which is higher than the so-
culled historic truth. At any rate, Michael Angelo is con-
sidered capable of such a courageous act. The reason that
general characteristics are concentrated into special cases is
owing to the mysterious power of the mythical element con-
cealed in the lives of o T eat men, and in the significant events
in the development of nations, for in these it plans and arranges
till nations and men are brought into harmony with the national
Ideal. Things that have happened do not remain memorable
in the lap of memory, but are tossed hither and thither as the
sea tosses the stones, until they are rounded off and take a
new shape.
The memory of the human race will not endure general
traits, but demands definite, visible events ; if these are missing,
they must be found, and suddenly the}' appear; without one's
302 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
knowing whence they come. Corneille died in poverty. That
is well known, but how much does it mean? Mankind de-
manded a definite il lustration, and now it is said that he was
so poor that at last he had not enough to buy a pair of shoes.
At Schiller's death there is not money enough to pay for a
coffin. Goethe is married to his wife amidst the thunder of
cannons. Francesco Francia dies of grief when he sees
Raphael's Saint Cecilia ; Racine of sorrow on account of the
king's displeasure. Belisarius, with sightless eyes, goes beg-
ging through the laud ; Philip of Spain causes the death of
Don Carlos ; Napoleon, with his banner in his hand, rides over
the bridge of Areola, into the mouths of the Austrian cannon ;
Cambronne says, " The guard dies, but does not surrender ; '
or, turning to more distant ages, an Egyptian king at one blow
strikes off the heads of a dozen prisoners.
All this is false. It stows like tares among the wheat : no
one has sowed them, and they have no right to the ground
where they are. But they cannot be rooted out. Always the
blue and red flowers will appear among the grain. But many
things that we consider as true and fixed are perhaps worth no
more, and seldom is an historic book written that does not in
this respect correct traditions.
At the foundation of every lie there is an arbitrary state-
ment which is easily shaken off; but in the tradition, even
when it springs up in modern times, there is an inextinguish-
able life-force. The acts of mankind often appear truly
artistic ; here and there, things which have been done are con-
firmed ; lights are thrown upon some, others are veiled in
darkness, so that finally something new is made to appear, that
bears about the same relation to what has really taken place
that the idealized figure in the painting does to the model
which was used.
Schiller worked himself to death — that is acknowledged;
Goethe himself says so ; and all the reproaches which that fact
brings upon the German people are expressed in one line —
there was no money to pay for his coffin. Goethe's Avhole
character on one side is expressed in what is related of his
marriage. All Racine's faults are shown in the story of the
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 303
cause of his death. All the honor of the Spanish papal policy
is concentrated in the fable of the death of Don Carlos ; all
admiration at the rising power of Napoleon, in the story of how
he met danger and conquered it so magically. There is no
more touching way of showing the power of poetry than to
relate the story of Sophocles, which has also grown into a
fable. When he was an old man his children sought to
deprive him of the authority of managing his property,
because he had grown childish. He Went before his judges
with his CEdipus at Colonus in his hand, and the divine
chorus which he read to them from it brought tears to their
eyes, and acquitted him. If that is an invention, it could
have been invented about Sophocles only ; and in the same way,
it could be said of no one but Michael Angelo that he placed
his own works by the side of those of the old masters, in order
to show how much greater the ancients had been than he him-
self. The modesty which is shown in the story is not so con-
spicuous as the pride which made him consider his work
worthy to be compared with an antique, even though it fell
below it in perfection.
While he was still almost a child, under Ghirlandajo's teach-
ing, Lorenzo di Medici, the most powerful man in Florence,
formed the plan of starting a school for sculptors. He owned
a garden which was adorned with paintings and old statues,
and the pupils were to use these as studies. He wished to
have fortius school Ghirlandajo's best pupils, and among them
were Michael Angelo and Granacci. Michael Angelo worked
now with doubled energy. He had the keys of the garden
always in his pocket, was there even on holidays, and tried to
excel all others, in which he succeeded. He surpassed also
young Torrigiano, and, besides, seems to have made of him a
sort of laughing-stock, so that one day Torrigiano was so
furious through his iealousv that he struck him in the face
with his fist, and broke his nose, thus marking him Tor life.
Torrigiano was forced to llee ; Michael Angelo remained in
Lorenzo's palace. Lorenzo favored him in every way ; invited
him to sit at his table, gave him five ducats every month, and
gave his father a government position. At Lorenzo's death,
304 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
in the year 1492, Michael Angelo returned to his father's
house. He was now eighteen years old. But he had already
produced works which were acknowledged as masterly. Now
he bought a block of marble, and carved a Hercules four ells
in height. This work was eveiwwhere admired, and afterwards
was taken to France, where it has since disappeared.
Two years after the death of Lorenzo, his son and successor,
Pietro, had carried matters so far that he and his whole family
were banished from Florence. Their palace was plundered by
the people, the school of old Bertoldi broken up, and all the
materials that could be found sold at public auction. Michael
Angelo had gone to Bologna before the fall of his patron, and
from there to Venice ; but finding that his money gave out, he
returned to Bologna, where the Bentivogli, friends of the
Medici, were rulers of the city, and received him in the hearti-
est manner. He worked there, and studied Dante, Petrarch,
and Boccaccio. His works gained him many friends, but
enemies, too, as it seems. This was, perhaps, the reason why
he returned to Florence a }^ear after.
At this time was made the Sleeping Cupid, of which I spoke.
It was so beautiful that Michael Angelo was advised to burv
it, and then pretend it was an antique. Perhaps the Mantua
story and this have been confused. Vasari and Condi vi tell
the account differently, and the former puts at the end a very
different moral. He says this work shows that the ancient art
could not have excelled the modern — a statement which may
be as consistent to the mind of Vasari as the words attributed
to Michael Angelo in Mantua are true to his spirit.
The Cupid was sent to Rome ; it drew Michael Angelo him-
self there, and made him famous. Other works which he exe-
cuted through a series of years increased his fame. I name
specially the " Pieta," of which we have a cast in the new
Berlin museum, although only a part of it, — the "Body of
Christ." This is a magnificent work, full at once of tender-
ness and strength, the union of which gives to the figure a truly
divine light. It has none of the superhuman strength which
forms the characteristic of his later works ; there is nothing
gloomv or gigantic, such as one imagines when his name is
Raphael and Michael AngeJo. 305
mentioned. Vasari tells that once some strangers from Milan
were admiring the work, and attributed it to Gobbo, one of
their fellow-citizens. Michael Angelo entered St. Peter's by
night, with a light and his tools, and cut his name on the girdle
of the Madonna.
His reputation increased the desire which Florence felt to
claim him again. In the court of the Palazzo Vecchio lay a
huge block of marble, on which some sculptor of indifferent
talent had wrought, and which had been left lying there partly
cut. The stone was offered to Michael Angelo if he could do
anything with it. He went there and made from the block a
colossal David, which now stands before the Palazzo Vecchio.
Other commissions followed this beginning. He painted and
worked in marble and bronze im weary i ugly, but what increased
his fame most of all was the rivalry with Leonardo da Vinci,
who at that time was almost fifty years old, while Michael
Angelo was not yet thirty. It was for this reason alone that
he afterwards left Florence and went to France.
Each of these artists was making an enormous cartoon, rep-
resenting a battle scene during the time when the Florentines
conquered the Pisans. It has been said of these two works
that together they furnished the content of all Italian art. All
in the city were much excited about the two, and all took sides
as to the victor. There is nothing left of the two works. The
sculptor Bandinelli destroyed Michael Angelo's, from envy and
jealousy. During the disturbances of the year 1512, he pro-
cured the keys to the hall in which it was kept, slipped in,
and cut it into pieces which have one by one disappeared.
Here and everywhere the anger of his rivals pursued Michael
Angelo. When the statue of David was put into its place, it
had to be guarded at night because stones were thrown at it to
injure it.
Meanwhile, Pope Alexander had died ; and shortly after,
Julius II. became his successor. He called Michael Angelo
back to Rome, and his agent in Florence paid him one hun-
dred scudi for travelling expenses. He wished to have a mag-
nificent tomb erected for himself, and he gave the commission
to Michael Angelo, who made a plan which Julius approved.
XIII — 20
30(> The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
The work began at once, but forty-five years passed before its
completion ; the plans were altered and abridged ; war and
every kind of fate delayed its execution ; the marble was
stolen from Michael Angelo ; he was arrested on account of
some money which it was said he received and used for him-
self: he was promised more money, and it was not paid ; and the
whole thing at last became a burden, which he bore with pain
for many years, without being able to free himself from it.
But at that time he anticipated nothing of all this. He
stood in the bloom of his years and fame. He had sought to
surpass Da Vinci, and Raphael had not yet come upon the
stage. When he appeared, the rivalry of art raised a crowd of
distinguished artists. They all found plenty of work, and rich
reward. The popes knew how to create means for these.
Rome was to be the queen in the kingdom of beauty. These
were the times when in Germany they were just beginning to act
against a supremacy which caused all the gold in the world to
be turned into channels centring in Rome. There a very prof-
ligate life was the rule. At that time, Ulrich von Hutten wrote
his papers against the city, Avhose tyranny had become unbear-
able. I mention this here, for, while we study the lives of the
great artists who grew up then, observe the tone which pre-
vailed in the dealings of the dav, — the blending of the unlim-
ited freedom of the old philosophical way of thinking with the
slave-like subjection to the religion of the popes, — if then we
see the flowers of literature and art unfold in the midst of all
this, this development of things in Italy seems necessary and
natural. Quite natural, also, was the newly awakened opposi-
tion in the German mind. YVe see that each side was not under-
stood by the other, and could not be understood. The vices of
the priesthood, the crimes of the Borgias, overshadowed for the
German view all the intellect and all the beauty ; and what
were Germans, at that time, to the Italians? Germany was a
distant, barbarous region, full of rude fanaticism, without any
national literature, and without any educated nobility ; a prov-
ince of the enormous empire, which was brought into contact
with its ruler only when he Avas obliged to punish rebels, and
whose language he could not speak. The emperor was a
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 307
Spaniard ; the central point of his policy lav in Madrid. In
Germany, the learned always wrote in Latin ; and when Ilutten
first made use of his own language, it was as strange to him a*
it we to-day should write editorials for the papers in Latin. In
Rome, they had just disposed of Savonarola, who, by his doc-
trines, had excited a city like Florence to insurrection. Why
should they trouble themselves about a disturbance in a country
beyond the Alps? It is verv possible that Luther and Raphael
may have passed one another in Rome, and looked into each
other's eyes : the one thinking- of his Madonna, his School
of Athens, or his beloved one ; the other, with gloomy brow,
noting only the ruin which surrounded him, and made of the
ground under his feet a desert over which the Roman walked
so joyfully and free of care.
While Raphael was steadily rising higher in his art, and in
the favor of mankind, through the loveliness of his nature,
which was never vexed by any discord in himself, nor by harsh
contact with thoughts outside his sphere, Michael Angelo
more quietly w r as working his way up to his great height,
and not only fulfilling his art, but also his character, which was-
growing ever more unbending and severe against the world.
There are some irregularities about the payment of the money
promised for his work. He wishes to speak to the pope about
it. He is rudely sent from the door. Indignant, he goes-
home, writes a furious letter, sells what he owns to the Jews,,
and leaves Rome at once. Julius sends couriers after him ;
one messenger after another is sent with letters ; but Michael
Angelo is unyielding, and goes to Florence. Now three
requisitions follow in quick succession, requesting the author-
ities to send him back. The artist did not obey ; but he feared
the power and vengeance of the pope, and, doubting his safety,
he meditated a journey to Constantinople, whither the Sultan
had invited him, to build a bridge over the Bosporus.* At last
he was persuaded to go to Bologna, and meet Julius there.
He goes there, has hardly time to change his boots before an
ambassador of the pope takes him away to see his holiness in
the Palace of the Sixteen.
308 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
He enters, and drops upon his knee. The pope looks at
him as it* he were angry with him, and says, " Instead of
coming to find ns, you wait until we come to find you out."
By this he meant that Bologna is nearer to Florence than to
Rome. Michael Angelo begged for pardon. He spoke freely,
and without in the least yielding his point. The pope hesi-
tated about answering. But now the scene changes in a very
characteristic way : for the bishop who has escorted Michael
Angelo to the pope tries to excuse him, and says that artists
are ignorant people, who know nothing but their art ; that his
holiness may condescend to pardon Michael Angelo. In a
sudden rage the pope turns upon the bishop, raises his
staff, lets it fall on him, and cries, ''You alone are ignorant,
since you dare to say to this man what I dare not say."
Thereupon he blessed Michael Angelo, and gave him a com.
mission to execute a, statue of his holiness which should be
five ells high.
In the statue he was represented with the hand raised. " Am
I giving my blessing or curse?" asked Julius. "You are ad vis-
ing the people of Bologna to be wise," answered Michael
Angelo. When he wished to put a book in the left hand, the
pope exclaimed, " Give me a sword ; I am no scholar." In
this position did Michael Angelo, then thirty-two years of age,
stand towards the man of seventy, who in the winter of life
entered upon a war, and conquered the cities upon which his
eves fell. He took Bologna from the Bentivogli, and even
Ravenna from the Venetians. But not long after, his statue
was made into a piece of artillery. The head alone was
left. So end works of art which are intended to last for
centuries.
After the completion of this commission, Michael Angelo
returned to Rome, and now painted the ceiling of the Sistine
Chapel. It is remarkable that although he was called by him-
self and others a sculptor, still he has gained his greatest fame
by his painting. The cartoon in Florence is the greatest work
of his youth ; the Last Judgment, that many years later was
painted in this same Sistine Chapel, is the greatest work of his
Raphael and Michael Angelo. 309
old age ; but the ceiling of the chapel is the most splendid pro-
duction of his mature fancy. Even to-day it is considered a
marvel of modern art which cannot be excelled. Goethe says
of it, that even Raphael's paintings are not worth looking at
when this has been seen. Other distinguished men confirm
this opinion. There is a large space which is covered with
representations, and the whole gives one an idea of Michael
Angelo's great skill in being able not only to give to his figures
the right position as ornaments of the space, but also to make
a rich tilling-in, thus separating and at the same time uniting
the drawings into one great whole. Smoke and dust, and
breaks in the walls, have destroved much of this. Three
hundred and fifty years have passed since these paintings
were first admired.
Julius II. had striven for the papacy ; his successor, Leo X.,
from the house of the Medici, strove for his family. Italy
bloomed. There was an overflowing population ; the trade of
the world was in the hands of its cities ; the sale of indulg-
ences brought into the country sums of money which could
not have been obtained by merchants ; everywhere there was
building in the cities, and the houses and palaces were deco-
rated.
The greater part of the magnificent paintings which form a
foundation for the art of to-day were made at that time.
Michael Angelo and Raphael developed an astonishing activity.
Michael Angelo was not always in Rome, though he was as
much at home there as in Florence ; and both cities over-
whelmed him with commissions. It is nowhere recorded that
he was silent and reserved. He enjoyed life, that smiled upon
him. He belonged to the Academy at Florence, which was
founded by Lorenzo, and whose members wrote poetry and
philosophized.
310 The Journal of Speculative P1iilosoj)hy .
ON THE STUDY OF HISTORY AND JURISPRUDENCE.
^TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF F. W. J. VON SCHELLING, BEING THE TENTH
lecture "on the method on university study" — (des akademischen Stu-
dium). ]
BY ELLA S. MORGAN.
As the Absolute itself in the two forms of Nature and His-
tory appears as one and the same, so Theology, as the point of
indifference of the real sciences, separates on the one side into
History, and on the other into Natural Science, each of which
contemplates its subjects apart from the other, as well as from
the supreme unity.
This does not prevent each from presenting the central point
in itself, and so returning into primal knowing.
The common conception of Nature and History is, that in
the former everything takes place through empirical necessity ;
in the latter, through Freedom. But these are themselves
but forms or modes of being sundered from the absolute. His-
tory is in so far the higher potency of Nature as it expresses in
the ideal what Nature expresses in the real world, but essen-
tially it is the same in both, changed only by the determina-
tion or " Potenz" under which it exists. If the pure essence
could be seen in both, we should recognize that which is
reflected ideally in History as identical with that which is
reflected really in Nature. Freedom, as Phenomenon, can
create nothing ; it is a universal, which expresses the two forms
of the reflected world each for itself, and in its own kind.
Accordingly the complete world of history would be itself an
ideal Nature, the State, as the external organism of a harmony
of necessity and freedom attained in freedom itself. History,
so far as it has the formation of this union as its chief object,
would be history in the narrow sense of the word.
The question that now meets us, namely, whether history
can be a science, seems to allow no doubt as to its answer.
If history as such — and this is the point — is opposed to sci-
ence as we have generally assumed in the preceding remarks,
On the Study of History and Jurisjimdence. 311
then it is plain that it cannot itself be science ; and if the real
sciences are syntheses of philosophical and historical material,
for this reason history itself cannot be such a science any more
than it can be philosophy. It would take the same rank, in
this respect, as philosophy.
In order that this relation may be seen more clearly, let us
consider the different staud-points from which history can be
considered.
The highest which we have recognized is the religious stand-
point, or that in which all history is conceived as the work of
Providence. This cannot be used in history as such, because
it is not essentially different from the philosophical stand-
point. Of course, it is evident that I do not deny either the
religious or the philosophical construction of history ; but the
former is part of theology, — the latter belongs to philosophy,
and is necessarily different from history as such.
The opposite stand-point to that of the absolute is the
empirical; which, again, has two sides: that of pure investi-
gation as to what has happened, and acceptance of the same,
which is the business of the naturalist who represents only one
side of the historian as such ; and that of the union of empiri-
cal matter according to an identity of the understanding, or,
since the latter cannot exist in the events in and for them-
selves, because these appear empirically, or rather accidentally
and not in harmony ; or the arrangement according to an end
planned out by the subject, which is in so far didactic or polit-
ical. This treatment of history according to a definite and not
a general view is called the pragmatic treatment, in accord-
ance with the meaning of the word as determined by the
ancients. So Polybius, who explains himself expressly in
regard to this idea, is pragmatic on account of the particular
aim of his histories, they being directed to the technicalities
of war ; so Tacitus, because he traces step by step the fall of
the Roman State to the effects of immorality and despotism.
The moderns are inclined to consider the pragmatic spirit to
be the highest in history, and to deck themselves with its
predicates as if it were the highest praise. But for the very
reason of its dependence upon subjective caprice, no one of
312 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
sense will put the two historians just cited in the first rank.
The German writers of history, with their pragmatical spirit,
are, as a rule, in the condition of " Famulus," in Goethe's
Faust: " What they call The Spirit of the Times, is their own
spirit, in which the times are reflected." In Greece, the no-
blest, ripest, most experienced minds seized the stilus of
history, to write with it eternal characters. Herodotus is a
true Homeric soul. In Thucydides the whole culture of the
age of Perikles is concentrated in one divine spectacle.
In Germany, where science is more an affair of industry, it
is the weakest minds which venture to undertake history.
What a disgusting thing to see the picture of great events and
characters sketched by a short-sighted, stupid man, especially
when he makes a great effort to show oft* his understanding,
and for this purpose, perhaps, explains the greatness of times
and peoples by narrow theories, such as the importance of
commerce, this or the other useful or dangerous discovery,
and, in short, measures evervthino- great and noble with the
most common-place standards ; or, perhaps, on the other hand
he shows his pragmaticism by reasoning on the events, or orna-
menting his material with empty rhetorical flourishes, — as, for
instance, "the continuous progress of man, and what splendid
things we have at length achieved ! "
Nevertheless, there is among sacred things nothing more
sacred than history — this great mirror of the world-spirit,
this eternal poem of the Divine Mind. There is nothing
which should be kept more carefully from the touch of unclean
hands.
The pragmatic aim of history, from its very nature, excludes
universality, and necessarily demands a limited object. The
purpose to instruct demands a correct and empirically justified
connection of events, bv means of which the understanding is
perhaps enlightened, but the reason remains unsatisfied unless
the view is made complete. Even Kant's plan of a history,
in the world-citizen sense, purposes a mere construction of
history according to canons of public utility, on the whole,
and thus to explain what is only to be explained in the uni-
versal necessity of Nature. According to his plan, peace fol-
On the Study of History and Jurisprudence. 313
lows war; finally, the everlasting peace results. From many
complications there is to arise true constitutional liberty. But
this " plan" of Nature is itself only the empirical reflection of
true necessity, just as the purpose of a history ordered in
accordance with it should be called, not a " world citizen," but
a citizen "plan," inasmuch as the progress of mankind is
towards peaceful inter-communication, to business and com-
mercial enterprise, and these things are represented as if they
Avere the most precious fruits of human life and its aspirations.
It is evident that the mere connection of events accordino-
o
to empirical necessity can never be anything but pragmatic.
But history in its highest idea must be free, and independent
of every subjective relation ; hence the empirical stand-point
cannot be the highest of its presentations.
True history, moreover, rests on a synthesis of given facts
and reality with the ideal ; but not by means of philosophy,
since the latter rather abolishes reality and is wholly ideal,
while history should be wholly actual, and at the same time
ideal. This (perfect union of actual and ideal) is nowhere
possible except in art, which allows the actual to exist, as the
drama admits real events or histories, but presents them in a
complete form and in a unity whereby they become the
expression of the highest ideas. Since it is by means of art
that history, while it is the science of the actual, as such, is at
the same time lifted above the actual to the higher realm of the
ideal, to the level of science ; accordingly the third and abso-
lute stand-point of history is that of historical art.
We must now show the relation of this stand-point to what
has already been said.
Of course the historian cannot, for the sake of his supposed
art, change the matter of history, for the supreme law of
history should be truth. Nor can the higher presentation of
history neglect the actual connection of events. The case is
rather the same as the justification of the actions in the drama,
where each follows its predecessor, and finally everything
follows of necessity from the first synthesis. The connection
of one with the other, however, must not be empirical, but
must be comprehensible from a higher order of things.
314 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
History does not become complete enough to satisfy Reason
until the empiricial causes that satisfy the understanding
are used as tools and means of the manifestation of a higher
necessity. In such a presentation, history cannot lack the
effect of the greatest and most wonderful drama, — a poem con-
ceived by an Infinite Mind.
We have made history the equal of art. But the former
presents an identity of necessity and freedom ; and this phe-
nomenon, especially in tragedy, is the proper object of our
admiration. The same identity is also the stand-point of phi-
losophy, and even of religion, for history recognizes in provi-
dence nothing but the wisdom which in the plan of the world
unites the freedom of man with universal necessity, and vice
versa. But, in reality, history rests neither on the philosophi-
cal nor the religious stand-point ; accordingly it must present
that identity of freedom and necessity, in the sense in which it
appears, from the point of view of actuality, which it must
never lose sight of. But from this point it is recognizable
only as uncomprehended and wholly objective identity — as fate.
It is not meant that the historian shall talk of fate, but that it
should appear in the bbjectivity of his presentation, itself, and
without his aid. In the historical books of Herodotus, destiny
and compensation move as invisible but omniscient gods ; in
the higher and perfectly independent style of Thucydides, who
shows dramatic power by the introduction of speeches, that
higher unity is expressed in perfect form, and completely
revealed.
Regarding the method of studying history, the following
may suffice. On the whole, it must be considered as one con-
siders an epos, without definite beginning, and without definite
end. Taking the point which seems the most significant or
the most interesting as the beginning, from this construct and
expand the whole in every direction.
The so-called universal histories which teach nothing are to
be avoided, but no others have }'et appeared. The true uni-
versal history must be written in the epic style ; hence in the
spirit such as we see an example of in Herodotus. Those
which are now called universal histories are only compendiums
On the /Study of History and Jurisprudence. 315
wherein everything special and important is obliterated. Even
he who does not choose history as his special field, should
go as tar as possible to original sources and particular accounts
— these will give him most instruction. Let him learn to love
in modern history the naive simplicity of the chroniclers, who
make no pretentious descriptions or psychological analysis of
character.
He who wishes to educate himself as an artist of history, let
him keep solely to the great models of the ancients, which
could never be attained again after the decline of general and
public life. If we except Gibbon, whose work has the broad
conception, and the complete power to portray the great turning-
point of history from ancient to modern, although he is only an
orator, not a writer of history, there are none but national
historians ; and of these, modern times would only name Mac-
chiavelli and Johann Miiller.
What heights are to be climbed by one who wishes to deline-
ate history worthily, those who consecrate themselves to this
vocation can see from the letters which the latter wrote when
a youth. Indeed, everything, all science and art, all that a
public life rich in experience can furnish, all must unite to
make the historian.
The original types of the historic style are the epos in its
original form, and tragedy ; for if universal history, whose
beginnings, like the sources of the Nile, are indiscoverable, loves
the epic form and richness, particular history, on the contrary,
must be built up concentrically around a common point. It is
not necessary to mention that, for the historian, the tragedy is
the true source of great ideas and of noble thinking, toward
which he must be educated.
We pronounced the formation of an objective organism of
freedom or of the State to be the object of history jn the
narrow sense. There is a science in this, as necessarily as
there is a science of Nature. Its idea cannot be derived from
experience, for experience itself is created according to ideas,
and the State should appear as work of Art.
If the real sciences in general are separated from philosophy
only by the historic element, it is also true of jurisprudence ;
316 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
but only so much of the historical element can belong to sci-
ence as is the expression of ideas, and consequently nothing
which is from its nature merely finite, as all forms of laws
which relate only to the external mechanism of the State —
where belongs almost the sum total of those laws which are
now taught in jurisprudence, and in which is seen the spirit
of a public state of affairs dwelling still in the ruins.
In regard to such laws there is no other advice to give but
to learn and teach them empirically as it becomes neces-
sary to use them in special cases before the courts or in public
affairs, and not to desecrate philosophy by mixing it in things
which have no part in it. The scientific construction of the
State would, as regards its inner life, find no corresponding
historic element in later times, except in so far as a contrary
serves as a reflex of that of which it is the opposite. Private
life, and with it private right also, have separated from public
life ; but the former abstracted from the latter have no more
absoluteness than there is in particular bodies in Nature, or in
their special relation to each other. Since in the entire with-
drawal of universal and public spirit from private life, the lat-
ter is left behind as the mere finite side of the State, without
any vitality, so in the conformity to law, which governs it,
there is no application of ideas ; the utmost possible is a
mechanical ingenuity in bringing forward the empirical grounds
of the law in special cases, or in deciding doubtful ones in
accordance with it.
The only thing in this science which might be susceptible of
a universal-historical view, is the form of public life and its
particular determinations as far as they can be comprehended
from the antithesis of the modern with the ancient world, and
as far as thev have a universal necessity.
The harmony of necessity and freedom, which necessarily
expresses itself in externality and in an objective unity, differ-
entiates itself in this phenomenon again in two directions, and
has different forms according as it is expressed in the real or
in the ideal. The complete realization in the first is the per-
fect State, whose idea is attained as soon as the particular and
the general are absolutely one, when everything that is neces-
On the Study of History and Jurisprudence. 317
sary is at the same time free, and all that is free is also neces-
sary. While external and public life disappeared in an object-
ive harmony of both, it had to be replaced subjectively in an
ideal unity, which is the Church. The State, in its antithesis
with the Church, is the nature side of the totality in which both
are one. In its absoluteness, the State would necessarily sup-
plant its opposite (the Church) as an external existence, for the
simple reason that it comprehends it ; as the Greek State
knew no Church, unless the Mysteries are so considered, which
were, however, a branch of public life. The Mysteries are exot-
eric ; the State, on the other hand, is esoteric, because in the
State the particular dwells in the whole, in relation to which it
is the element of diiference, but the whole does not also dwell
in the particular. In the real phenomenon of the State, unity
existed in multiplicity, so that it was completely one with it ;
with the antithetic relation of the two, all other antitheses
included therein make their appearance in the State. The
unity necessarily became the dominant power, not in the abso-
lute, but in the abstract form, that is monarchy, whose idea is
essentially interwoven with that of the Church. On the other
hand, multiplicity or the many must, hy its opposition with
unity, fall into mere singularity, and be no longer the instru-
ment of the universality. Multiplicity in Nature, as the reflec-
tion of the infinite in the finite, and the elevation of the latter
to the absolute, is in itself both unity and multiplicity, so in
the perfect State, the many, for the very reason that it was
organized into a separate world of servitude, was absolute
within its limits, the separate and independent real side of the
State, while for the same reason the free men moved in a pure
ether of an ideal life resembling the life of ideas. The modern
world is in all respects the world of participation (inter-
mmgliuor), as the ancient was the world of pure abstraction and
limitation. The so-called civil freedom has only the most
dismal intermixture of slavery and freedom, but has produced
no absolute, and hence free, existence of either the one or the
other. The antithesis of unity and multiplicity in the State
made mediators necessary, who, however, in the mediation
between governing and governed, formed no absolute world,
318 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy .
and existed only as antithesis, but never attained an independ-
ent reality peculiarly and essentially their own.
The first effort of one who desires to comprehend the positive
science of Law and the State must be this : by means of philos-
ophy and history to create a living conception of the modern
world and the necessary forms of its public life; it can scarcely
be imagined what a source of culture could be opened in this
science if pursued with an independent spirit, free from regard
for utility, and for its own sake.
The essential presupposition for it is the pure construction
of the State derived through ideas, a problem of which Plato's
Republic has been the only solution. Although we recognize
in it the contrast of the modern and antique spirit, this divine
work will still remain the archetype and model. Whatever is
possible to be said of the true synthesis of the State in the
present connection has at least been indicated, and cannot be
explained further without the reference to a visible document.
I therefore limited myself to pointing out what has heretofore
been arrived at and accomplished in the treatment of the so-
called Natural rights.
The spirit of formalism and analysis has prevailed more
obstinately than elsewhere in this department of philosophy.
The first ideas were either taken from Roman law or from some
accessible form, so that the law of Nature has gradually passed,
not only through all possible instincts of human Nature, but
through all conceivable formulas. By an analysis of the same,
a series of formal propositions has been discovered, by help of
which it is expected to attain to positive jurisprudence.
Especially have Kantian jurists begun diligently to use their
philosophy as the handmaid of their science, and so properly
enough always reformed the system of natural rights. This
mode of philosophizing shows itself in catching after ideas, no
matter of what kind they are, if only they be single and indi-
vidual, in order that he who has caught them may appear to
have a system of his own, because of the trouble he takes to
distort everything else into harmony with them : but it is a
system which is soon replaced by others of the same kind.
The first endeavor to construct the State as real organization
On the Stud;/ of History and Jurisprudence. 819
was Fichte's Law of Nature. If the merely negative side of
the form of government which aims onlv at security of law
could be isolated and separated from all positive institutions
for the energy, the rhythmic motion, and beauty of public lii'e,
it would be difficult to reach any other result, or to discover
any other form of State than is presented in that one. But the
emphasis of the merely finite side extends the organism of the
form of o-overnment into an endless mechanism, where nothing
unconditioned is found. And, indeed, all attempts heretofore
made may be accused of subordinating their efforts to an
endeavor to make a State in order that certain ends might be
attained. Whether this end is universal happiness, the satis-
faction of the social instincts of human nature, or in something
purely formal, as the common life of free beings under the con-
ditions of utmost freedom, is alike indifferent in this connec-
tion ; for in every case the State is considered as a means, as
conditioned and dependent. All true construction is from its
nature absolute, and always directed towards oneness, even in
its particular form. For example, it is not construction of the
State as such, but of the absolute organism in the form of the
State. Hence, to construct it is not to conceive it as the con-
dition of the possibility of something external to it. For the
rest, if the State is the immediate and visible image of absolute
life, it will of itself fulfil all other ends, just as Nature does
not exist in order that there may be equilibrium of matter, but
this equilibrium exists because Nature is.
320 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.
DR. KARL ROSENKRANZ.
The death of Dr. Johann Kaii Friedrich Rosenkranz (June, 1879)
is announced by the public press. Since 1833 he had occupied at
Koenigsberg the same chair of philosophy that the illustrious Kant
had occupied. His position in philosophy was in the centre of the
three divisions into which the school of Hegel divided after his death.
Rosenkranz's expositions of the Hegelian system are characterized
b}' an attempt to bring the same into line with the philosophy of the
ancients — a very rational endeavor. His contributions to literature
are very extensive — his work on Goethe's Life and the philosophic
genesis of his writings, being one of the most noteworthy (extracts
from this work were published in the Journal of Speculative Phil-
osphy, vols. IV and V). His Science of Pedagogics (1848) re-
mains still the most scientific work on the subject (translation of the
same published in the Journal of Specultive Philosophy, vols. VII
and VIII). His work on Hegel as German National Philosopher
(the larger portion of it published in the Journal of Speculative
Philosophy) is in the same spirit as the work on Goethe, and an
admirable composition.
Recently he has issued from the press of Erich Koschny, Leipzig,
autobiographical volumes — Von Magdeburg zu Koenigsberg (1873),
Neue Studien Zur Culturgeschichte (1875), Zur Literaturgeschichte
(1875), Zur Literatur und Culturgeschichte (1877). An extended
notice of these volumes awaits publication in this Journal. — [Ed.
DR. A PPL ETON.
The death of Dr. C. E. Appleton, the founder of The Academy
(London), occurred in Egypt, on the first of last February, after two
years of failing health. Dr. Appleton contributed, to The Con-
temporary Mevieio in 187G, two articles entitled "A Plea for Meta-
physial' in which he ably considered the brilliant, but negative
essa} - s of Matthew Arnold in their bearings on speculative philosophy.
In the same periodical, for Jul}', 1874, he had reviewed the theological
works of Friedrich Strauss. Mr. Arnold affects an ignorance of
accurate thinking, and congratulates himself not infrequently on
the incoherence and inconsistency of his ideas, as on an English-
Notes and Discussions. 321
man's privilege. Dr. Appleton showed that this affectation of
horror at Metaphysics is accompanied, on Mr. Arnold's part, with a
silent appropriation of various metaphysical ideas — used, however,
at hap-hazard. He explains and justifies this criticism in reference
(1) to Mr. Arnold's negative criticism of current ideas in politics
and religion; (2) his assumption and method in applying those
ideas; (3) his criticism of the ideas of Descartes, and of other
philosophers; (4) his new religious construction — "The eternal
not-ourselves that makes for righteousness."
The assumption that "thought and speculation is an individual
matter" is shown to be the fundamental disease of the Philistines
whom Matthew Arnold has attempted to slay, as well as of Mr.
Matthew Arnold himself. "It is the same assumption," says Dr.
Appleton, "as that of the individual as something given on the one
side, and of experience as something given on the other ; and this
assumption is itself metaphysical, only it is bad metaphysic ; it is a
petrified fragment of a metaphysical synthesis, instead of the living-
whole of a synthesis of the Zeit-Geist.''''
Dr. Appleton had projected (so he informed us, once on a visit to
St. Louis) a translation and exposition of Hegel's most profound
work — Die Phanomenologie des Geistes. We hope that his labors in
this direction will be given us, even if in an incomplete form, by his
literary executors. — [Ed.
DR. STIRLING AND PROFESSOR CAIRD.
In our October number Ave expect to publish an article from Dr. J.
H. Stirling, in continuation of his article in our January number,
wherein we will discuss Kant's idea of causality, in relation to Prof.
Caird's interpretation of Kant.
In the same number we hope to print a more extended exposition
of Dr. Caird's views on the same subject. — [Ed.
THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF PHILOLOGY.
Prof. B. L. Gildersleeve, of Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,
issues a circular proposing to start a new journal with the a*bove title.
The able editor has received assurances of cooperation from Profes-
sors Whitney and Carter, of Yale ; Child, Lane, and Goodwin, of
Harvard ; March, of Lafa}-ette ; Short, of Columbia ; Green, of
Princeton ; Boise, of Chicago ; Peters and Price, of the University
of Virginia; Toy, of Louisville; and Humphreys, of Vanderbilt.
The subscription price will be three dollars. — [Ed.
XIII— 21
'322 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
BOOK NOTICES.
Theism: Being the Baird Lecture for 1876. By Robert Flint, D.D., LL.D.
Published by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh. For sale by Charles
Scribner's Sons. Price, $3.75.
The high position of the author, and his reputation as a philosophical writer,
make the title of this volume a promise of something valuable. In many respects
the promise is fulfilled. The spirit of the book, abating only a little petulance, not
more than a sentence or so in length, is admirable. It would be difficult to find a
fairer statement of the problem in all its issue*, and of the temper which its treat-
ment demands, than is presented in the first three lectures. It is a pi - oblem for
reason, and reason is competent to solve it. Theologies of intuition and of feeling
are shown to he subterfuges of an arbitrary faith, which is only another name for
unconscious scepticism. True theology is a science, and the crown of sciences, —
the science of supreme truth, to which all other truths lead up. and in which they
find their unity, as the absolute Reason, whose thoughts are creations, and forever
complete their processes in images of its own personality. Theology, therefore,
is a progressive science, and moves with the step of all knowledge. Every dis-
covery in the natural, or social, or metaphysical world has a distinct nerve of
relations communicating with the central and omnipresent Reason of the Univei'se.
Says Prof. Flint — and he is one of the straitest sect of Scotch orthodoxy: "I
have, indeed, heard men say — I have heard even teachers of theology say, —
that the knowledge of God is unlike all other knowledge, in being unchanging
and unprogressive. To me it seems that, of all knowledge, the knowledge of God
is, or at least ought to be, the most progressive. And that, for this simple reason,
every increase of other knowledge — be it the knowledge of outward nature, or
of the human soul, or of history — be it the knowledge of truth, or beauty, or
goodness — ought also to increase the knowledge of Him. If it do not, it has not
been used aright; and the reason why it has not been used so must be that we
have looked upon God as if He were only one among many things, instead of
looking upon Him as the One Being of whom, through whom, and to whom are
all things." With such an estimate of the task be has set for himself, and after
so fine a clearing away of embarrassing rubbish, it surprises us that Prof. Flint
has not succeeded better. He seems to know what ought to be done, but not how
to do it. He would prove the existence and perfection of God, but adopts a
method which can never attain to proof. His arguments may confirm the faith of
those who already believe, and who would still keep the comfort of believing; but
they can never convince a sceptic, who may, and indeed does, use the same method
just as logically to defend his scepticism. He looks for evidence in categories
that cheat the mind to an endless chase, and leave it spent, in the despair of truth.
It is only by a leap out of the category itself, which he still pretends to follow,
that he reaches the desired conclusion. In the argument of causality, for instance,
he accepts the rule that every thing which happens must have a cause; and since
every such cause turns out to be an effect, and the chain would thus run on and
on, and never get any nearer a beginning, there must be a first cause who is not
caused. But why must it be? and how is that which must be, demonstrated to
exist, and to exist in harmony with its own seeming contradictions? This "■must
be" is a sudden flight of need, when the proposal, at the outset, was to foot the
Book Notices. 323
entire distance of proof. Hence the materialist complains, with good reason, that
the arguer for a first cause violates the terms of evidence. He says : "I have
learned not to jump. Science trains me to touch heel to toe, and cover every
inch of ground, in my inferences. The most precious truths have heen passed
over by your long-striding manner of deduction. The diamond-seekers who find
the most jewels are the ones who get down on their hands and knees into the mud.
Your leap is a leap in the dark, while I can only walk in the light. In the light,
I can see that every physical effect has a physical cause ; and it is surer footing to
believe that this continues the case endlessly, than that it is arbitrarily interfered
with at some unknown and unreachable point by an unscientific mystery, by an
eternal contradiction." Prof. Flint's effort, excellent as it is in certain qualities,
f a il s — as a ]i like efforts have failed — because of the inadequacy of the method.
And, since this is the only method that has been tried in our later English Apolo-
getics, they have never produced any thing better than the special pleading of
probability, the vain Babel-building of considerations — cumulative proof, as it is
called — whose end is our present confusion of tongues.
If we are not to look upon God as a thing, why should we look for him in a
category of things? Yet it is there that the author, who in the early lectures
laments such procedure, is found until nearly the end, when he indicates that
there is another path which he might have pursued, though with less easy and
inviting travel, and doubtless with a smaller company. When will our theologians
find out that that other is the only path of demonstration? that their reflections
about First Cause, Universal Substance, Supreme Being, and Biggest Thing of
Things are subjective and formal, satisfactory to no minds but those whose simple
faith they strengthen because they appear to establish what they themselves had
first disturbed — anointing wounds of their own infliction? Popular proofs, if
defective, may be harmful in proportion to their popularity. Better dogmatism
outright than weak argument, that brings truth into disrespect.
The task which Prof. Flint has undertaken, and so admirably half-done, remains
to be finished. The completion will wait for other tools than those of English,
or Scotch, or even of Kantian philosophy. They will be furnished by a logic
which not only thinks in categories, but thinks through them; which sees how
one category negatives itself into another that is more concrete : how the effect
causes the cause to be a cause, as much as the cause makes the effect to be an
effect; how, instead of dependence leaning backward only, it leans forward also,
and thus props and sustains itself in Reciprocity as the union of parts which have
no being except in their union as an organic Whole; how the Whole, because it
is the Whole, and has nothing outside of it to determine or cause it, must cause
or determine itself, and therefore be free — creative — its own aim and the aim
of all things which it creates; not substance, merely, but subject; self-conscious,
and accordingly conscious of a self, which likewise is conscious of a self that in
its turn is conscious of a similar self; and so on, throughout endless generation-
of rational selves. That logic is the logic of Hegel. Prof. Flint, in the appendix
to his lectures, refers to Hegel's Beweise fur das Daseyn Gottes. He surely has
not read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested it. P. A. H.
A Candid Examination of Theism. By Physicus. Published by Houghton,
Osgood & Co., Boston.
Physicus imagines that he has, by searching, found out the Almighty to perfec-
tion, and names him the Persistence of Force. Persistence of Force, we are told,
324 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
explains every mystery of matter and of mind. It bolts the categories of theology,
and of metaphysics which theology has suborned. Cause and effect, substance
and accident, design and will, disappear in its throat. Force is everywhere, and
eternal. The apparent diversity of the world — organic, chemic, and mechanical —
its many-named things and distinct agents, are the changing moods and masks, of
one and the same omnipotence, which never loses a pulse of strength, and in every
act remains at home with itself. It is the gravity and light- of the stars, and the
law of their motion. It is the growth of plants, the instinct of animals, the con-
science of men. Every cubic inch of space is crowded with its presence, and has
no room to spare for a rival god. Such a god, if lie could get room, would have
nothing to do but to loaf and look on. None of the old-fashioned arguments
against Atheism apply to this new-found substitute for a divine Person. It does
not work by chance, but by the necessity of its own nature. It does not make a
universe as a piece of handicraft, but is the universe forever, making and unmak-
ing itself. It does not coerce the wills of men, but constitutes them : they are one
of Its modes, as heat is another. Even religion:- sentiment It kindly leaves as a
very tine volatility of upward escape — an inner laughing-gas — to ease the hurt
of Its own presence upon human life. Therefore let the absolute It be seated in
the vacant throne of Theism.
But before we bow down to this strange Pronoun, we should like to know a little
of Its nature, — to see, at least, the back parts of Its glory. Physicus has told us
what It is not, rather than what It is. This description leaves It the absolute
Neuter of thought. The Force that persists is not a thing, for things perish; nor
is it any mere particular force, like electricity, for electricity, as such, passes into
heat, or magnetism, or motion, and therein ceases to be electricity. In what,
then, does this power, which never perishes like things, nor changes like particular
forces, differ from them so as to have a positive attribute of its own, which shall
at the same time include all their contradictory characteristics. If particular
forces are as inadequate to define it as particular things, why call It Force, rather
than Thing. Forces are only manifested in the decay of things, and distinguish
themselves by vanishing one into another. But the secret might of the universe
persists. Why, then, give to the abiding a name that signifies evanescence? No
modifying adjective can prevent the imposture of association in such an alias.
The stress of the definition is on Force; and popular thinking, which is careless
and one-sided, will conceive the universal as one of the family of particulars whose
surname it has adopted, while its Persistency will count for little more than an
initial.
When Physicus tries to define this abiding totality, he will discover that, having
nothing else to necessitate It, It is Its own necessity, and therefore free ; that hav-
ing nothing else to act on, It acts on Itself, and hence creates ; that, acting as ;i
totality on each of Its creatures, It thereby manifests Its whole nature on the
creature's finitude, and so makes all change, or progress, from lack to fulness ;
that, active and passive — identical with and different from itself — in the same
instant, It contains a most unphysical contradiction, the like of which is only
found in self-consciousness, where the thinker is his own thought, and the thought,
to be correct, must correspond to the thinker's entire energy. Then Physicus will
see that in Persistent Force he had stumbled against the feet of Personality, and
recognize above him a look which owns his stumbling as a prayer of ignorant
worship. K- A. H.
Book JSFotices. 325
Die Phantasie als Gruxd prixcip des Weltprocesses. Von J. Frohscham-
mer, Professor der Philosophie an der Universitaet in Muenchen. Muenchen.
1877. Theo. Ackermann.
The object of this work is to introduce a new principle into Philosophy, and to
make an attempt to explain, by its means, the development of the universe in all
its stages; a principle which makes clear at the same time cognition and Real
Being and Becoming, and the Ideal and Real in Existence, and which explains
the unity of this existence, as well as the multiplicity manifested therein. A
principle of this kind, which suffices a 1 requirements, and which corresponds
with the facts to be explained, has not been furnished by any of the previous
philosophical systems, all of which sutler from onesidedness. The spiritual and
ideal phenomena or facts cannot be explained from realistic principles — that is,
from material atoms or mechanically operative forces: and, vice versa, matter or
physical force cannot be explained from idealistic principles' — -from spiritual, self-
conscious beings. If such an explanation or derivation is attempted, it can be
accomplished only by denying one of the two actual factors of the existence of
the universe — be it the idealistic or realistic factor — or by causing one of them
to be swallowed up, as it were, by the other. It may also be done, however, by
simply asserting both to be identical, without proving the identity — as does
Spinoza, and as do some modern natural science men and philosophers. The
same holds good in regard to the explanation of the unity of the world, and of
the multiplicity of the phenomena in the world. Those systems that maintain
the unity cannot seriously establish or explain the multiplicity and diversity of
the universe, as Spinoza again shows ; and those, on the other hand, who maintain
multiplicity and diversity are not able to explain the unity of complicated, uniform
substances — at any rate, not on natural principles, but only by taking refuge in a
supernatural, divine influence or agency. This is clearly shown in the case of
Leibnitz, who brings unified order into his monads only by a preestablished har-
mony; and is, in point of fact, also the case with Herbert. Again, if the funda-
mental principle is taken to be logical and rational — for instance, a Logical Idea,
as Hegel takes it — we cannot understand how illogical, irrational facts are
possible, the occurrence whereof are nevertheless undeniable, at least in human,
spiritual life. If, on the other hand, we make the Illogical and Irrational our
fundamental principle, as Schopenhauer does with his blind and unconscious
will, we do not comprehend whence the Logical and Rational came — which, after
all, can also not be denied altogether — and which Schopenhauer himself is com-
pelled to admit as a fact, at least so far as his own philosophy is concerned, in so
far as he regards it as true. If, finally, we assume consciousness, as Personality or
the Ego, to be the fundamental principle of the universe, we find it absolutely
impossible to derive the unconscious from the consciousness thereof as such ;
while, if we take the unconscious to be that principle, we cannot comprehend
how consciousness can arise from it.
Thus the problem remains to discover, if possible, a fundamental principle
which will satisfy claims of an utterly opposite nature, and be able to explain all
those opposites from its own essence and peculiar nature; a principle which may
be shown to be, at least tactically, the source of all the multiplicity of facts —
even if its own nature should remain incomprehensible — -as is really always, in
the end, the case in regard to every principle applied by human cognition.
This fundamental principle the author formulates as "Phantasy; " that is, he
takes the fundamental principle of the world-process to be in analogy with that
320 The Journal of Speculative Philosopliy .
peculiar faculty of the human spirit which is called Phantasy, or power of
imagination, or power of representation. In this faculty and its activity we see
the original character of the principle which entered into the world-process, and
it itself is the subjective and liberated product of the analogous objective creative
principle. Of course, Phantasy must here not be take i in the ordinary limited
sense, as a faculty whereby we represent things that do not at all exist, or whereby
we represent them differently from their actuality. It is true that this faculty
also exhibits a chief quality of the world-principle, namely, its creative and
plastic faculty ; but the other qualities of Phantasy can be explained only when
we consider the original significance of the word and the essence and actuality
corresponding to it. Phantasy is in fact the faculty, the power, to produce
appearances, — that is, to form appearances for our consciousness, or to form
images in our consciousness. Now, in this activity of Phantasy it happens that
all three opposites, which we spoke of above as insurmountable for the various
philosophical principles, appear as cancelled, at least in a formal manner and for
our consciousness. Phantasy operates idealisticallv. and yet at the same time
(in a formal way) realistically; for it always creates in consciousness sensuous
forms for spiritual contents, fixing and revealing the latter in internal images.
On the other hand, sensuous images gain through Phantasy also a spiritual sig-
nificance. They are spiritualized ; as, for instance, in the case of symbols. Hence
Phantasy connects the spiritual and the sensuous, and this connecting constitutes
essentially its activity. Hence it operates, at least temporarily, for consciouness,
in both a realistic and an idealistic way. Again, the opposition of unity and mul-
tiplicity is cancelled in Phantasy and its activity; since, while remaining unity, it
produces a multiplicity of images or representations, and, furthermore, under-
stand how to gather a multiplicity into a unity. It is both a creative and a syn-
thetical faculty. It furthermore produces for consciousness, from out of uncon-
sciousness, its images or signs, whether the incitation conies from the outward or
from the inward (from the depth of the soul itself); and hence it unites the
sphere of the Unconscious with that of knowledge. Furthermore, the activity
of Phantasy is the ground of the rational as well as of the irrational ; it makes pos-
sible the realization of logic and of the teleological, while it also contains the
possibility of the irrational, arbitrary, and illogical, as exhibited mainly in child-
hood, before real intellectual activity is aroused. Finally, Phantasy, or the inner
power of representation and imaging, is also the incessantly active element in the
psychical nature of man. This is specially manifested in the abnormal state of
our physical-psychical life — in sickness, dreams, narcotic conditions, etc. But
in the conscious state also — nay, even when our mental activity is quite fresh, and
works with clearly known intent — the images of our Phantasy obtrude themselves
obstructionallv, cause our attention to flag, confuse us, and produce, as it were, a
permanent conflict between the self-active mind and the unconsciously arising and
obtrusive play of divers representations.
Now, if we should succeed in proving that the plastic power of nature, espe-
cially in its organic and living products, its plants and animals, works in a like
manner and exhibits similar qualities, especially in generation, to those we dis-
cover in the Phantasy of man, which is everywhere considered the really creative
power in man, we should, at least, have shown a sameness of action and occur-
rence. But, if it could be further shown that the activity and developing process
of the plastic power of nature, or objective Phantasy, produces continually
higher, more subjective individuals, and that, in this process of nature, there
Booh Notices. 327
occurs a steadily increasing wealth of external form and of internal significance —
we should have discovered, indeed, the universal principle of the World-Process,
and this principle might be best characterized as Phantasy.
To establish this is the object of the work in question. It is divided into three
books, the first of which discusses Phantasy as a special subjective mental faculty,
and contains mostly investigations relating to theoretical cognition. The second
book shows how objective (real) Phantasy manifests itself in the process of nature
and strives to subjectivate and spiritualize itself. Its contents are, therefore, of a
natural science character. The third book, finally, seeks to establish how the
human mind, how self-consciousness and the fundamental faculties of the mind
are formed by the activity of the creative World-Phantasy.
It is impossible to enter here into the details of the investigation ; we must con-
tent ourselves with a few suggestions concerning the problems treated and the
manner of the solution. The investigation proceeds from the ordinary signifi-
cance of the word Phantasy, and its manifestation or activity. It then shows how
the fundamental activity of this peculiar mental faculty is to be found in all
spiritual activity as the real motive power, the life-inspiring element, and first
condition: in the Will as well as in Feeling, but especially in the faculty of
cognition, from the function of the senses upward to the must abstract logical
operation. The importance of the (productive) power of imagination in regard
to the process of cognition, however, has been already pointed out by Kant, in his
Critic of Pure Reason, and introduced in the very central part of that work, in
order to utilize the categories and connect them, with the senuous forms of con-
templation. He remarks expressly : " This schematism of our understanding in
regard to phenomena and their mere form (the transcendental producing of the
power of imagination) is an art concealed in the depths of the human soul, the
true working of which we shall not likely ever discover from nature, or place un-
covered before our eyes." In another passage, Kant calls the power of imagina-
tion a blind faculty, it is true; but he adds, expressly, that without this faculty
cognition would be simply impossible. With the same, nay, a still more emphatic
decidedness, J. G. Fichte states this in his Science of Knowledge. He says:
"Without this wonderful faculty (the productive power of imagination), posi-
tively nothing of the human mind can be explained; and it is very probable that
the whole mechanism of the human mind can be easily explained from it." It
thus lay near at hand to undertake a thorough investigation of this power of
imagination, or Phantasy, since Kant and Fichte had after all not done so, how-
ever much use they made of that faculty in their constructions, and emphatically
recognized its importance; especially as owing to their neglect to do so it
happened that, in the time after Kant and Fichte, Phantasy continued to be gen-
erally considered simply as an organ of artistic creation and enjoyment, and
turned over to the science of ^Esthetics for investigation, though also regarded
with curiosity as the source of strange conditions and manifestations of human
nature. In the activity of cognition there are, mainly, two moments only in
which Phantasy manifests itself; we can characterize them as the thetical and
the synthetical moments. The formative, as it were creative, power of the mind
is needed to posit as well as to cancel, to relate as well as to negate in thinking.
It is also necessary for the abstract activity of thinking in the synthetical develop-
ment and combination of judgments and conceptions. If anything is to be posited
or affirmed in consciousness, we need always an image or sign, which is produced
by our inner power of imaging; and even in negating, the creative power of the
328 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
mind must, at least, formally manifest itself in and for consciousness; for the
Nothing, the negation, must itself operate in the mind as a power in order to can-
cel the positive, and hence in order to produce a specific effect in consciousness.
In the same way the inner power of imaging is necessary for the creation of
abstract conceptions, which, as such, have no existence at all in actuality, but are
formed, or rather conceived, in the mind. Again, the productive and combining
power of the mind is necessary in the formation of judgments, the connecting or
separating of two thought-elements; for the conceptions and their union must be
produced in the mind at the same time for consciousness and kept hold of for
the sake of comparing them and forming a judgment on them. Thus Phantasy.
which, to be sure, so far as it shapes things in consciousness that do not exist at
all, or shapes things otherwise than as they exist, appears as the source of error,
is, nevertheless, also the fundamental condition and organ of the cognition of
truth, and, moreover, of logical, real, and ideal truth, all of which forms are elab-
orately explained in the above work, according to their nature and essence. The
ground-forms of truth, and of the cognition of truth, the categories and ideas, pro-
ceed also from Phantasy, as Kant has already suggested, and form the leading
points of view for the higher power of cognition.
Now, then, arises the question whether this subjective Phantasy, which is so im-
portant for the process of cognition, has an original character and principle of its
own, or whether it is merely a secondary, derived function of the mind? The
investigation here shows that it cannot be derived from any of the other mental
faculties, the functions whereof are rather conditioned by it: but that we certainly
find everywhere in objective, real nature, in the animal and vegetable kingdoms,
certain effects which indicate an analogous, real, formative power, which may
well be the source and cause of the analogous, subjective faculty, Phantasy.
Thus arises the further problem, whether this objective plastic principle which
manifests itself in nature is an original force, a fundamental principle of the pro-
cess of nature, or is itself produced by other causes, be these substances or physical
forces? We have thus arrived at the real fundamental problem, the question
concerning the origin of the organic, of life, of sensation, of consciousness, etc.,
which has excited in recent times so many investigations and disputes between
the men of natural science and philosophers for and against materialism, and con-
cerning the correctness or incorrectness of Idealism and Theism. Here, also, an
answer has already been suggested by Kant and Fichte, and expounded at length
by Schelling and Hegel, the decision being in favor of Idealism. According to
Kant's Critic of Pure Reason, time and space are not objective, but subjective
forms of contemplation, the things in themselves whereof give, through their
effect on us, the material contents of our cognition (experience), whilst- the under-
standing, by means of the categories, furnishes cognition the form. Out of this
arises the world of our knowledge, the world of appearances. Now, if this com-
bination of forms of contemplation and conceptions of the understanding, and
hence the only possible real cognition, is conditioned and realized by the produc-
tive power of the imagination, the world of appearances, so far as we know it, is
also essentially conditioned by it. In a more emphatic way this thought appears
in Fichte's Idealism. In his view the non-Ego as well as the Ego are products of
the Ego; the science of Knowledge is also a science of Being. If, then, Knowl-
edge — that is, the construction of science — -is effected by means of the productive
power of imagination, Being, or the non-Ego, must be effected in the same way.
In Schelling we note already the objective tendency of the view of this world some-
Book Notices. 329
what in his system of transcendental Idealism, and more decidedly in his Natural
Philosophy and the Identity System. The formative principle in the process of
nature is now real and objective, and not merely ideal and subjective. In Hegel,
finally, the objective moment gains even the ascendancy, as the objective dialectic
of nature and of the world. It is everything, and subjective thinking, with its
formal logic, is the limited, the untrue. The productive power of imagination of
Kant and Fichte is thus, to be sure, replaced by the logical idea; but this idea has
a real, objective character.
But we have to deal here, not with these general thoughts and constructions,
but with the question whether, in objective nature, a formative (plastic) power is
necessary and effective for the production of the organic and living formations in
all their gradations and kinds. This question has put itself forth in quite a definite
form by the revival of materialism, that is, of the assertion that the elementary
substances, or atoms, with their physical and chemical forces, suffice to produce,
not only life and organisms, but also physical, and, finally, even spiritual func-
tions.
This, of course, involves another assertion, namely, that the first organisms
themselves originated through generatio spontanea — that is, through the material
substances alone — without a special external or internal principle of formation.
To refute these assertions, it was necessary to prove that neither organization
generally, nor life, sensation, and consciousness can be explained merely out of
material substances and mechanical forces, and that a generatio spontanea can be
neither empirically demonstrated nor artificially produced. In fact, of late the
most prominent men of natural science acknowledge, more and more generally,
that at least sensation and consciousness cannot be explained from the physical
and chemical qualities of the material substances, and from merely mechanical
movements. They are, therefore, of opinion that we must assume a special
quality in the material atoms, a faculty of sensation, which lies concealed in them,
but becomes actualized and manifest when the substances are properly combined
and formed. But, in granting this, natural science recognizes the assertion of a
special peculiar principle, from which life, sensation, and consciousness originate,
the only difference being that we represent this as a universal, original unit-
principle, while the men of natural science represent it as pluralistic, and posit it
in their (very problematic) material atoms.
This universal, real-efl'ective, but, in the manner of the human Phantasy, plas-
tically and t'eleogically formative principle, is thus established as the original
principle, from which all organic and living formations of nature are derived,
even the human mind itself, and its peculiar formative and creative faculty, Phan-
tasy, from which the investigation took its start.
To represent this process of formation and development of the universal prin-
ciple, or of the creative World-Phantasy, at least in its general features, and thus
to show how the particularization of this principle, immanent in the world itself, or
the concrete formations of the world, become more and more internal, psychical,
and hence subjective ; this is the object of the second book of the above work.
In analogy with all development and all known facts of palaeontology, it is to be
assumed that this formative world-principle was at first itself in a condition of
universality and undeterminedness, or of a certain indifference, and that it only
gradually concentrated itself into concrete forms, thereby always developing itself
to a higher degree. This, of course, also involved a continual withdrawing and
distinguishing of itself from the material substances and the merely physically
330 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
effective power, but on no account a real separation; since we can never think the
principle without force and material substrate, and hence without a real basis.
At the very beginning of organic development, therefore, nature resembled
already, on the whole, an organism, though an undeveloped and unarti emulated
organism. Its differentiation and development into the infinite fulness and mul-
tiplicity of plants and animals occurred only gradually, and not according to mere
chance, or mere external relations, but under the rule of a law of formation.
Hence it is the theory of descendenoe which lies at the basis of this work; and
due recognition is also made of Darwin's theory of transmutation, although it is
not held to be fully sufficient to explain the species in the animal and vegetable
kingdoms, which indeed needs a teleological and ideal law for their explanation.
This ideal law must at the same time be understood as a fundamental impulse,
immanent in nature, by virtue of which the whole development of nature strives,
not only after an infinite multiplicity of external forms, but also after an inter-
naliziny, through which nature seeks to get hold of itself in the individuals, to
find itself in them, and to enjoy their rationality, their lawfulness, and purpose-
ness. This occurs, above all, in the culture and activity of the senses and the
sensatory nerves. Both result from the teleological and ideal impulse of nature,
which is inherent in the fundamental principle as a law or rule, and are organs of
rationality itself, which strives after self-perception. The senses are already in
their arrangement a work and expression of the understanding. By their activity,
which is not merely receptive, but really active, and as it were creative, they re-
veal a sphere of existence which would not be open to us otherwise; for instance,
the sphere of life and color through the eyes, and that of tones through the ear.
Here, then, we have already a self-perception of nature, which not only the indi-
vidual sees and hears, but which nature itself reveals unto itself; since in its own
immanence and unity seeing and hearing is realized. It is similar in regard
to sensation. We do not derive sensation from the material atoms and their
combination, but from the teleological or rational essence — from the lawfulness
of nature. For sensation is conditioned by this: that in a given individual, inter-
nal, normal relations receive a change from parts or moments, which is either
beneficial or harmful to that relation. This, by the by, gives rise to the feelings
of satisfaction (joy) or dissatisfaction (pain), and is everywhere applicable. In a
being that is wholly uniform, without any relation, sensation is impossible; since
no change can take place in a being that is utterly uniform and indifferent. If
we wish to ascribe sensation to material atoms, we must endow them with an
articulated, rationally, or teleologieally arranged internality- — that is, we must
represent them no longer as mere atoms, but as organic formations, in the way of
Leibnitz's monads. We cannot, therefore, escape the assumption that sensibility
is conditioned by teleological arrangement, which is an expression of rational and
ideal lawfulness, in such a way that sensitive organisms have a feeling of what
ought to be and what ought not to be; by which exposition we obtain, and have
furthermore revealed to us, an ideal moment accompanying material occurrences.
Sensibility and sensation itself gives us the basis of internality and of the larger
part of psychical culture, which in animals manifests itself especially in their im-
pulses and instincts, but develops even in them already into a sort of intellectual
capacity, and a capacity of feeling. We cannot discuss this matter here more at
length, and must refer to the exposition of the work itself. One important cir-
cumstance in the process of development, however, must be mentioned: the
propagation and transmission of culture through generation. Heal, objective
Book Notices. 331
Phantasy, namely, or teleological plastical power of formation, manifests itself in
the process of generation, by which a continuation of that which is organic and
living, as well as a development and higher grade of both, is transmitted. But
gradually psychical life arises out of both, and in it appears more and more, as
the higher development rises, Phantasy as a subjective condition : at first still in a
latent state in the instinct, but next also as a free faculty of representation; still
limited, however, altogether to its own existence and life. And thus we have
.-molested the transition, or the potentializing, of the formation of the creative
World-principle for the production of the nature of man and the spirit of man.
The third book treats of the human mind itself, and attempts to explain its
origin and qualities from the action of Phantasy, as the fundamental principle of
the World-Process. The first point is to explain the higher independence of the
human soul, in comparison with the animal studs; and, next, self-consciousness.
Both are conditioned by the psychical organism, which forms itself on the basis
of physical-psychical organization, and which, to be sure, does not manifest itself
in human nature all at once and unmediated, but can be found in its traces and
beginnings already in the higher animal world. This psychical organism, it is
true, develops itself out of the physical world as a soul by means of the real-
working Phantasy, which becomes subjective, and finally a subject; but it grows
independent — that is, capable of self-consciousness and of an independent Will —
only by means of liberated and formal-working Phantasy — that is, of Phantasy in
the limited sense of the word. For Phantasy, as a formative (plastic) principle,
works real only in intimate conjunction with physical laws, and is in so far
subjected to the lawfulness and necessity of nature. But gradually, and as the
animating principle of the body, it grows ever more concentrated and independ-
ent; so that, even in the animals, it elevates itself, as it were, above the organism,
so that it can determine the organism no longer merely through impulses (as
cai/sir effii-inifrs). but, also through representations {causer, finales), making it in
so far already capable of the application of Will and arbitrariness. But in human
nature this principle, as soul, has, so to speak, a superabundance of power, which
liberates man from the compulsion of natural laws, manifests itself in arbitrary
activity, and operates as subjective, or subjectivistic, Phantasy. This appears
clearly in the character of children, in whom the real mind is as yet altogether
Phantasy, and breaks out in arbitrary plays and games, changing things as whim
dictates, and in accordance to fictitious images, and paying no heed to any law of
nature. The mind, having become liberated, takes a pleasure in rising above all
ordinary lawful occurrences, and, disregarding the laws of nature and of logical
thought, manifests itself thus in games, stories, fairy tales, etc. By this sort of
play the mind strengthens itself in its independent power; and, after having
absorbed considerable experience, and various kinds of spiritual food out of his-
tory, the psychical organism rises over that of the body, and the soul, gifted
with consciousness, enters self-consciousness, and becomes spirit, or personality,
with the Ego as its centre.
For, since consciousness has no longer the merely eternal — nature and bodily
existence — for its contents, but is now based on the psychical organism, it
presently arises into self-consciousness, which knows nothing of bodily functions
(at least not directly), but only of psychical being and working. This psychical
organism, gradually grown up, as it were, out of the physical organism, is not a
simple, uniform being, but has its own inner articulation. It is a unity of facul-
ties, that manifest themselves in various functions and activities, and which are,
332 The Journal of /Speculative Philosophy,
therefore, designated different fundamental faculties of the mind. It has been
justly deemed proper to point out three such fundamental faculties in the one
(unit) spirit or mind: the faculty of feeling, the faculty of cognition, and the
power of the will ; for this triplicity is also found in all real things, and especially
in the physical organisms. We distinguish matter as their real substrate, form as
their determining law, and force as their executive power. All three moments
together constitute their essence or substance — taking the latter word in the
Aristotelian sense, as an individual being, composed of matter and form. Tims,
the mind, in spite of the unity of its essence, embraces a multiplicity of moments
or forces, which, far from endangering its real unity, actually condition it; for the
merely in itself uniform constitutes only a mass, but not a true unity.
We have not time here to enter at length on the genesis and modes of activity
of the separate spiritual faculties, and must, therefore, refer to the work itself,
wherein they are elaborately set forth — feeling, especially, being treated very
fully. So far as the faculty of cognition is concerned, a definite distinction is
made between the understanding and reason : the former representing the logical
power of the mind — the faculty of forming judgments, conceptions, and con-
clusions — and the latter the faculty of feeling and cognizing ideal truth. Both
faculties are explained, not merely in regard to their nature and contents, but are,
in accordance with modern requirements, developed in their genesis and growth;
since they, also, surely do not spring suddenly into existence without mediation.
They, also, are determined in their genesis, as well as in their functions, by the
plastic power of Phantasy. The understanding arises, to state the matter in
a few words, through the union — marriage, as it were — of Phantasy with the
universal laws and forms of Being, from which the laws and the universal forms
of thinking, and hence the laws of logic and the categories, arise in the spiritual
subject. In a similar way. Reason is genetically constructed by the union of
Phantasy and the Ideas. For the ideas, like the universal laws, have not arisen
suddenly into existence; they lie concealed in the depths of existence as eternal
truths, and are only shaped and revealed by Phantasy. They are thus existent
in the human soul, primarily, as capacities or faculties, or as germs that spring
into activity and development only by means of a corresponding influence. The
Ideas express an eternal being — truth, beauty, the good, etc. They have not
been arbitrarily elaborated, or adopted through habit, use, common agreement, or
force, in a manner as if the}' could just as well be otherwise than they are; but
they express something necessitated in its being, as well as in its essence — some-
thing which cannot not be, and which cannot be otherwise than it is. So far as
the Will is concerned, it is true that in the great World-Process it develops itself
from the physical-psychical organization, and especially from the impulse ; but
the power working by means of it receives in the psychical organism, through the
free element of Phantasy, a basis for self-determination, or independent decision.
It can thus not only determine itself by representations, and arise above mere
impulses and instincts like the animals, but is able to give unto itself its self-
determination from the depths of its own essence ; that is, it can determine itself
from out of the psychical organism, and the central point thereof — the Ego.
But this sort of freedom is also not something that has suddenly, and without
mediation, arisen in the human mind; it likewise, only in a much more imperfect
degree, pervades all nature. For the World-Phantasy conceals an element of
freedom which, in conjunction with the lawfulness of nature, produces its infinite
multiplicity and its most remarkable forms.
Book Notices. 333
These are the main contents of the above work, in brief outline. At its close ap-
pears, however, an investigation into the relation of Phantasy to some abnormal
conditions of human nature, dreams, somnambulism, spiritism, and diseases of the
mind. On this we cannot dwell any longer; but, in conclusion, would meet an
objection that may be raised against the main argument of the book. The mind,
it will be noticed, is represented as the creature, or product, of the World-
Phantasy — nay, as part thereof, since itself has entered the World-Process in
away, and no longer stands above it; and yet this same mind, which has been
formed in its Essence by Phantasy, in conjunction with the laws of nature, is
again endowed with Phantasy as its special faculty. How, then, can the mind
distinguish itself from its special faculty? In the same manner in which the
bodily organism, which is a product of the power of generation, is distinguished
from that Power which the organism itself possesses, and manifests in new gener-
ations. Thus, the mind is the product of Phantasy as the World-Principle, but
possesses at the same time Phantasy as a mental power of production. In fact,
all creations of the human mind are possible only through the activity of subjec-
tive Phantasy; and human history, with all its great spiritual achievments and
advances in language, religion, art, morals, etc., is essentially conditioned by it —
a matter which the author promises to develop in a future work on the same
subject.
[The foregoing notice of the remarkable work of Dr. Frohscbammer was fur-
nished, at our request, by a friend of the system residing in Germany, and trans-
lated by Mr. Kroeger. It is, one will perceive, the polar-opposite of the system
of Schopenhauer. While the latter makes Will to be the fundamental principle
of the world, and sets up the doctrine that Vorstelhmg (which includes the intel-
lectual activities, and might be called Phantasy, as in this book) is a derivative
faculty, created by will for a specific end. On the contrary, Dr. Frohscbammer
makes Phantasy the fundamental principle, and the evolver of all else. Schop-
enhauer's system, founded on the Will alone, ends in Pessimism; and so every
system that lays great stress on the Will is like to do. Even Calvinism contain
elements of pessimism, because it emphasizes the Will and human responsibility.
The doctrine of eternal punishment — of endless hell — is a figurative expression
of Will utterly free — -so that all its deeds return wholly to itself (without the
interposition of grace, without the interposition of the mediation of human so-
ciety, or the human race, between the individual and his deed).
Dr. Frohschammer's theory, it would seem from this, ought to be optimistic.
For its application, we shall await with interest the appearance of his promised
new work on the subject. — Editor.]
The Foreknowledge of God, and Cognate Themes in Theology and
Philosophy. By L. D. McCabe, D.D., LL.D., Professor in the Ohio Wes-
leyan University. Cincinnati : Hitchcock and Welden. 1878.
The position of the author as briefly stated by Dr. Hurst, who writes the intro-
duction to this book, is: " That universal prescience is incompatible*with human
freedom; that there can be no tenable system of theology, or of moral philoso-
phy, based upon that doctrine; but that the whole Christian system may be made
consistent, defensible, and satisfactory by the denial of it: and that all the doctrines
and prophesies of Scripture are plainly reconcilable with such denial."
"The important distinction," says Dr. McCabe (chapter XXL), "between the
action of a free will and the movement of a material force is, that every event in
the domain of the latter has a necessary antecedent, whereas a volition has really
334 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
no antecedent. It has precedents, but those precedents involve nothing coercive,
or necessaiw, or uniform. There is in them nothing that can indicate with cer.
tainty a particular choice; nothing that can afford omniscience any certainty as to
the future producticn of that volition, of which there are, and can be, nothing
more than the occasions.
"The moment we admit that the precedent of a volition is of such a nature as
to afford omniscience ground for absolute certainty as to that volition, that mo-
ment we annihilate, to all human discrimination, the distinction between freedom
and the great law of cause and effect, and we introduce confusion into our think-
ings; that instant we logically destroy human freedom, accountability, and the
possibility of a divine moral government. True, the human will requires reasons,
motives, considerations, and even temptations, as the occasions of its rewardable
exercise. But these are always numerous, various, and uncoercive. There can
be nothing coercive in the character of the precedents of those choices which en-
tail endless destiny, if a man is a free agent." "Between the antecedent of an
effect and an occasion of a volition there is, and there can be, therefore, no ele-
ment of resemblance or oneness."
The difficulty, it will be noticed, which leads to the denial of foreknowledge
lies in the assumption that causality is the supreme condition of what is fore-
known; hence it is inferred that the products of a free activity transcend the
sphere of foreknowledge. If one replies: "God sees the act as free, but he see-
it in and by and through that particular influence that is finally the occasion of
the choice and of the volition," Dr. M'Cabe answers: "If a foreknowledge of
a volition is obtained through perceiving the final desirability which will, in fact.
prove to be the occasion of that volition, this does not in the least relieve the great
difficulty. We do not, and we cannot, remove volition from the category of the
action of cause and effect. In so doing we remove the cause of the determination
of the will from the subjective to the objective, and then from the objective we
estimate the movement of the subjective."
Every human being, according to this doctrine, —
* * * " Contains
A something that defies precalculation,
Exhausts all motives known to sense and reason,
All likelikoods, all probability,
And in the event disables the conclusion;
For Reason, though it placed the stake correctly.
'Tis Ma-dness casts the die. There is not space
In the wide universe of amplitude
Sufficient to swing the balance, wherein
To weigh the sequence of one puny act."
Still another view might be presented: —
If we consider for a moment the conditions under which prediction, or fore-
knowledge is possible, do we not find two very different grounds?
A knowledge of the totality of conditions which determine the being of any
somewhat that is under fate or necessity — i.e., is externally constrained — will
give us a knowledge of its future. A knowledge of the objects and aims of a free
being, combined with a knowledge of the means or instrumentalities that he has to
work with, gives us sufficient ground to foreknow what he will do ; and the more
free the being, both in purpose and instrumentalities, the more certain is our
foreknowledge of his course of action. The less his degree of insight, and the
Book Notices. 335
more capricious his purposes — so much the less possible is it to predict his action
on the grounds of freedom. But, on the contrary, it becomes easier to predict his
career from external circumstances; for, just in proportion to the lack of insight
and the dominance of caprice in a being, the same is under the control of exter-
nal circumstances.
Just because God is perfect *Insight and perfect Will, and uses perfect in-
strumentalities to realize a perfect purpose — it is possible for us to toreknow his
action, in proportion as we ourselves grow in ability to penetrate the universal and
necessary nature of perfect knowledge and will, and the final cause of the world.
We are able to be most certain about God's action, because he is perfecty free.
His actions, being partly free, and partly controlled by outside fate for the reason
of man's imperfect insight and imperfect will, are to be foretold partly on
grounds of freedom and partly on grounds of fate, or natural laws of cause and
effect. Causality is the law of external constraint — that of nature and fate.
Final cause, or teleology, is the law of freedom. Causality appertains to the rela-
tion of dependence on others; final cause to independence and self-determination.
That the law of final cause transcends the law of cause, and is its logical con-
dition, is the great insight of Aristotle, and the true basis of all spiritual ex-
planations of the universe.
God's knowledge being perfect, both as to the subsidiary laws of causality as
the world of mere nature, and also as to the transcendental laws of freedom and
self-determination, is equal to perfect foreknowledge of necessitated events, of
free events, and of events that partake partly of one and partly of the other cate-
gory.
However this may be, we may thank Dr. McCabe, in behalf of the theological
public, for his candid discussion and clear statement of the issues involved in the
question.
Symmetrical Education or The Importance of Just Proportion in Mind
and Body. By W. Cave Thomas. London : Smith, Elder & Co. 1873.
Contents: Chapter I. — General argument in favor of a proportionate or sym-
metrical development, and against the common practice of cultivating individual
bias, i. e., disproportion. The vulgar error refuted that intellectual power is in
proportion to the number of subjects acquired, or that quantity is of greater im-
portance than quality. Chapter II. — The moditiability of human nature renders
its symmetrical development or rectification possible. Chapter III. — The trans-
fer of power from one part of the system to another. A balanced or equable
distribution of power amongst the faculties to be aimed at. Chapter IV. — The
right constitution of the preparatory or educational setting-up schools of the king-
dom. With addenda on technical education.
336 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
BOOKS RECEIVED.
Christ the Corner-Stone of Spiritualism.
1. The Talmudic Proofs of Jesus' Existence. 2. Who was Jesus? 3. The Dis-
tinction between Jesus and Christ. 4. The Moral Estimate that Leading Ameri-
can Spiritualists put upon Jesus of Nazareth. 5. The Commands, Marvels, and
Spiritual Gifts of Jesus Christ. 6. The Philosophy of Salvation through Jesus
Christ. 7. The Belief of Spiritualists and the Church of the Future. By J. M.
Peebles, M. D. London : James Burns. 1878.
A Plea for Candor in Bible-Reading ; Or, Scientific Objections against
the Bible Examined. Bv a Citizen of Jackson, Tenn. (William T. Hamilton,
D. D.) Jackson. 1878.
Lecture I. - — Origin of the Ditt'erent Races of Men. Lecture II. — Objections
against the Bible based on the so-called Scientific Grounds.
Loi Gknerale de L'Evolution de L'Humanitk.
Introduction au Livre de L' Autonomic de la Personne Humaine. Par le Pro-
fesseur Emile Acollas. Paris: Gamier Freres, Libraires Editeurs. 1876.
L'Anthropologie et le Droit.
Address to the Members of the Society of Anthropology at Paris, by Professor
Emile Acollas, October 5, 1874.
La Philosophie de L'Histoire et le Droit.
Addressed to the Members of the Society of History of France, by Professor
Emile Acollas, October 10, 1874.
L"Economie Politique et le Droit.
Address'd to the Members of the Society of Political Economy of France, by
Professor Emile Acollas, October 20, 1874.
On some Disputed Points in Physiological Optics. By Henry Hartshorne
I. — On the Theory of Erect Vision, with Inverted Retinal Images. II.- — On
Extuition as a new Term in Psychology. HI. — On Ocular Color Spectra, and
their Causation. A paper read before the American Philosophical Society, April
21, 1876.
Index to the Atlantic Monthly. Volumes I-XXXVIII (1857-1876). Bos-
ton: H. O. Houghton & Co. New York: Hurd & Houghton. Cambridge:
The Riverside Press. 1877.
I. — Index of Articles : (a) General Articles; (b) Editorial Departments. II. —
Index of Authors.
Index to the North American Review. Volumes I-CXXV (1815-1877).
I. — Index of Subjects. II. — Index of Writers. By William Cushing, A. B.
(late assistant in Harvard College Public Library). Cambridge : Press of John
Wilson & Son. 1878.
Bulletin No. 39 and Bulletin No. 40. October, 1876, and January, 1877.
pp. 115 to 184. Boston Public Library.
Containing, among its bibliographical notes, a special list of reference works on
the History of Mental Philosophy. I. — -General Histories of Philosophy. II. —
Ancient Philosophy Generally, and Oriental Philosophy. III. — Greek and
Roman Philosophy. [To be continued.^
THE JOURNAL
OF
SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Vol. XIII.] October, 1879. [No. 4.
TIME AND SPACE CONSIDERED AS NEGATIONS.
BY PAY TON SPENCE.
"Two hypotheses are current respecting them (Space and
Time) : the one, that they are objective ; the other, that they
are subjective. To say that Time and Space exist objectively
is to say that they are entities. The assertion that the}' are
nonentities is self-destructive. By implication, to
call them nothings involves the absurdity that there are two
kinds of nothings. * We cannot think of them as
disappearing even if every thing else disappeared.
Extension and Space are convertible te/ms ; by extension, as
we ascribe it to surrounding objects, Ave mean occupancy of
Space ; and thus, to say that Space is extended, is to say that
Space occupies Space. * * (We find ourselves) totally
unable to imagine bounds beyond which there is no Space.
* We are under like impotencies in respect to Time.
* Shall we, then, take refuse in the Kantian doctrine
(that Time and Space are subjective)? * The direct
testimony of consciousness is that Time and Space are not
within, but without the mind. * They cannot be con-
ceived to become non-existent, even were the mind to become
non-existent. * * It results, therefore, that Time and
XIII— 22
338 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Space are wholly incomprehensible. * The abstract
of all sequences is Time. The abstract of all coexistences is
Space." 1
The above embarrassments are the traditions of metaphys-
ics. They almost persuade us that we know nothing about
Time or Space. Yet we handle the words as freely and as
familiarly as we do the words, man, tree, house, or any of the
commonest words of our language ; the most uneducated per-
sons using them apparently as judiciously as the most highly
educated — every body, in fact, seeming to know all about
them, except the metaphysicians. We think that the meta-
physicians have mystified the subjects by endeavoring either
to put into them what does not belong to them, or else to take
from them that which is their real constituent.
It happens in this case, as it has happened so often before in
the discussion of unsolved questions, that much of the con-
fusion which seems inseparable from the subjects, Time and
Space, is caused by the want of an accurate nomenclature. It
is true, there are words enough in use to express all that can
be said about those subjects ; but they are used with unsettled,
fluctuating meanings, and interchangeably with each other, so
as to be, in many respects, a hindrance rather than an aid in
the attempted solutions of the real or imaginary difficulties of
the subjects. This will more plainly appear from the manner
in which the nomenclature pertaining to the discussion of Time
and Space is handled in the following quotations from several
distinguished modern authors: "Extension and Space are
convertible terms" (Spencer); "Extension is only another
name for Space" (Hamilton); "Time or succession is the
simpler fact' (Bain); "Movement in vacuo is unable to
indicate the vital difference between succession and coexist-
ence — Time and Space' (Bain); "Our consciousness of
Space is a consciousness of coexistent positions' (Spencer).
Of course, there can be neither an elaboration nor an expres-
sion of precise thought upon any subject without precise and
well-defined words.
1 Spencer's First Principles.
Time and Space Considered as Negations. 339
With the above preliminary considerations, we proceed to
the elucidation of our subject.
A Negation is the absence of any subjective or objective
reality. An Affirmation is, of course, the subjective or objective
reality itself. Thus, darkness, silence, rest, etc., are Negations
of light, sound, and motion, respectively ; and, on the other
hand, light, sound, motion, are the Affirmations or the realities
themselves. It is evident that a Negation must bring into
consciousness simply the absence of its corresponding affirma-
tion, and nothing more. Of ordinary correlatives, such as
whole and part, father and son, etc., each one of the terms
brings into consciousness something more than the absence of
the other ; therefore neither of them is a Negation, but both
3 ^
are Affirmations. It is but repeating the same thing, in a little
different form, when we say that a Negation must not bring
into consciousness any other absence but that of its corre-
sponding Affirmation. Thus, while nothing is a Negation —
meaning the absence of all things or of every thing — yet the
Negations darkness, silence, rest, etc., are not nothings. To
make darkness a nothing, would be to make it call up into
consciousness the absence of everv thing, whereas it should
call up into consciousness the absence of light only ; and so of
silence, rest, etc. Therefore, to regard all Negations as
nothings is to confound totally different elements of thought,
by making a consciousness of the absence of any one thing the
same as the consciousness of the absence of any other thing,
because it makes the consciousness of the absence of each thing
the same as the consciousness of the absence of all things.
Hence the error into which Spencer seems to have fallen in
indirectly stating that Negations, being mere nonentities, may
be used interchangeably. His language is as follows : " If, in
such cases, the negative contradictory were, as, alleged,
' nothing else ' than the negation of the other, and there-
fore a mere nonentity, then it would clearly follow that
negative contradictions could be used interchangeably : the
Unlimited might be thought of as antithetical to the Divisible ;
or? 3
and the Indivisible as antithetical to the Limited." 1 If Nega-
Speneer's First Principles, p. 90.
340 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
tions were nothings, one could be substituted for another
in the processes of thought ; but Ave have seen that such is
not the case ; and, therefore, neither darkness, silence, rest,
nor any of the true Negations can be used interchangeably.
A Negation, as an element of thought, has a merely relative
value or significance, which can be estimated or determined by
reference to its Affirmation, and to that alone.
If, in imagination, we blot out of existence the two cosmical
constituents, matter and mind, we have, of course, their absence
or their negation. But what are the mental residua which we
find in consciousness, when both matter and mind are supposed
to be annihilated. We ordinarily call them Time and Space.
We cannot possibly conceive of any thing except Space and
Time remaining in consciousness when we suppose matter and
mind to be annihilated, or, in other words, when we suppose
matter and mind to be absent from consciousness ; nor, on the
supposition of the annihilation of matter and mind, or of their
absence from consciousness, can we then, by any possibility,
banish Space and Time from consciousness, because they are
Negations, and, like all true Negations, can only be displaced
in consciousness by the presence there of their Affirmations.
This displacement, however, cannot be brought about ; because
matter and mind are supposed to be annihilated, and thus irre-
vocably banished from consciousness. There is nothing unique
and mysterious, as is often erroneously supposed, in this per-
sistence of Space and Time in consciousness and this inability
to annihilate them in thought, even if we suppose every thing
else to be annihilated. Darkness persists in the same way, if
we suppose light to be annihilated ; and we cannot then banish
it from consciousness even by a supposed annihilation of every
thing else ; and the same is true of every proper Negation.
A Negation can be displaced, in reality or in thought, only by
the presence of its Affirmation ; and, in this respect, Space
and Time are true Negations.
Our discussion of Space and Time, considered as Negations,
would be incomplete, however, without a separate considera-
tion of Space as the Negation of matter, and of Time as the
Negation of mind.
We can have no other consciousness of Space but that of
Time and /Space Considered as Negations. 341
the absence of matter ; and we can have no other residuum in
consciousness but that of Space when matter is absent. If we
watch the movements of our own mind, when we endeavor to
call up the idea of Space, we find that the effort consists simply
in banishing or absenting matter from our thoughts ; for while
matter is present, Space cannot be ; and, on the other hand, if
matter be negated or banished from our thoughts, Space be-
comes the inevitable resultant of that very absence of matter —
a resultant which irresistibly persists in consciousness as long as
(and because of) the continued absence of matter. Space,
however, is often regarded as the " continent" of matter — a
blank reservoir that can be filled with matter ; and, therefore,
it is believed that both can exist at the same time, in the same
place. A little observation and reflection will make it clear
that such a coexistence is as impossible in reality, or even in
thought, as the coexistence of light and darkness. If we look
at any material object — a book, for instance — Ave cannot
imagine that there is any Space where the book is. Sound
does not fill silence, nor does light fill darkness ; the one simply
displaces the other ; and in the same sense, and for the same
reason, matter does not fill Space, but only displaces it.
A Negation cannot be negated. A Negation being the ab-
sence in consciousness of some reality, a further continuance
of the negating effort or process only intensifies the present
Negation, by making us more distinctly aware of its presence
in consciousness. In this respect Space is a Negation, as we
have already seen. It persists in consciousness, in spite of all
our efforts simply to negate it or banish it from thought ; we
can only be got rid of it by calling up into consciousness its
Affirmation, matter. Though it will be anticipating what
belongs to a subsequent part of this discussion, we may as
well call attention to the fact that Time, as we have already
seen, cannot be negated, and in this respect resemble, the true
Negations.
Darkness begins where light ends, and ends where light
begins ; and the same is true of silence and sound, motion and
rest, and of all undisputed Affirmations and Negations. They
mutuallv limit each other. A similar relation exists between
342 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
Space and matter. Hence Space is extended as well as matter ;
the extension of Space being denned by its material boundaries,
and the extension of matter by its Space boundaries. Exten-
sion, being thus predicable of Space as well as of matter, is not
properly an attribute of either matter or Space, but is, strictly
speaking, a phenomenon of the relation the one to the other.
Therefore, matter in the absolute (matter unrelated, and hence
unrelated to Space) could have no extension ; and Space in the
absolute (Space unrelated to matter) could have no extension.
This enables us to understand the nature of the confusion into
which Spencer, Bain, Hamilton, and others seem to have fallen
in saying that "extension and space are convertible terms.'''
Space being the Negation of matter, and extension being the
limitation of matter by Space, or of Space by matter, they
have confounded an element of thought with its relations.
Having seen that the imaginary annihilation of both matter
and mind leaves the Negations, Space and Time, as the only
possible residua in consciousness ; and having, moreover, seen
that one of those residua, Space, is the Negation of matter, it
follows that the other residuum, Time, must be the Negation
of mind. In confirmation of this inevitable inference, we,
present the following considerations.
As we said in the beginning of this discussion, the nomen-
clature of this branch of our subject, like that of Space, is
unsettled ; so that it frequently happens, when the word time
is used, even in attempted analysis of the subject, nothing
more is meant than duration, or, perhaps, succession. Thus,
the words time, duration, and succession being often used
as synonymous, if either is ever used in its proper, restricted
sense, we can onlv learn the fact from the context. The
point to which we n*)w wish to call attention is, that the word
Time is sometimes used to represent the Negation of mind :
and we think it should always be used in that sense. When
the word Time is used without qualification, meaning time
without relations, or when the expressions, " Time in the ab-
solute," and the " duration of Time," are used, what meaning
does the word carrv? Time in the absolute means Time unre-
lated. But the only thing to which Time can be related is
Time and Space Considered as Negations. 343
that something which can limit or define its duration ; and as
mind is the only thing which can limit or define the duration
of Time, therefore mind is the only thing to which Time can
be related. Hence, Time in the absolute means Time unre-
lated to mind — Time in the absence of mind, and because of
that absence — Time as the Negation of mind. While in the
expression, "Time in the absolute," the word means Time
unrelated ; on the other hand, in the expression, " the dura-
tion of Time," the word means Time related. The duration
of Time does not mean the duration of duration ; but it is a
legitimate form of expression, like the phrase, " the extension
of Space," and grows out of the relations between Time and
mind ; that relation, like the relation between matter and
Space, being one of mutual limitation — Time beginning when
mind ceases, and ceasing when mind begins. Without such
limitation, Time would be absolute. Any attempted analysis
of the subject, therefore, that confounds the duration of mind,
which is a conscious duration, with the duration of Time,
which is an unconscious duration, confounds things that are
as wide apart as consciousness and unconsciousness — mind
and not-mind.
We have already defined Space to be the Negation of mat-
ter, and extension to be the limitation of matter by Space, or
of Space by matter. We now present the corresponding defi-
nitions of Time as the Negation of mind ; and of duration as
the limitation of mind by Time, or of Time by mind. As to
the terms coexistence and succession, it is evident that they
both convey the idea of a break in the continuity of extension
on the one hand, and of duration on the other. Coexistence,
then, may be defined to be an alternation of extended matter
with extended Space; and succession, an alternation of the
duration of mind with the duration of Time.
A few general remarks will bring this article to a* close.
A Negation and its Affirmation mutually explain and interpret
each other ; nor can they be explained or interpreted by any
thing else. He who has been blind from birth has not the
faintest conception of that darkness in which he forever
dwells ; and if, from birth, he had been immersed in perpetual
light, it would have been just as meaningless and just as unin-
344 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
telligible to him as his present state of unrevealed darkness.
If we imagine a person to have been immersed forever in
light, and then imagine it to be for the first time withdrawn*
we can realize that now, but never before, he knows what
light really is ; and that neither science nor philosophy could
by any possibility have brought light to his consciousness, and
made it a definite element of thought, as is instantly done by
the simple presence of its Negation, darkness. The most
complete explanation and interpretation that can be made of
an Affirmation is to say that it is the Affirmation of its Nega-
tion ; and the most complete explanation and interpretation
that can be made of a Negation, is to say that it is the Nega-
tion of its Affirmation. Negations and Affirmations are,
therefore, coequal and coextensive elements of thought, run-
ning parallel with each other ; and no one of either series can
become an element of thought until it is revealed to con-
sciousness by its opposite.
Do matter and Space, mind and Time, mutually explain
and interpret each other in the same way that the undisputed
Affirmations and Negations do? If we ask ourselves, what is
matter? and endeavor to answer the question without the
introduction of Space into consciousness, we may seem to
succeed because familiarity with the subject renders our
mental operations so rapid and so automatic that we either
lose sight of, or are in no wise conscious of, the Space element
in the process. But if we imagine a person to know absolutely
nothing, and if we further imagine that the only impression
which has ever been made, and is still being made, upon his
consciousness, without break or interruption, is that of the
resistance of matter, how can he know what matter is by that
resistance, since it is impossible for him to understand the
resistance itself? But remove that resistance, and now he
understands it by contrast with its absence — its Negation.
And so we might go through with all the so-called attributes of
matter, and show that Ave cannot know any one of them
except by contrast with its absence — its Negation. This is
tantamount to saying that we can only know matter by Space,
as the absence of all the attributes of matter leaves Space as
a residuum in consciousness.
Time and Space Considered as Negations. 345
In the same way, mind can be revealed only through its
Negation, Time. Consciousness is the constituent of the mind.
To realize consciousness, or mind, our states of consciousness
must be obliterated; and then, as we return from the uncon-
scious to the conscious state, we realize them both by their
contrast; but the obliteration of conscious duration, the dura-
tion of mind, leaves unconscious duration, or the duration of
Time ; or, in brief, the obliteration of mind leaves Time ; and
mind, rising out of Time, has both itself and its Negation
revealed by their contrast.
In conclusion, it appears that the principles of Affirmation
and Negation are coextensive with consciousness, and are the
essential elements of all mental phenomena. All the phe-
nomena of mind, from the simplest sensation up to the most
complex intellectual operation, are but states of consciousness,
simple or complex. Now, we have already seen that the sim-
plest state of consciousness, if perpetual, would be no better
than a state of perpetual unconsciousness. The latter would
be tantamount to annihilation ; the former would be the same.
Hence the simplest form of consciousness, or mental life, must
consist in an alternation of a state of consciousness with a state
of unconsciousness — a regular rhythmical revelation of the
Affirmation, consciousness, by its Negation, unconsciousness,
and vice versa. We might call it a pulsation, or an undulation of
the constituent of the mind, provided such an expression did
not fasten upon us a premature theory as to the nature of that
constituent. Perhaps it would be safer, for the present, to call
it a pulsation, or an undulation of the brain, or a vibration of
the molecules of the brain, paralleled in consciousness. This
pulsation or vibration is, of course, very rapid ; otherwise, we
would not have to infer its existence, but would know it by per-
ceiving the alternations of one state with another. We may
make it to some extent perceptible, however, by interfering with
the regularity of its rhythm, as by making a determined, per-
sistent effort to retain any state of consciousness for a length
of time. Thus, if we fix the eye upon any object, and try to
keep up a steady, unbroken consciousness of it, we will find
that, in spite of our most determined efforts, the mind will
34<i The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
alternately flash oft* and on the object, and we catch ourselves
losing our consciousness of it, and then returning to it. If
the experiment be persevered in, it ultimates in a certain
bewilderment and confusion of mind, as well as of vision ; and,
during brief intervals, not only does the object cease to be
visible, but the mind seems to go out. The simplest state of
of consciousness, therefore, of which we are susceptible has
its dual elements — its Affirmation and its Negation ; and as
all other states of consciousness, even the highest and most
complex, are aggregates of such simple states ; and as the
complex must retain the dual character of the simple, and,
like the simple, must have its affirmative and negative ele-
ments, therefore Affirmation and Negation are the dual foun-
dations of mental life, and the essential elements of all
thought, feeling, emotion, and volition.
COTTAGE HYMNS.
BY WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNTNG.
I. OUR COTTAGE.
My cottage dear, my cottage home,
Around thee spread the greensward fields ;
Then let my happy fancy roam,
Such inward peace thy presence yields.
I cannot pine for learning's store ;
Nor wealth, nor might, nor fame ask I.
My palace is the opening door,
Where softest falls the bending sky.
Afar, I feel thy gray roof shine.
When hastening from the woods at eve;
A beam that draws time's firmest line
For my "sweet home" ne'er will deceive.
Then give to men more roofs like this,
Blest genius of domestic grace,
And may their hours dance on in bliss,
Like thoughtless youth, a buoyant race.
Cottage Hymns. 347
II. THE BELOVED.
In thy loving eyes 1 see
The rich landscape of the South :
And sweet Mercy's breath to me,
Murmurs from thy rosy mouth.
And thy steps light graces give,
Joys that tread upon the sky ;
Softened virtues in thee live,
Such as in the angels lie.
m. OUR POVERTY.
Of our small store love we to give,
And share our want with those that need.
For who can grateful feel and live,
Unless his pains enrich his deed.
Gold may not purchase laughing health.
Nor joyful talk, nor passions calm :
And from our home I reap more wealth
Than in the alchemist's great charm.
Our simple tastes adorn the time,
And thankfulness feeds more than splendor;
A cheerful mind, a healthy prime,
Can more than short-lived falsehood render.
Our torches' flame the watchful stars,
Our carpets nodding reeds prepare,
Our banners — not the spoil of wars,
But green trees whispering to the air.
IV. FOREST HYMN.
Heavily, heavily falling,
Rushes to earth the tree,
Afar the echoes are calling
Thro' the forest to me, —
"When labor is o'er and daylight's done.
We shall be going at set of sun."
We have parted the strand that Time
Wove in his loom of air,
Interrupted the prime,
And severed the oaken hair,
Yet its ashes enrich the land again.
Time will deal so with vou — careless men!
348 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
You, also, heavily falling
Down to your bed of clay,
While the tearful clods are calling
To them in the house of day, —
"As in the woodland crasheth the tree,
So the tall trunks of humanity!"
V. CHILDKEN'S DANCE.
Dance around the red wood-lire,
Faster, as it rises higher ;
Dance and sing, a merry ring,
While your life flies on the wing.
In your frantic merriment,
Ye have taken to my tent,
And the care-encircled brow,
Smooths to feel your sunshine now.
As a warm wind feeds the flowers
In the fresh-robed Spring's green hours,
As the willows on the stream
Dancing in their verdant dream,
So, small revellers, caress
Me, with your light-heartedness.
In our cheerful cottage-hall,
Glorious is your festival.
YI. HYMN OF THE HEARTH.
This good I ask, — a humble mind
That prizes God's perpetual care,
A gratitude His mercies find
Unsleeping, bent in reverent prayer.
For me, the heaped wood blissful sings
Soft fancies to the frosty wind,
And briskly raised, the keen axe rings,
Tho' forests dark are left behind.
The flickering shadows dance and play
Upon the dim, the twilight wall,
And much romance endears the day
That ventures in our cottage-hall.
The tale so light it charms the time,
Some memory of a friend's kind deed,
The summer of a warmer clime
Within our glowing coals we read.
Cottage Hymns. 349
VII. ABSENCE.
My toiling feet o'erpass the rough hill's crest,
Surging its mighty billows far and near,
Yet onward must I, nor conceive my rest,
Till I have clomb that purple atmosphere
So faintly pictured on the horizon far,
Where day is sealed by eve's first crystal star.
Then, in a stranger's home I rest the night.
Nor list upon the sweet lips thy soft voice,
Repeat in eloquent numbers the delight
Which makes the thankful heart with love rejoice.
I see the wood-fire blaze, — O not for me ;
I hear their joyful talk, — ' tis no society!
VIII. THE SUNSET.
To mark the Day sink calmly down,
While burning hills to shadows lade,
How deep are Nature's sympathies,
How soon her mute demands obeyed !
She braids the softening twilight's trees,
The gentle shade dissolves the light,
Her noiseless wheels all faintly roll,
Unheard the dewy dance of Night.
And view his western palace flame,
Where dwells the Prince of fruit and flower ;
Our lowly aspects bound the pride,
The glories of his dying hour.
Who boasts his richer heritage?
Our cottage windows brave the west.
Who feasts his eyes on robes more rare
We see day's Monarch drape for rest!
9
IX. STORM IN SHELTER.
Hear the wild, rushing blast!
And the sky is o'ercast
While the rain washes o'er
The brown fields of the fall,
And the bare trees whose pall
Frost is weaving once nore !
Wail louder gray breeze
Thro' the murmuring trees,
350 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Thou seem'st music for me,
So sweet is my pleasure
At hearing thy measure
In the dear cottage lee.
On the green ocean-tide
"Where the mariners bide,
There is death in thy rage.
At home thou art lending
Repose, and art sending
Calm thoughts o'er my page.
X. EVENING LIGHTS.
From the lone night you take
Part of the solitude away,
And gleam above the brake
With sheltering, hospitable ray.
Pale evening lights! man's soul,
Thus in his solitary hour.
Gleams forth and points the scroll
Of an else darkened fate, with power.
I see your rays divide
The ploughman's shelter, — near, his wife,
Weaving, with ruthless pride,
Fit emblems of the stoic life.
And all around is still !
Save the low phantom of day's sound;
You kindly mark the vanished hill,
You scatter ruby hopes around.
XL HOPE FOPv SONG.
Come to me, once again, sweet power,
Pour from my mind the stream of song,
And dress life's transitory hour
In during fabrics rich and strong.
As thro ' the trees some roaming gale
With fitful murmurs bends the soul,
As onward drives the snow-white sail,
Yet in the mariner's control,
Thus, spirit that in waking dreams
Fills with its harmony the day,
Arise and light with kindling beams
The hopeful music of my lay.
Hegel on Romantic Art. 351
XII. THE DREAM.
I dreamed the summer wind blew cold ;
I dreamed that youth and age were vain, —
That I was young, who now am old,
When spring nor hope will bloom again.
In nature's secret some are blest;
From time's strange lesson should I learn,
If old myself, there's youth imprest
On fresher hearts, to pulse and burn.
A few, short years and I shall be
Where all I loved has sunk to sleep, —
In Nature's arms, fit company
For careless Ages, buried deep.
If those we trust desert their trust,
If those we love despise and wound,
To-morrow we are formless dust,
Swept like the dry leaves off the ground.
HEGEL ON ROMANTIC ART.
[translated from the second part of the ^esthetik.]
BY WM. M. BRYANT.
III. Destruction of the Romantic Form of Art.
The final point which still remains to be established is : That
as the Romantic has already proven to be essentially the prin-
ciple of the dissolution of the Classic Ideal, so now it permits
this dissolution to stand forth in fact clearly as dissolution.
The first thing which here presents itself for consideration
is the complete accidentality and externality of the material
which the artistic activity seizes, and to which it gives form.
In the plastic character of Classic Art the subjective inner
nature so permeates the external that the latter is the exclusive
form of the internal, and cannot be separated from it as an
independent term. In the Romantic, on the contrary, where
internality withdraws itself into itself, the entire content of the
352 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
external world attains to the freedom of proceeding indepen-
dently, and of maintaining itself in its own peculiarity and par-
ticularity. On the contrary, when the subjective internality of
the soul becomes the essential element for the representation,
it is of like accidentally in what particular content of external
actuality and of the spiritual world the soul dwells. The
Romantic inner principle is able, therefore, to present itself
under all conditions whatever, and to adapt itself to thousands
upon thousands of conditions, circumstances, relations, errors
and perplexities, conflicts and reparations ; for it is only its
subjective formation in itself, the manifestation and mode-of-
assimilation (Aufnahmsweise) of the soul, not an objective
and independently significant content, which comes to be sought
and should be valued. In the representations of Romantic
Art, however, everything has its place — all spheres of life and
phenomena, the greatest and the least, the highest and the
most restricted, the moral, the immoral and base ; and the
more art becomes secularized, so much the more does it take
up its abode in the Unite things of the world, conceive a pre-
ference therefor, procure for them complete validity : and the
artist is fortunate in them when he represents them as they
are. Thus, for example, in Shakespeare: while with him the
acts, in general, flow on in the closest connection, there also
appears throughout a certain phase pertaining to the accidental
which is thrown in here and there. All objects, indeed, have
their value, from the highest regions and weightiest interests
to the most insignificant and non-essential — as, in Hamlet, the
night-watch near the king's castle; in Romeo and Juliet, the
domestics ; and elsewhere, not to mention buffoons, clowns,
and every species of commonplace of daily life ; *
just as in the religions circle of Romantic Art, with the birth
of Christ and the adoration of the kings, ox and ass, crib and
straw must not be omitted. And thus it proceeds throughout,
so that even in art the word is fulfilled : That which is aliased
shall be exalted.
Within this accidentally of the objects (which partly, in-
deed, take their place in representations as a mere wrappage
for an essentially more important content, but also, in part,
Hegel on Romantic Art. 353
independently) the ruin of Romantic Art, of which we have
already made mention, is fully brought to light. On the one
side, namely, real actuality, presents itself in its prosaic ob-
jectivity, considered from the standpoint of the Ideal. It is
the content of ordinary daily life, which is not seized in its
substance (in which there is something moral and divine), but
which is seized in its changeableness and finite transitoriness.
On the other side it is subjectivity, which, with its feeling and
thought, with the right and the might of its native talent,
knows how to raise itself to the mastery of all actuality, which
it does not permit to remain in its accustomed relations, and at
the value which it possesses for the ordinary consciousness.
It is, besides, contented only in so far as all that enters into
this realm proves itself, through the form and position given
it by subjective opinion, caprice, or originality, to be, in itself,
destructible, and, for the perception and sentiment, destroyed.
In the first place, therefore, we have in this respect to speak
of the principle of those numerous works of art in which the
mode of representing the ordinary present ( Gegenioart) and
external reality approaches to what we are accustomed to
describe as " imitation of nature."
Secondly, we must consider subjective humor, which in
modern art plays an important role, and, with many poets
especially, presents the fundamental characteristic of their
work.
Thirdly, there remains for us, in conclusion, only to indicate
the standpoint from which art is still at the present day in a
position to be exercised.
1. Of the /Subjective Artistic Imitation of the Immediately
Present. — The circle of objects which may be comprised within
this sphere extends itself without limit, for art does not
here take for its content the essentially necessary, whose circle
is closed in upon itself, but rather it takes accidental reality in
its unrestricted modification of forms and relations — nature
and its widely varied play of individual images, the daily
actions and pursuits of men in their natural necessities and
their comfortable satisfaction, in their accidental customs, con-
ditions, activities of family life, of civic occupations, and,
XIII — 23
354 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
generally, the incalculably changeable in external objectivity.
Thus art becomes not merely (as the Romantic is throughout
in 0-ieater or less degree) portraiture ; but it permits itself to
enter completely into the execution (Darstellung) of portraits,
whether in sculpture, in painting, or in the representations of
poetry, and returns to the imitation of nature ; in fact, to the
deliberate approximation to the accidentally of immediate
existence which, taken in itself, is ugly and prosaic.
The question presents itself, therefore, whether such pro-
ductions generally are still to be styled works of art. If by
this we have present to our minds the conception of works of
art in the sense of the ideal, strictly speaking, and with which
there is to do, on the one hand, with a content which is not
essentially accidental and transitory ; on the other, with the
mode of representation absolutely corresponding to such con-
tent, then the products of the present phase must, in respect
of such work, unquestionably fall short. But art has still
another element, which is here of especial importance ; it is
the subjective mode of conceiving and executing the work of
art — the side of individual talent which knows how to cause
that the truly substantial life of nature, as well as the forms of
the spirit, even in the . uttermost extremes of accidentally to
which these extend, shall remain constant ; and which also
knows how, through this knowledge, as well as through the most
admirable skill in the representation, to render that significant
which, for itself, is destitute of significance. Along with this
there comes, besides, the subjective vivacity (Lebendigkeit)
with which the artist, with his spirit and sensibility ( Gemiith),
devotes himself to the existence of such objects conformably
to their entire internal and external form and manifestation,
and presents such existence in this animation for the imagina-
tion. In this respect we cannot refuse to productions of this
class the title of works of art.
To enter more into detail, it is chiefly poetry and painting
which, among the special arts, have turned toward such objects.
For, on the one hand, it is the essentially particular which here
provides the content ; and, on the other hand, it is the acci-
dental (though, in its circle, genuine), peculiarity of the external
Hegel on Romantic Art. 355
world which must here serve as the form of the representation.
Neither architecture, nor sculpture, nor music is capable of
meeting such a requirement.
a. In poetry it is the usual domestic life, which has for its sub-
stance the probity, practical wisdom, and morality of the day,
that is represented, in ordinary civic transactions ( Verwicke-
lungen), in scenes and characters from the middle and lower
classes. Among the French, Diderot in particular has, in this
sense, striven after naturalness and the imitation of what is
immediately present. With us Germans it was Goethe and
Schiller who, in their youth, though in a higher sense, entered
upon a similar path, but who sought within this vital natural-
ness and particularity after a deeper content, and after con-
flicts essentially richer in interest. Then came Kotzebue
and Ifflanxl. The one sought to portray the daily life of the
time through his superficial rapidity of conception and pro-
duction ; the other, through his serious exactness and com-
monplace morality, in the prosaic, more restricted relations,
and with little of the sense of true poetry. But, in general,
our art has, though only in the latest times, taken up this
tone by preference, and has attained to a masterly perform-
ance therein. For a long time art was to us, more or less,
something foreign, borrowed, — not an original production.
But in this turning to present actuality there lies this neces-
sity : that the material for art shall be immanent, native
(heimisch), — the national life of the poet and of the public.
Upon this point of the appropriateness of art, which with us
must be native absolutely, in respect both of the content and of
the representation, even though it be at the sacrifice of beauty
and ideality, the tendency which led to such representations
is now fairly established. Other peoples have rather disdained
such spheres, or are coming even now, for the firjst time, to
have a genuine interest for such material, taken from daily
and commonplace existence.
b. If, however, we would have present to our minds that
which is the most worthy of admiration of all that can be
accomplished in this respect, we must turn our attention to
the genre painting of Holland. I have already, in the first
356 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
part of this work, in considering the Ideal as such, pointed
out the substantial basis of this class of art, upon which basis
it arises in accordance with the universal nature of spirit.
With the Hollanders, satisfaction in the present things of life,
even in the commonest and smallest, results from this : that
what nature furnishes to other peoples immediately, these have
been able to acquire only through severe conflicts and stubborn
toil ; and, shut up within a narrow space, they have become
great in the care and preservation of the smallest things. On
the other hand, they are a people of fishermen, sailors, burghers,
peasants ; whence they have learned thoroughly how to esti-
mate the value of the necessary and useful in the greatest and
in the least things, all which thev know how to construct with
the most assiduous industry. In religion — and this consti-
tutes an important feature — the Hollanders were Protestants,
and it belongs to Protestantism alone to settle down wholly
in the prose of life, and to permit this to be valued for itself,
independent of religious interests (BezieJmngen), and to de-
velop in unrestrained freedom. To no other people, placed
in the midst of different conditions, would it occur to make
of such objects as the Dutch painters present to view, the
chief content of works of art. But in all these interests the
Hollanders have not lived in the sorrow and poverty of exist-
tence and oppression of spirit. They have themselves reformed
their Church, — have overthrown religious despotism, as well
as the Spanish temporal power and the grandezza ; and have,
through their activity, their industry, their valor, and their
economy, come to possess the feeling of a freedom which they
owe only to themselves, and have at the same time attained
to prosperity, a comfortable competency, probity, courage, a
joyous gaiety, and even to the haughtiness of a tranquil daily
existence. This is the justification of the choice of their
objects in art.
A deeper meaning, which proceeds from an essentially valid
content, cannot be satisfied with such objects. But if emo-
tion and thought are not satisfied with them, they at least
gratify the more immediate sensuous intuition ; for it is the
art of the painting and the skill of the artist by which we are
Hegel on Romantic Art. 357
to be delighted and charmed. And, in fact, if one would
know what painting is, he must examine these little pictures.
It is then that he will be able to say of this or that master :
He can paint. Hence, it is no part of the artist's task to give
us (in his production, and through a work of art) a concep-
tion of the objects which he presents to us. Of grapes, flow-
ers, stags, trees, dunes; of the sea, of the sun, of the sky;
of dress and ornament ; of the implements of daily life ; of
horses, warriors, peasants ; of smoking ; of pulling teeth ; of
domestic scenes of the most various kinds, — of all these we
have, in advance, perfectly adequate conceptions. Nature pre-
sents us the like in abundance. What is to charm us, then,
is not the content and its reality, but the semblance (/Scheinen),
which, with respect to the object, is wholly destitute of inter-
est. Similarly, the semblance is fixed for itself, as such ; and
art is a masterly power for the representation of all the secrets
of this self-wifchin-self-concentrating semblance of external
phenomena. Art consists especially in seizing, as if by
stealth, the world as it lies at hand in its particular phases,
and yet also in its vitality, which is quite in harmony with the
universal laws of appearance ; and, again, it consists in laying
hold of the instantaneous, thoroughly changeable lineaments
of the existence of this present world, and in truly and faith-
fully retaining and fixing the fleeting. A tree, a landscape,
is already for itself some thing fixed and abiding. But the
glitter of metal ; the shimmer of a well-lisrhted cluster of
grapes ; a vanishing gleam of the moon, of the sun ; a smile,
the expression, so rapidly effaced, of an effect produced in the
soul ; comic gestures, attitudes, expressions of countenance :
all that is most fugitive, most fleeting — to seize all this, and
to cause it in its fullest vitality to continue present to the
imagination, this is the difficult task of this staoe of art. If
Classic Art, in its ideal, gave form essentially only to the sub-
stantial, so here, changing nature, in its passing manifesta-
tions — a stream, a waterfall, a foaming sea-wave; still-life,
with the chance gleam of glass, plate, etc. ; the outer form of
spiritual actuality in the most incidental situations, a woman
threading a needle by a light ; a camp of bandits in accidental
358 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
bustle ; the most momentary phase of a gesture, which again
swiftly changes ; the laughter and grinning of a peasant, sub-
jects in which Ostacle, Teniers, and Steen are masters — is
here seized and made present to our view. It is a triumph
of art over transitoriness, in which even the substantial or
spiritual comes to be deceived respecting its power over the
accidental and fugitive.
Since, now, semblance as such here furnishes the essential con-
tent of the objects, art, while it gives permanence to fleeting ap-
pearance, goes still further. Indeed, apart from the objects,
the means of representation become for themselves an end ; so
that the subjective skill and handling of the means of art is
raised to the rank of an external object of the work of art.
Even the early Netherlanders studied most profoundly the
physical [qualities and effects] of color. Van Eyck, Hemling,
Schoreel, knew how to imitate the gleam of gold, of silver:
the brilliancy of precious stones, silk, velvet, fur, etc., even
to the point of deception. This masterly power of producing
the most striking effects through the magic of color, and the
o or?
secrets of its spell, now assumes an independent value. As
the spirit, by thinking and reasoning, reproduces the world
itself in imagination and thought, so now, apart from the
objects themselves, the subjective re-creation of externality in
the sensuous elements of color and light come to be the prin-
cipal facts. It is, as it were, an objective music — tones in color.
Indeed, if in music the individual tone is, when isolated, noth-
ing, but only produces effect in its relation to another — in its
oppositions, correspondences, transitions, and blendings — so
with color the same thing occurs. If we examine closely the
appearance of a color which [a little removed] gleams like
gold, or presents the lustre of lace, we see only somewhat
whitish, yellowish strokes and points — only a colored surface.
The individual colors, as such, do not possess this brilliancy
which they [unitedly] produce. It is their juxtaposition that
causes this gloss and glitter. If, for example, we take Ter-
burg's satin — each fleck of color is, for itself, a dull gray,
more or less modified by white, blue, or yellow ; but at a cer-
tain distance the beautiful, mild glow which belongs to the
Hegel on Romantic Art. 359
actual satin makes its appearance. So also with velvet, with
the play of light, with the vapor of the clouds, and, in general,
with all that comes to be represented. It is not the reflex of
the soul which will be brought out in the objects, as is, for
example, often the case in landscapes, but it is the entire sub-
jective ability, which gives proof of itself in this objective
manner as the capability of the medium itself, which, in its
vitality and creative-energy ( Wirhung) appears able to pro-
duce through itself an objectivity.
c. In this way the interest for the represented object under-
goes this change: that it now comes to be the pure (blanke)
subjectivity of the artist himself that thinks to present itself.
Here, then, the point of concern is not the formation of a
work that shall possess an independent interest on its own
account ; rather it is a production in which the subject [or
individual intelligence] creating it only presents himself to
view. In so far as this subjectivity no longer relates to the
external means of representation, but only to the content itself,
art becomes by this means the art of caprice and humor.
2. Subjective Humor. — In Humor, it is the person of the
artist which presents itself to view, in accordance with its par-
ticular as well as its deeper phases ; so that thus it deals essen-
tially with the spiritual value of this personality.
a. Since, now, humor does not appoint for itself the task of
permitting a content to unfold and take shape objectively in
accordance with its essential nature, and to artistically com-
plete and finish itself in this development within and from
itself; and since it is rather the artist himself who enters into
the material, his principal activity consists in the permitting
or causing all that would render itself objective, and win a
fixed form of actuality, or which appears to possess it in the
external world, to fall asunder and to perish ; and this he does
through the power of subjective fancy, flashes of wit, or strik-
ing forms of conception. Whence every phase of indepen-
dence of an objective content, as well as of the essentially
firm connection of the form [with the content] — such connec-
tion beino- o-iven through the fact — is annihilated; and the
representation becomes only a play with objects, a derange-
360 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
ment and perversion of the material, as well as a rambling
hither and thither, an extravaganza of subjective manifesta-
tions, views and demeanor, through which the author loses
sight both of himself and of his objects.
b. The natural illusion here is to imagine that it is very
easy to construct pleasantries and witticisms upon self and
every thing present, and hence the humorous form is frequently
grasped after ; but it also frequently happens that the humor
is spiritless when the individual permits himself to wander in
the caprice of his whimsies and jests, which run on without
connection into the indefinite, and join together the most
heterogeneous things in heedless, fantastic fashion. Some
nations are indulgent toward this sort of humor, while others
are more severe. With the French the humorous, in general,
makes little progress ; with us it succeeds better, and we are
more tolerant respecting deviations [from what is customary].
Thus, for example, Jean Paul is with us a popular humorist;
and yet, more than all others, he seeks to produce effect by
bizarre associations between objects farthest removed from
one another. He throws together, pell-mell, objects which
have no relation except in his own imagination. The tale, the
content and progress of events, is in his romances the least
interesting portion. The chief thing, always, is the strokes
and sallies of humor. Each theme is made use of only as an
occasion for the author to display his subjective wit. In this
acceptance and combination of materials collected from all
parts of the world, from all the regions of reality, humor
retrogrades to the symbolic, where significance and form like-
wise lie asunder, except that now it is the mere subjectivity
of the poet which rules over the material as well as over the
significance, and combines them in a wholly arbitrary manner.
But such a succession of capricious conceptions fatigues us
presently, especially when it is demanded of us to penetrate
with our imagination into the often scarcely decipherable com-
binations which have floated accidentally before the mind of
the poet. With Jean Paul in particular, metaphors, sallies,
witticisms, clash together and mutually destroy each other ;
it is a continual explosion, with which we are only dazed. But
Hegel on Romantic Art. 361
what is to be destroyed must first have been developed and
prepared. On the other hand, when the individual is essen-
tially destitute of the germ and content belonging to a soul
of true objectivity, humor readily falls into the sentimental,
into false sensibility, of which Jean Paul likewise furnishes us
an example.
c. To true humor, which Avill hold itself altogether aloof
from this excrescence, there belong, therefore, much depth
and wealth of spirit, in order that what has an appearance of
some thing merely subjective may be brought into prominence
as actual and full of expression, and that the substantial may be
caused to rise out of its accidentally, out of mere caprice.
The self-abandonment (Sichnachgeben) of the poet in respect
of his manifestations must, as with Sterne and Hippel, be a
naive, easy, simple throwing off [of thought], which, in its
unpretentiousness ( Unbedeutenheit ') , gives precisely the high-
est idea of depth ; and since these are particulars which spring
up without order, the inner connection must lie so much the
deeper, and cause the luminous point or focus of the spirit to
shine out in these very particulars themselves as such.
With this we have arrived at the conclusion of Romantic Art,
at the standpoint of the most recent time, whose peculiarity
we can find in this : that the subjectivity of the artist stands
above his material and his production, since it is no longer
dominated by the given conditions of an already essentially
determined circle of content as well as of form, but holds in
its own power, and subject to its own choice, both the content
and the mode of embodying the same.
3 . End of the Romantic Form of Art. — Art, as we have thus
far considered it, has for its fundamental principle the unity of
significance and form, and, thus, the unity of the subjectivity of
the artist with his wealth of conception ( Gehalt) and production
( Werk). More precisely, it was the definite mode (Art) of
this union which supplied for the content and its corresponding
representation the substantial norm pervading all images. In
this respect, at the commencement of art in the Orient, we
found spirit to be not yet free for itself. It was still in the
natural that spirit sought, an Absolute, and hence it conceived
3(52 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
the natural as in itself divine. Later, the imagination of Classic
Art represented the Greek gods as unconstrained, animated
individuals, and yet, at the same time, as essentially encum-
bered with the human form as with an affirmative element.
Finally, Romantic Art enabled the spirit, for the first time, to
penetrate into its own internality, in opposition to which the
flesh — outer reality and temporality in general — was at first
esteemed as nugatory, notwithstanding the fact that the spir-
itual and Absolute had been able to make its appearance only
in this element ; and yet at last the external and secular knew
how, more and more, to secure recognition ( Geltung) in a more
positive way.
a. These various modes of apprehending the world consti-
tute religion, the substantial spirit of peoples and epochs, and
permeate both art and all other spheres of the actual, living
present. Since, now, every man in each field of activity —
whether political, religious, artistic, or scientific — is a child of
his time, and has the task of perfecting the essential content
and the form necessarily belonging thereto, there thus remains
for art the task (Bestimmung) of finding for the spirit of a
people the appropriate artistic expression. So long as the
artist is inwoven in immediate identity and firm faith with the
characteristic of such conception of the world and with such
religion, so long this content and this representation constitute
for him matters of the most genuine seriousness ; that is, this
content remains for him the infinite and true of his own con-
sciousness — a content with which, in accordance with his inner-
most subjectivity, he lives in original unity — while the form in
which he sets forth the same is for him, as artist, the final,
necessarv, and highest mode of bringing the Absolute and the
soul of objects in general into [the range of] sensuous percep-
tion. It is through the substance (immanent in himself) of
his material that he comes to be bound to the definite mode of
exposition. For the artist then bears immediately in himself
the material, and therewith the form belonging to the same, as
the very essence of his existence, which he does not imagine,
but which he himself is'; hence he has only the labor of causing
this genuine reality to become objective, of setting it forth
Hegel on Romantic Art. 363
from himself, and of bringing it to completion [as an external
image]. Only then is the artist completely inspired for his
subject-matter and for the representation ; and his inventions
come to be in no wise a product of caprice, but spring forth in
him and from him, out of this substantial ground, out of this
source, the content of which will not rest until it has attained,
through the artist, to an individual form commensurate with
its idea. On the other hand, if we would now make a Greek
god, or, like the Protestants of to-day, the Virgin Mary, an
object of a work of sculpture, or of a painting, there is for us,
with such material, no real seriousness. It is the innermost
faith which is wanting 1 in us, even though the artist, in times of
still undiminished faith, did not need to be what is com-
monly called a pious man. And, indeed, artists have not, in
general, always been the most pious persons. The demand is
merely this : that the content shall constitute for the artist the
substantial, the innermost truth of his consciousness, and pro-
vide for him the necessity for the mode of representation. For
the artist is, in his production, at the same time a natural being ;
his skill, a natural skill ; his efforts are not the pure activity
of comprehending, which puts itself wholly in opposition to its
material, and unifies itself therewith in free thought, in pure
thinking, but, as not yet liberated from the natural side, unites
immediately with the object, believing in it, and, according to
its very self, identical with it. For, if the subjectivity lies
wholly in the object, the work of art likewise proceeds from
the undivided internality and force of genius ; the production
is firm, flexible (umwanhend) , and the full intensity is pre-
served therein. This is the fundamental condition upon which
art presents itself to us in its totality.
b. But, again, when we consider the position which we have
found it necessary to assign to art in the progress of its devel-
opment, we find that the entire relation has become com-
pletely changed. We must not, however, look upon this as
in any wise an accidental misfortune by which art has been
overtaken from without, through the unhappiness of the time,
through the prosaic sense [of the people], through lack of
interest [on their part], etc. Rather it is the result and
364 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
progress of art itself, which, while it brings to light for the
sensuous perception the material dwelling within itself, fur-
nishes [at the same time] upon this self-same way, through
each step of progress, a contribution toward freeing itself
from the represented content. Whatever, through art or
thought, is so completely present as object to our sensuous or
to our spiritual eyes that the content is exhausted — that all is
made present, and nothing remains of the dark and hidden —
can no longer possess an absolute interest for us ; for interest
finds place only in fresh activity. Spirit exerts itself upon
objects only so long as some thing secret, some thing unre-
vealed, remains in them. This is the case so lono- as the mate-
rial is identical with ourselves. If, however, art has rendered
explicit upon all sides the essential conceptions of the world
which lie within the idea of art, and [has also brought into
representation] the phases of the content belonging to these
conceptions of the world, then is it [art], once for all, dis-
solved for this particular people and this particular time, and
the genuine need of taking it up again awakes only with the
need of assuming a hostile attitude toward the hitherto solelv
valid content ; as in Greece, for example, Aristophanes placed
himself in opposition to his own time, and Lucian arose
against the whole Greek past, and in Italy and Spain, with
the close of the Middle Ai> - es, Ariosto and Cervantes beoan to
combat chivalry.
Now, in contrast with the period in which the artist, through
his nationality and his time, in accordance with his sub-
stance, stands within a definite conception of the world and
its content and forms of representation, we find an absolutely
opposite standpoint, which, in its complete development,
has first attained to importance in modern times. In our
day, with almost all peoples, the cultivation of reflection, of
criticism — and, with us Germans, freedom of thought also —
has seized likewise upon the artists, and (in respect both of
the matter and of the form of their productions, after the
necessary particular stages of the Romantic form of art have
been passed through) converted them, so to speak, into a
tabula rasa. The state of being bound to a particular con-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 3(55
tent, and to a mode of representation suitable for this mate-
rial alone, is for the artist of. to-day a thing of the past ; and
art has by this means become a free instrument, which he can
make use of equally, in proportion to his subjective ability, in
respect to each content, of whatever class it may be. Thus,
the artist stands above the definite, consecrated forms and
images, and moves freely for himself, independent of the
content and mode of conception in which, till now, the holy
and eternal was present to consciousness. No content, no
form, is anv longer identical with the internality, with the
nature, with the unconscious substantial essence of the artist.
Every material may be of like importance to him, so long as
it does not violate the formal law of being, in general, beauti-
ful and suited to an artistic treatment. At the present day
there is no material which in and for itself stands apart from
this relativity ; and if, besides, it is also sublime, there is at
least no absolute necessity that it should be brought into
representation by art. Hence the artist assumes the same
relation to his content or subject-matter, in the whole, as that
assumed by the dramatist toward his, and who brings upon
the scene others — personages foreign to himself — and ex-
pounds them. True, he now introduces his own genius,
weaves throughout from his own material ; but [the result is]
only the universal on the one hand, or, on the other, the acci-
dental. But, again, the more precise individualization is not
his own. Rather, in this respect, he has recourse to his fund
of images, types ( Gestaltungsiveisen) , earlier art forms, which,
taken for themselves, are indifferent to him, and only assume
importance when they appear to him as the most suitable to
precisely this or that material. Besides, in most of the
arts — especially in those of visible representation — the object
comes to the artist from without. He works to order, and
has now only to accept from sacred or profane history what is
there already at hand for him — scenes, portraits, church-
building, etc. For, however much the artist may inweave his
own soul into the given content, the latter, nevertheless,
always remains to him a material which is not, for itself,
immediately the substantial of his own consciousness. Nor
366 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
does it any the more avail to substantially appropriate, so to
speak, the past modes of viewing the world ; that is, to wish
to establish oneself in one of these modes of view — as, for
example, to become catholic, as has been done by many in
recent times on account of art, in order to fix their souls and
to enable the definite limitation of their representation to
become for itself self-sufficing and independently existing.
There is no necessity that the artist should first feel the need
of coming into a state of purity with reference to his own
soul, and that he should be concerned respecting his own sal-
vation. His great, free soul must, before it enters upon pro-
duction, know and possess, from the centre outward, that
whereon it exists, and be secure and confident in itself.
Especially does the great artist of the present day require the
free culture of the spirit in which all superstition, and all
faith which remains limited to definite forms of sensuous per-
ception and representation, are reduced to mere phases and
moments or elements over which the free spirit has made
itself master ; since it sees in them no essentially and inde-
pendently sanctifying conditions of its exposition and mode of
imagery, but only ascribes value to them through the higher
content which, by a sort of re-creation, it introduces into them
as commensurate with them.
In this way every form, as well as every material, is at the
service and command of the artist whose talent and genius
are now essentially freed from the earlier limitation to a defi-
nite form of art.
c. If, finally, we ask what is the content and what are the
forms which at this stage may be considered as characteristic,
the following presents itself [as the answer] : —
The universal forms of art were related, first of all, to the ab-
solute truth to which art attained, and found the origin of their
division in the definite conception of that which, to the conscious-
ness, assumed the character of the Absolute, and bore within
itself the principle of its mode-of-embodiment ( Gestaltungs-
weise). In this respect we have seen the phases of the signifi-
cance of nature (JSTaturbedeutungen) appear as content ; the
things of nature, together with human personifications as forms
Hegel on Romantic Art. 367
of representation, [have played the principal part] in the Sym-
bolic phase. In the Classic, [the content made its appearance]
as spiritual individuality, but as a present which is corporeal
and without reflection, and above which stands the abstract
necessity of fate. In the Romantic [finally the content stands
forth in its completeness] as spirituality, with its inherent sub-
jectivity or personality ; and for the internal ity hereto belong-
ing, the externa] form remains some thing accidental. In this
last form of art, just as in the earlier, the divine, in and for
itself, was the object of art. But this divine has now to
objectify, to determine itself, and thus also to enter into the
mundane (weltlicheii) content of subjectivity. In the first
place, the infinitude of personality lav in honor, love, fidelity ;
then, in the particular individuality, in the precise character
which united itself with the particular content of human exist-
ence. This increasing development into accidental existence
( das Verivachsenseyn) , together with such specific narrowness of
the content, finally caused the reappearance of humor, which
knew how to cause all definiteness to prove unstable and to dis-
solve, and thus left art free to pass beyond itself. But in this
passing of art beyond itself there is no less a return of man
into himself, a descent into his own breast, through which art
strips from itself all fixed limitation to a definite circle of con-
tent and conception, and for its new sacred [object] takes the
human — the depth and height of the human soul as such, the
universally Human in its joys and sorrows, its struggles, its
deeds, and its destinies. Here the artist contains his subject-
matter (InhaH) within himself. He is the actual self-deter-
mining human spirit, who contemplates the infinitude of his
feelings and situations, who originates [conceptions] and gives
expression [thereto], and to whom nothing is any longer for-
eign Avhich can become vital in the human breast. It is this
sort of content which does not, in and for itself, remain artis-
tically determined. On the contrary, the definiteness of the
content and of its external fashioning is replaced by arbitrary
invention. Still, no interest is excluded, since art is no longer
accustomed to represent that only which is absolutely in har-
mony with a definite phase ; but every thing in which man in
368 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
general finds something familiar to himself possesses fitness
[for artistic uses].
Now, in this breadth and manifoldness of material there is,
above all, to be established this demand: that, with respect
the mode of treatment, the contemporaneity ( Gegemvartigkeil)
of the spirit with the present day shall likewise everywhere
give evidence of itself. The modern artist can undoubtedly
make himself the contemporary of the ancients, even of the most
remote antiquity. It is a fine thing to be one of the Homer-
ides, even though it be the last. So, too, those images which
reflect the change undergone by Romantic Art in the Middle
Ages have their usefulness. But quite another thing is this
universal indifference, depth, and peculiarity of a material ;
still another, its mode of treatment. In our epoch, no Homer
or Sophocles, no Dante or Ariosto, or Shakespeare, can arise.
What has been so grandly sung, what has been so perfectly
expressed, is expressed once for all. This material and these
modes of contemplating and comprehending them are exhausted.
Only the present is vital ; the rest is pale and cold. We must,
indeed, utter against the French a reproach with respect to
the historical, and a criticism with reference to beauty, in that
they have represented Greek and Roman heroes, and even
Chinese and Peruvian characters, as French princes and prin-
cesses, and have given them the motives and views of the time
of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. Still, if onlv these motives
and conceptions had been in themselves more profound and
more beautiful, this anachronism in art would not even be
reprehensible. On the contrary, all material, of whatever
nation or time it may be, preserves its truth for art (Kunst-
ivahrheit) only as this vital actuality — in which it fills the
heart of man, its own reflex — and brings truth to our sensi-
bility and imagination. It is the manifestation and exertions
of the human as imperishable, in its many-sided significance
and infinitely rounded culture, that, in this realm of human
situations and experiences, must now constitute the absolute
content of our art.
If, now, after this general definition (Feststellung) of the
peculiar content of this stage, we turn our attention again to
HegeJ on Romantic Art. 369
that which we came finally to consider as the forms belonging
to the dissolution of Romantic Art, [we will see] that we
have especially emphasized the disruption of art, [which has
fallen assunder into] the imitation of the externally objective
in the accidentally of its form on the one side ; and, on the
other, into humor, the free-development ( Freiiverden) of sub-
jectivity in accordance with its inner accidentally. In con-
clusion, we may still, within the previously mentioned material,
suggest a summary view (Zusammenfassen) of the other
extreme of Romantic Art. Thus, as with the progress from
Symbolic Art to Classic Art we considered the image, the
comparison, and the epigram as transition-forms, so here,
in Romantic Art, we have to make mention of a similar form.
In the previous modes of conception, the chief thing was the
falling asunder of the inner significance and the external
form — a separation which was partially cancelled through the
subjective activity of the artist — and, in the epigram espe-
ciallv, was transformed, in the utmost degree possible, into iden-
tification. Romantic Art, again, has, from the centre outward,
constituted the deeper dualizing of the internality, [whose nature
it is to find] its own satisfaction within itself; and which, since
the objective did not, in general, completely correspond to the
independently-existing spirit, continued to be in a divided
state, or was indifferent respecting the objective. This contra-
diction has, in the course of Romantic Art, developed in con-
sequence of this fact : that in accidental externality or in
equally accidental subjectivity, we must concern ourselves
with exclusive interests. But when this satisfaction in exter-
nality as well as in subjective representation rises, in accord-
ance with the principle of the Romantic, to the point of
absorbing the soul in the object ; and when, on the other hand,
it also arrives at humor in the object, and its embodiment
( Gestaltung) within its subjective reflex, then we have, by this
means, preserved a union in the object, [which constitutes]
at the same time an objective humor. Such union, however,
can be only partial, and can appear only, as it were, in the
compass of a song, or only as part of a greater whole. For,
to extend itself and complete itself within external reality,
XIII — 24
370 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
would be to involve itself in deeds and events, and in anob-
jective representation. On the contrary, what we have here to
consider is rather a self-activity (Sich-ergehen) of the soul in
the object — an activity rich in sentiment, and which, it is true,
attains to development, but which also remains a subjective
spiritual movement of the fantasy and of the heart. It is a
caprice, and yet not merely some thing accidental and whimsi-
cal, but an inner movement of the soul, which devotes itself
wholly to its object, and preserves it for interest and as con-
tent.
In this respect we may contrast such final art-blossomings
with the ancient Greek epigram, in which this form made
its appearance in its earliest and simplest guise. The form
here intended manifests itself first, not when the account (Be-
sprechen) of the object is a mere name, an inscription which
only tells in general what the object is, but when there is
exhibited a deeper sentiment, a more striking thought, a sig-
nificant reflection, and richly spiritual movement of the fantasy
which verities and expands the smallest thing through the poe-
try of the conception. Such poems, indeed, relating to various
objects — to a tree, a mill-stream, the spring-time, etc., to the
living or the dead — can be of infinite variety, and may arise
among any people. Still, they remain always of a subordinate
class, and are very liable to degenerate into insipidity. For,
especially with a more cultivated reflection and language, some
thing may occur to each, with respect to most objects and
relations, which (since every one knows how to write a letter)
he also has the ability to express. With such universal, oft-
repeated sing-song, even though it may present new phases,
one soon becomes weary. At this stage, therefore, the aim is
that the soul, with its internality — that a deeper spirit and a
rich consciousness — may enter, Avith its whole life (ganz
hineinlebe), into objects, situations, etc. ; that it may abide
therein, and may thus make of the objects something new,
beautiful, and in themselves valuable.
It is especially in this respect that the Persians and Arabs,
in the Oriental splendor of their images, in the free felicity of
the fantasy, which deals with its objects in a wholly theoreti-
Hegel on Romantic Art. 371
cal fashion, present a brilliant example for the present age,
and its subjective internality. Even the Spanish and the
Italians have done admirable things of this sort. Klopstock
says, indeed, of Petrarch : —
— Laura besang Petrarke in Liedern,
Zwar clem Bewunderer Schon, aber dem Liebenden nicht.
Yet Klopstock' s love odes are themselves full only of moral
reflections, of unhappy longing, and of unnaturally intensified
passion for the joy of immortality ; while in Petrarch we
admire the freedom of the essentially ennobled sentiment,
which, however intensely it expresses the longing for the loved
one, is still substantially contented. For the longing, the de-
sire, cannot indeed be lacking in the circle of these objects, even
though the circle be limited to wine and love, to the banquet
and the cup-bearer. Of this class the Persians present images
of the highest luxuriance, but the fantasy, in its subjective
interest, removed the object altogether from the circle of
actual longing. It has an interest only in this richly imagin-
ative activity, which contents itself in the freest fashion in its
hundred changing phases ( Wendungen ) and caprices, and
plays with utmost vivacity alike in joy and in grief. At the
standpoint of such spiritual freedom, but also subjective inner
depth of the fantasy, stand, first of all among modern poets,
Goethe in his West- Easterly Divan, and Riickert. Especially
do Goethe's poems in the Divan contrast essentially with his
earlier ones. In Wilkomm unci Abschied, for example, the lan-
guage, the description, is indeed beautiful, the sentiment sin-
cere ; but yet the situation is altogether ordinary, the sequel
trivial, and the fantasy and its freedom have added nothing
thereto. Quite otherwise is the poem in the West-Easterly
Divan — Wiederfinden — written. Here, love is wholly trans-
ferred to the phantasy, to its movement, its fortune, its felicity.
Generally, in similar productions of this class, we have before
us no subjective longing, no amorousness ( Verliebtseyn) , no
desire, 'but a pure fancy or liking for the objects, an inexhaust-
ible self-activity ( Sich-ergehen) of the fantasy, a harmless play,
a freedom in the sportiveness, also, of the rhyme and artistic
'61 '2 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
measure, and thus an internality and gladness of the soul, self-
moved within itself, which, through the serenity of the form,
raises the soul high above all painful entanglement in the
limitation of actuality.
With this we may close the consideration of the special
forms into which the Ideal of art, in its development, comes to
be divided. I have made these forms the object of an ex-
tended research in order to present the content of the same,
and from which also the modes of representation are derived ;
for it is the content which, in art, as in all human work, is of
chief moment. Art, in accordance with its idea, has no other
vocation than to develop that which is essential ly rich in con-
tent, to an adequate sensuous reality ; and the philosophy of
art must therefore undertake, as its chief business, to thor-
oughly comprehend what this wealth of content and its modes
of manifestation are.
THE MATTER AND THE METHOD OF THOUGHT.
BY MEEDS TUTHILL.
" What is Mind? No matter.
What is Matter? Never mind.
What is Spirit? It is immaterial."
— Punch.
I. The Matter.
It may not be easy to say how many methods there are of
thinking, especially if we count the ways that are not methods.
But we may affirm that there are but two methods of getting
knowledge — and indeed only one, since each of these two is
partial, and needs the other for its own completion, and for the
attainment of complete knowledge. For " knowledge ' : now
seems to be divided into "facts" and "ideas," neither of
which is willing to admit the existence of the other " as such,"
although they bear a family resemblance. This feud arises
because one of these methods founds itself upon "external
perception" — a contradiction in terms; the other, upon
The Matter and the Method of Thought., 373
"internal perception," or, as it prefers to cull it, "innate
ideas" — which is begging the question, because it assumes
the " knowledge " to be " innate " to begin with. These two
methods, therefore, seem to be correlative extremes, neither
of which can really do without the other, and which must in
fact, consciously or unconsciously, find and use a common
basis. For, indeed, when severed, and each pursued ab-
stractly, they lead to the same substantial result, though the
former only points to it — since it refuses all basis, it can have
no capstone ; while the latter, we may say, begins with its re-
sult, and from that seeks to deduce all the particulars of the
other method, and naturally finds no end in that process ; or if,
as it usually does, it refuses all reality to the material basis of
the other, it ends, of course, in — nothing. Idealism is too
fond of abolishing facts, especially hard facts, just because
they are hard and gross. Materialism, on the other hand,
would fain return the compliment by showing thought to be
"a mere secretion of the brain ;" but, in its zealous pursuit
of the " positive," it finds the " solid " attenuating itself and
escaping from scientific grasp like a very " spirit."
Shall we contemplate this deadly quarrel with Punch's phi-
losophy of indifi'erentism, or can we find a common ground in
which the " differences " disappear?
Each of these methods takes a double direction — one of
analysis, to find the infinitesimal element ; the other, of syn-
thesis, to find the Infinite All.
Thus, by the first method we have, on the one hand, an
analysis of Matter into simpler components, — into infinite
divisibility, and, therefore, into a single element, for no other
would be indivisible ; on the other hand, it proceeds by a clas-
sification of classes to mount to an unattainable first class, or
Universal ; and, by inference, merely, as in the other case,
concludes a unity in that direction. The results of this method
are well known ; there is no real demonstration, but only an
inference, that, since there is a gradual elimination of life in a
corresponding progression from " homogeneity to hetero-
geneity '" of organization, therefore what we call "life' is
only organic action, that, by reason of a growing complexity
374 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
which gives infinite relation, and consequent harmonization
within and independence without, may develop into automatic
freedom of action, and even into consciousness of self.
It is obvious that the logic of this method must be, like its
own processes and results, merely formal and inferential. Its
syllogisms are no proof, for want of a recognized basis, but
are, as Mill admits, mere repetitive declarations of the same
general fact, which finds its demonstration elsewhere, viz., in a
conviction, " derived from experience," that Nature is uniform
in its course of action; but, this "elsewhere' being thus
found within us, there is really no conviction, only an inference,
and hence no demonstration, after all. The difficulty in the
logic is, that the genus is not found, or not admitted as such,
and hence can receive no true definition. Hence, a species
" connotes " more — i.e., means more than its genus; and the
individual "includes' most of all, and therefore, as mere
matter of form, can, least of all, be included in the genus.
All this difficulty would disappear if the genus were really
genetic — i.e., if, by its definition, it were that primary element
from which all else is necessarily formed by mere composition.
Hence Herbert Spencer's confusion of language in speaking
of the " homogeneous " as beino- transformed into the " hetero-
geneous." It is only in this method of External classification
that one genus could be conceived of as changing into other
genera; for here there is no Universal, which is alone capable
of developing itself into genera, and so on to individuals, and
vet beino- itself in all, and most of all itself in the individual.
The other method — that of introspection — naturally be-
gins by detecting this illogicality of its adversary's logic, and
seeks to rectify that by also taking its first direction in analysis to
determine the real o-enetic element of our ideal combinations ;
for the results of External Science exist only in these ideal
combinations, and are to be tested therein, and their essence
thus found. In the depths of Consciousness, therefore, we
seek and find, upon analysis, that the first definition of a thing
is found only in that which it is not. The // is fully defined or
bounded bv the not-It. But if the It be finite, the not-It must
be infinite; and the It is null in comparison — essentially
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 375
nothing — existent only in and by the Infinite. We must begin,
therefore, with the Universal. But, on the same principle of
definition, every Infinite or Universal involves its own utter
contradiction ; for we can think such conceptions only in cor-
relatives of the Such and the not-Such. This method of abso-
lutely clashing and self-resolving antithesis is, therefore, as
necessary, the true and really logical method of thinking, if
we are to begin with Universals. We can know the Universal
only by reaction of the thought into it from the Particular ;
and, conversely, the Universal is fully characterized — fully re-
veals itself to itself — only by development into the Particular ;
otherwise, it is only elemental, simple, identical, indefinite,
indeterminate, indefinable.
This method, therefore, finds its synthesis in its analysis;
for its element is its Universal, and both are single, and hence
capable, the former, of all varieties of composition, the other,
of all conceivable determinations or forms. The logical proc-
ess of thought proceeds, like evolution in material Nature,
from the simple to the complex ; and this is seen to be from
the Universal to the Particular, not from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous, in the sense of from one nature to another
nature, but it is the fuller and fuller development of the
same nature in the Particular, for the sake of particularization,
or self-inclusion. Classification, therefore, proceeds down-
wards, instead of upwards, according to particular and specific
forms, and not according to different natures. For the One
exists in all as a potentiality ; the differences in esse are only
different developments. We must begin, then, with this ele-
ment — this potentiality — in which are involved all possi-
bilities, and whose development necessarily proceeds by antith-
esis, or self-contradiction.
Let us carry out this method fully in its results. This Uni-
versal, this elemental, absolute Infinite, contains all possible
contradictions (or it would not be such) ; but it contains them
in solution ; the moment you release the one, the other starts
up in antithesis as its definition — i.e., as its own true nature.
Extremes meet, and resolution is possible only by recognition
of both in some common medium. This reduces every such
376 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
manifestation to mere particularity or special form of the Uni-
versal (and if, as is assumed by Idealism, " Thought" is the
only universal element, its initial form is " The Idea," and
all subsequent manifested forms will be " BegrifFs," or particu-
lar forms of developed Idea). But it is just as possible for this
" element" to exist in one form as in another; nay, it must
exist in all forms, and it only. The most abstract allegation
we can make of any thing is, that it is; but this, to be defined,
involves the contradiction, that it is not, and thus makes of
the particular being only an appearance, or "becoming" of
the Universal being. The universal being itself involves
"nothingness' as its only complete definition — i.e., it can
really exist only as continual, active Change. In this result
alone we see that its nature is necessarily Variety as well as
Unity, and that this universe is not a crystallization, not a
frame- work finished and hung up, nor a Voltaire's " clock,"
which kindly " presumes a clock-maker; " for the spirit that
pervades it may be essentially defined as ceaseless " activity."
Now, among the infinite possibilities, Chance also exists —
infinite chance ; and that, too, not as a mere technicality, but as
springing up with its counterpart, Necessity, as its inevitable
mate ; only so can the two nullify each other, co-terminate
each other, and so form the round of change. The casual
may be said to exist infinitely in respect to time and space ;
all might have been thus a moment sooner, or a hair-breadth
elsewhere. And so, also, in the infinite interrelations of this
congeries of particulars — of each to all the others, an infinity
of infinities — there is the merest chance of any one particular
being just so related as it actually is to every other. The
relation of cause as consistency of the whole is found only by
direct reference to the original One — to the centre; and other
relations must be traced, like those of a genealogy, by ascent
to the ancestor, and then by descent to the individuals.
Hence any particular thing is a mere chance, except in regard
to that with which it stands in immediate relation ; only
through the next has it any causal or consequential relation to
other things, for the possible divergencies, at any point what-
ever, are infinite in number. This is illustrated in our inner
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 377
world. Every train of thought swarms with collateral invita-
tions ; to diverge is easier than to go on ; choice must be
positive, or chance will lead ; and even in choice, chance often
decides. So, in the external world, there is " infinite contin-
gency," varying, warping, deforming, and wasting far the
most of even the persistent types of organic life. " Mere Na-
ture is too weak to keep its geneva and species pure when
conflicting with alien elementary influences." Accidental va-
riation is the rule in perpetual design.
But all this is mere superficial observation, and can tend
only to melancholy reflection, as in the case of Mill, who gave
up Cause, because he saw so much Chance. Let us go deeper,
and see if there is not Design, even in Chance itself.
We have seen that only the immediate stands in causal rela-
tion ; all else is contingency — that is Mill's doctrine, that
Cause, to us, is only succession. But, were not this the case —
were there an absolutely necessary and inflexible connection
between things — Man could use neither Nature nor his own
thoughts. As it is, he causes, creates even, by diverting the
general flow of forces into particular channels of his own. It
is this Chance which gives him Choice. On the other hand,
this necessity of Nature, which binds im mediates, is for him
only a necessity for using means — for imitating. Once he
finds these links, these laws, they become transformed by his
use into his largest Freedom ; they constitute his creative
power, and make him dominant over Nature through her own
Absolutism. This looks as though the "Absolute' in the
universe Avere seeking to realize its own meaning — to develop
itself into action entirely free, self-moved.
Thus may all absolute contradictories, Avhich seem to deny
each other as absurdities — i.e., irresolvable — resolve them-
selves into each other through the mediation of some thing in
which they exist in common. Mere change may result from
Chance or from Cause ; hence it may be relatively (for it is in its
nature finite) either rational or irrational, good or bad, order
or disorder, without departing from its strict, though devious
derivation from the Absolute. For Chance also is Necessity,
not merely in the Pagan sense of blind Fate, but because the
378 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
Absolute or unlimited involves all variety, and because Caus-
ality itself must reach its limit in Chance, in order that it may
there be reflected back upon itself, and transformed into itself,
as we see it is by Man. This elementary Caprice, in which
absolute Volition loses itself, in order to find itself again, is
the turning-point of its characterization, which gradually pro-
ceeds through Nature, till in Man volition is restored in its
true character as rational.
Caprice is the most elementary form of Volition. The self
may be said to be conscious of it rather as a being-acted-upon,
than as an acting; for in it Act bears the simplest possible
relation to self, its last and ultimate relation. In this respect
the act of " creating" what we call Matter, merely, may be
conceived as only the creator's most external caprice, of which
he is conscious only in its reaction ; that is, Matter is null
until it passes into relations other than this simple one where it
seems a non-self and this consciousness of self-in-it increases
more and more as the relations of self-activity in it become
more diversified and complex.
But, as the Finite cannot escape beyond the Infinite, so
Matter is not, even in its simplest forms, unrelated to the
Divine ; the Divine activity is in it in some relating forming
power. It maybe the ultimate Divine differentiation ; but, as
we see it, it is proceeding to integrate itself in various rela-
tions. And just so fast and so far as Man can reproduce, in
himself, these integrations, these relations of form, can he
perceive and comprehend the Divine in Nature in the Universe.
For, let us observe that man begins with the simplest pos-
sible consciousness of sensation, which reacts into him as mere
perception of a non-self: and his first act is one of the merest
caprice, which can scarcely be called volition at all. He, as
finite, does find some thing beyond him ; and it is long, even
after he deems his Will as his own, before it is truly such.
Thus, he begins where the most external Divine activity ends :
like meets like — activity meets activity, and comprehends it
in a common element of relation. And this element is compe-
tent to integrate forms in Man as it does in Nature ; onlv his
inner universe must be of ideal forms, the creation of his own
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 379
activity. His thought exists, at first, only as perception, and
that of the simplest sort ; yet that alone is a world-wide change
in point of form, for it is the translation of Appearance into
Beholding (Begriff) of the outer, static form into the inner,
dynamic form ; and hence it is the beginning of a proc-
ess of concretion in thought, which, like that in Nature, builds
the complex upon the simple, and makes compounds the
material for new and higher compounds ; yet all this world
within is to be realized, integrated, from that single vanishing
element of relation, in perception.
This primitive thought in Man is, therefore, a mere poten-
tiality — an elementary capacity to be, do, and suffer. But in
him this Divine element is seen, not merely as activity, but in
its character as free activity. That introversion of the primi-
tive, capricious, chaotic Nature upon itself has in him passed
the limit of mere passivity — of merely being moved, and
entered the sphere of freedom — of self-moving, and hence of
consciousness. It is no longer mere reaction, but re-Act — that
is, it is no longer merely felt, or suffered, or artificed in outer,
passive forms, but is realized in its inner form as Being, Doing,
Will. This is a capacity for attaining Divine character, and
indicates an intent to represent the Divine self therein.
Here, then, is a liberation — a birth of Spirit from Matter,
of Freedom from Caprice, of opposite from opposite. Where
is its turning-point? and how is the human Spirit — this in-
terior image of the Divine — there related, in its origin, to the
exterior activity of the Divine in Matter?
That is the question of questions, upon which the material-
ist and the idealist meet in absolute contradiction, and yet in
agreement ; for their difference is only about names — the one
says all is matter ; the other, all is spirit. The one has begun
with Matter, and traced its development into Spirit ; the other
has begun with Spirit, and traced its development into
Nature — into Matter. When extremes thus meet, their solu-
tion is unity. Neither party has really dealt, in its theories,
with any thing but activity and relation. When it comes to
the question of /Substance, the one says the Substance is that
in which the activity and relation are found ; the other says
380 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
the same, but insists that, on this very ground, Spirit is the
substance, since that alone is conscious of possessing activity
and power to relate — i.e., to reason.
To be sure, the materialist poohs at this " ideal ' : sub-
stance, this matter of " thought," as no Matter at all com-
pared with the solid and appreciable Matter of the senses ; it
exists only in thought — it comes from nothing, and goes for
nothing*
But the idealist retorts : And how, pray, do you assure
yourself that any thing of your material universe exists, ex-
cept by thought? You can doubt of every thing except this
" nothing " of thought. You are sure of but one thing : that
there is thought, and a thinker, if it be only yourself.
And this answer is very just, as bringing all our knowledge
down to its elementary basis in self-consciousness ; but does it
justify the counter-assertion that " Thought " and its " Ideas '
are the only real existence? " Thought," to be sure, is pre-
cisely that " existence " which springs from Nothing, and dis-
appears in Nothing, and so answers to the Hegelian definition
of Being — it is, yet is not. But, logically, this permits
"Thought" to exist in any form — in Matter as well as in
Spirit. And so it does, in this same purely abstract sense —
i.e., it exists in both as the form of the activity. But this
abstraction has dropped out the vital element of relation, which
is essential to integration in any form, particular or universal,
outer in Act, or inner in Thought. And if we seek, in self-
consciousness, for "Thought" as a "universal element," we
must connect it by relation to a Thinker, and thus see that it
is only Knowledge. But we have the same right, and duty, to
find in self-consciousness the relation of " activity " and Actoi%
This complements things, and enables us to conceive that mere
" Thought," or Knowing, may have its inner forms, to which
will correspond, as partial or complete, particular or universal,
the outer forms of Activity. Thus, Matter may be outer forms
of the same various activity which exists also in the inner
forms of mere thinking, feeling, semi-passivity as knowing.
This is very apparent in Man, who knows that he has a body
as well as a thinking faculty ; and that, though this body seems
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 381
"another self," yet is it thought into form and preserved in
its own activity by a " non-self."
Here is a marked distinction between three things which are
sometimes said to be identical, to wit, the relation between
Spirit and Matter, Soul and Body, God and Creation.
The relation between Spirit and Matter is really treated as
an abstract one — i.e., the one side is set in utter opposition to
the other ; Spirit is regarded as mere activity, and Mutter as
that which is acted upon ; and the question of Substance is not
determined, or is left in the ambiguous position above indicated.
The relation of God to Creation, if treated in the same abstract
way, results in a similar mere abstract separation ; only here,
as the terms are taken in a concrete sense, there is a separation
also of substances, but no determination of either. (And
here "Substance" gets treated after the Chinese fashion of
resting the Earth on an elephant, tortoise, etc. ; the difficulty
is removed by only removing it — out of sight. This build-
ing a series toward an Infinite is quite unnecessary ; for the
" self" is near at hand, and in that, itself an infinite wonder,
must be found and solved the question of Substance). But
the relation of Soul to Body presents the question in a double
aspect, abstract and concrete, neither of which can be escaped.
Its solution, therefore, calls for the union of the abstract and
concrete methods of thought. For our minds do not wait for
ideal abstraction before they conceive of God, although such
idea of God as is formed undoubtedly depends for its details
upon the progressive development of ideas. But conception
passes at once from the concrete idea of self to that of the
non-self without defining the "self in either case — i.e.,
without separating Substance from its activity.
The whole question and its solution, therefore, is in Man ;
and he is not allowed to delude himself with mere abstrac-
tions — a good reason, perhaps, for the junction of soul and
body. We know very well that our thoughts do not consti-
tute the Universe, nor our self, God. But we are equally cer-
tain that our thoughts are our means of knowledge and our
means of creation — the link between ourselves and our acts ;
and hence they are the only analogies by which we can con-
382 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
ceive of the abstract relations between Spirit and Matter, as
our " self is the only analogue we have for concrete concep-
tion of God in relation to Creation.
Now, our thoughts, as such, are mere abstractions from acts;
they are not concrete as acts, and yet they are products of the
mind's activity. Hegel may tell us that, in this activity, the
Spirit " uses its own material." But what material?
It is conceivable, to be sure, that, since Idea may take form
in any material, so the mind may use a different material than
that of the senses — a spiritual material, or plasticity. But
this does not explain the Beholding of ideas, in its active
sense, nor prove that these inner forms are not still " ma-
terial " in the sense of ethereal ; in fact, it only " removes "
the difficulty, and leaves the Idea itself still only an abstrac-
tion relatively to the thinking act and the Beholder. Why
seek, then, to remove the "material" at all? A thousand
removes will not " change the matter," in this aspect of it.
Hegel, therefore, means nothing more, practically, than the
use of simple conceptions to form the complex — the construc-
tion of thoughts from thoughts. But the mind uses quite
another material, in addition to this, even in its most abstract
activity ; for it wastes and devours the bodily tissues in this
process. Its reactionary effect, in this respect, is presumably
the same as would be the direct effect upon the body from
receiving the same thought, in the same form, through the
sensations. In both cases, then, there is this unconscious
interaction of soul and body, as a necessity of the expression
of thought, whether it be by others to us, or by us to our-
selves. We are in this intimate and direct contact with God's
Matter. There is this union of His activity and ours, as
method, means, and effect of thinking, in any of its forms ; for
thought resolves itself, in sense, as mere motion and relation
of motions, in the form of nerve-vibrations, etc. Perception is
what the Beholder first knows as Beheld, iu sensation.
That thought exists only in Man, therefore, especially in his
utterance, may well be dependent upon organization ; since it
requires a complexity of organization to develop a sufficient
complexity of relation, in mere motion, to make it a carrier of
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 383
this sort. And we observe that experience and training are
necessary to enable us to appreciate the more complex sensa-
tions of eye, ear, and taste ; childhood prefers the simpler com-
binations, the broader contrasts in color, music, flavor, etc.
Hence the absurdity of the contempt which " Idealism '
affects for Matter, and especially of its dictum to avoid "the
sensuous " in the expression of " pure thought " ; although it
is obvious that "the sensuous' is an absolute necessity for
expression of an} 7 thought. Such silly Pharasaism may be
tolerated when "pure thought' has produced some thing
purer than a lily, more beautiful than a rose, or more exqui-
sitely spiritual than God's living poem in a love-lit eye. And
as God does not find Matter beneath His use, so Man is never
divinely creative, but his thought rushes to his senses and
"wreaks itself upon expression," like Shakespeare's, in words
and images concrete with an infinite meaning. Mr. Conway
tells us that " many excellent people in London " confess that
they have seen Madame Blavatsky "make lilies blossom from
the end of the cigarettes of which she is fond," etc. Which
shows, if nothing more, that the imagination can transport
itself into the senses so powerfully that its vivid impression
seems to us a reality ; a cause of credulity, but, nevertheless,
a source of power both to receive and to express. It is a
well-known fact that every human face "lightens' more or
less with the inner thought and feeling, and especially takes on
a permanent expression, in its " lines of thought," of the hab-
itual, characteristic activity of the soul within, which thus
draws its own portrait in Matter.
And when we consider this fashioning of the body itself by
the mere reaction of the inner spirit, we see the error of that
" pure Religion " which makes the same pretension as " pure
thought" to not use, or even abuse, this body — to discard it
as an implacable enemy, instead of recognizing it as an indis-
pensable and Divinely-given means both for receiving and
expressing spiritual activity. Is it not wiser to note that
even in this "flesh" the spirit's habitual action imprints its
own "lines of beauty" or of ugliness, and thus declares
itself responsible for that which is permanent in this perpetual
384 The Journal of Speculative Philosopluj .
change — this flow of Matter, which we call a body, — and
whose motions are at once our source of knowledge and our
means of action? The body is, indeed, practically nothing but
this motion ; it cannot exist organically except by this constant
change ; and this very fact is what subjects it to the spirit ; for
that may have permanency of purpose by which to give form
and character to this change.
And as for that " pure philosophy " which takes a similar
opposition to " the sensuous," it equally " negates," or else
stultifies itself; for, even if it did not have its own birthplace
in "the sensuous," and therefore have no right to disown its
own mother, yet must it go there for a second and real birth
in expression, or else confess itself an impracticable philoso-
phy — a religion that no one can either preach or practice.
While our thoughts, therefore, are mere abstractions when
unrelated to acts, our thinking is an activity which has a real
as well as an ideal effect ; it produces a change in the relations
of matter, by motion. But if this is so in our case, why not
also in the case of the Universal Thinker? How is Matter to
exist at all except as the minimum form of that Universal
Activity in its f/u^m'-passivity — in its infinitesimal element of
relation — just capable of being taken up and integrated in the
conceptions of our thought, first as simple perception of Being
as change, then as perception of other relations, and so on in
various rational completeness as concrete idea?
In other words, the activity of The One may be susceptible
of such distinctions as we make, in our own, between act and
thought, thought and feeling, and so on, down to the mere
existence of our activity, dying away into its passive relation
to sense. In this view, Matter would not exist as a " cre-
ation," but rather by passive permission of God, as only one
condition or state of His activities ; and His act in it, instead
of being an absolute one, as we are taught to consider it,
would be the least absolute of all, except in the sense of abso-
lute simplicity — a letting-be. Thus, Matter would exist for
spirit only as this " let-be," this external cessation of its own
activity ; and creation would really begin with that activit}'
which is formative, relational, and proceed to that which is
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 385
positive and willed, gradually bringing this mere elemental
activity of universal being out of its mere " let-be," and
through the chaotic state of feeling into the definite forms of
thought. Creation, in this sense, is conception — definite
selection, adaptation, and formation of activity ; and thus it
is a bringing into birth of the inner self as an object of con-
templation.
This is the genesis of thought and act in us. Is not such-
also, the genesis of Spirit from Matter? Spirit is the " Be ; "
Matter, the "Let-be." One is the Act of the Will, and the
production of Self; the other, mere act and progressive prod-
uct of various thinking.
Says Hegel, in one of those side-remarks which, like side-
glances, are most penetrating: " Perception is the birthplace
of a new and higher principle," i.e., of a new and higher form
of activity — free, rational activity — will. Hence, Matter
is not a nonentity, but only the outermost form of activity —
a mere striving-to-be — the last pulsation of the Infinite activ-
ity in its remotest capillaries before the inevitable return
towards the Heart Divine. And in that glad return it takes
on all those forms of blushing flower and song of bird which
can express or voice what is beautiful, in approaching the
inmost of that Divine Activity.
"The Essence of Matter," says Hegel, "is gravity: It
seeks for its being out of itself; and, could it find this
unity it seeks, it would vanish, and be no longer matter."
We know not, to be sure, what would happen if all matter
could amass itself, by cataclysm or otherwise, in one world
instead of so many ; but we may suspect, from present appear-
ances, that " transformation," not "annihilation," would be
the proper word. Matter " vanishes " now in quite the oppo-
site direction to that of gravity, and takes the earliest occasion
to do so ; for there is no affinity which it does not 'prefer to
that of gravity. Could it move the other way, and get out-
side the Infinite, it must cease to be ; but, as it is, gravity is
only its first, and not its only characteristic. Gravity is only
its means of entering into more complex relations ; that
seems to be its only thought. Looking at its movements on
XIII — 25 '
386 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
the largest scale, we see that gravity combines at once with
another force, and these two alone form the grand harmony of
unnumbered spheres — the first paean of Matter over its return
to that Order which is " Heaven's first law " — the first step
back to spirituality.
And what before that first organization? Chaos! Matter
only in relation of that blind and furious activity of Ca-
price, a condition which might well give rise to the myth
of "fallen angels." Elemental Spirit-forces, banished into
the uttermost of outer darkness, and rushing back, like an
army with banners, to rescale the lost Heaven by sheer vio-
lence — a violence which defeats itself.
Poor Slave, Matter ! We pity you ! But take courage !
Even in your blind fury you did not take the road to annihila-
tion, but that to freedom. Yours is that pathetic myth —
the perpetual Passion of the Universe — God made manifest
by self-denial therein, that he may reclaim and reconquer this
Material World to Himself, by transforming it, " bringing its
immortality to light," making of it. a new and Spiritual
World.
Accordingly, we find that, though by gravity matter tends
to unity, as if to signify that in its element it is single, and
represents divine activity in its utmost simplicity, yet does it
seek complexity rather than singleness, so much so that Ave
have not yet been able to find the latter (we can no more find
the infinitesimal than the Infinite of Divine action). It shuns
death, and seeks living forms ; but, to attain these, must pre-
viously build itself up into food for them — as, e.g., the min-
eral for the vegetable, the vegetable for the animal. It " uses
its own material," and yet, through all this toilsome process,
is indestructible, for it reproduces itself, in all its forms, from
that of the simplest carrier of force, up to that of living
germs. Truly, there is nothing worthy of contempt here, if
we are to regard Matter, as we do spirit, abstractly, as a
" self," or a " substance."
And what is this question of " substance," which figures so
largely in metaphysics? We may be told to spare our sym-
pathy for " dead matter ; " that it has no " substantial being,"
The Matter and the- Method of Thought. 387
if there really be life in it, yet is it blessed with unconscious-
ness of that fact, etc. And truly, in the vegetable we detect
no consciousness, even of its own existence. To the animal
we conceded only a consciousness of being ; and to man him-
self, in fact, self-consciousness is a thing of growth, and
rarely is it developed to that degree in which one is conscious
of the subtlest movements and relations of his thoughts. But
we may say that even the mineral has a " natural selection ; '
the vegetable, a chance choice; the animal, an unconscious
choice ; and man has all these, and all the way up to conscious
choice, and thereby morality, self-regulation, and responsi-
bility.
And, unfortunately, he has also the capacity to ask, What is
Substance? but not the capacity to answer that query. The
word itself is a misnomer, as it is used, and betrays its origin in
the mere habit of a being dependent upon something external.
When it is sought to apply it, therefore, to an independent
being, it is no wonder the attempt is a profound failure. Such
a being could never ask himself, What is my substance ? What
stands under me to support me, or enables me to act? So
the power of metaphysics has shown itself in the fact that, by
long, though useless, repetition of the question, the word has
gained in general use a quite different meaning, though, nat-
urally, a very vague one — e.g., the query commonly means,
What is the gist, the amount, the swrastance of it all? And
in metaphysics it asks, really, What is the nature — the
whole nature of the thing? — or it asks for nothing. For, to
make it inquire merely what is stable, permanent, static, in
contradistinction to dynamic, is only to ask for a condition, a
state of things, — the passive or, at least, quiescent state, in
contrast with the active state. Thus, we conceive of Matter
as in its " natural," and only stable condition, when at vest,
and we have just the opposite conception of spirit, as purely
dynamic ; and hence it puzzles us to conceive of any thing
static, or substantial in spirit, because we abstract it from
everything static by making that only its object — the pas-
sive receiver of its action. And so, carrying out these abstract
notions to the universal scale, Philosophy separates God
388 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
from the material universe — the one as creative action, the
other as passive creation ; and when, after such a separation,
it seeks to find the substantial again in God, it finds that it
has made of Him only a Power, and put all His " substance '
in the Universe itself. Refusing to join these two, from hor-
ror of Pantheism, it makes both God and Creation "incom-
prehensible," to mend the matter. Matter is " made out of
nothing," yet is left to take care of itself. And God, even as
a Power, is powerless, for He is " unchangeable," and hence
must be inactive, since change itself must be the only perma-
nent "state" of an active being. Thus, the notion of sub-
stance as object sets God, as unsubstantial, outside the " ma-
terial universe."
And so, the other abstract notion of substance as subject —
as Actor — has a similar result of setting God, as "Perfection,"
in opposition, and even enmity to Man, as Imperfection, in
what is called " the Spiritual Universe," — another "incom-
prehensible" creation. For Spirit, being associated with
mere ideas, is, in man, reduced to a mere nullity. In this
creation all the " Substance" remains in God, but remains
there, in accordance with its conception, as an abstraction.
To render Him completely " Perfect," this substance is " in-
defectible " and "immutable," so that He ceases to be an
actor; He "cannot act but once." "He is an Eternal
Act." Such is the effect of being Perfect. So that God,
as Spirit, even ceases to be dynamic. He has no occasion to
think any more ; and in this eminently and only static condi-
tion He must be regarded as merely " a Fixed Idea." But
Man's spirit, being only Imperfection, is, of course, of a con-
trary type ; and he, too, must become " a fixed idea," if pos-
sible, for "thinking" is one of his most diabolical character-
istics. In this worse than nonentity of all his spiritual activ-
ity, Man has only the consolation of lashing his body as even
more Satanic than himself; though it has the advantage of
being of a perishable substance, and so can see an end to its
misery, which the soul cannot.
And Idealism comes in to cap the climax of abstraction, by
declarino; that what is ideal is real, and what is real is ideal, or
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 389
nothing ; that Thought is the only substance, and Ideas the
only entities. As for the Thinker, it leaves us in doubt
whether He might not have been a mere development from
this all-powerful substance, and whether we other Thinkers
have not the right to claim an equal independence in the same
origin. For here the only " substance " is Activity.
Is it not obvious that the concrete method is necessary to
offset and rationalize these vagaries of abstraction ; to bring
God into the world as a tact — as a Self; to give him fellow-
ship with Man ; to restore to Him that compassion which
makes Him even a fellow-sufferer with His children ; and, in
tine, to make of this Universe a living thing, and such a
reality of good and evil, perfection and imperfection, as we
know it to be?
Each of these notions of Substance, we see, is an attempt
at abstraction ; for it seeks to sever the Actor, the Activity,
and the Object — or, in other words, the Self and the non-
Self. But in an Infinite One there must be " substan-
tially" the same — i.e., the Self is only a consciousness of
the All in its one source of activity ; and the non-Self, or
Object, is only a form of this activity, shaped in the one sub-
stance, whether this activity be what we call " ideal " or what
we call " material." This, in fact, may be called Hegelian
doctrine, except that it claims translation of Matter into the
ideal form, as well as the reverse. And how escape this double
result? If ideal substance is capable of getting into material
form, does it thereby render itself incapable of getting out of
it, or else destine itself thus to perish? In short, does not
the All-substance necessarily imply all-capability both to
take and to change form, through infinite gradation of appear-
ance? And this, too, whether such appearance be of the Self,
or the non-Self. The main point here is to distinguish between
consciousness of self, as self, and consciousness of* object of
activity as a non-self, e. g., of ideas or other forms of partial
activity. In The Self, this substance may have special spir-
itual or celestial form, in which is displayed, at least, the whole
character of the Self ; or the latter may thus retreat, for full
self-consciousness, into a thousand removes of unutterable
390 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
forms of Divine Thought in this same substance. On the
other hand, this Divine self, for aught we know, may, at any
time or place in the Universe, take any special form or mani-
festation, according to the capacities of the Beholders thereof ;
but such form must, at least, fully characterize that Self.
Hence Hesrel, resardins* Man's " Thought " as whollv conti-
nent of the Divine Self, was logically obliged to recognize the
possibility, and, indeed, the fact of Divine Incarnation in Man ;
though he has done so in a somewhat ambiguous way, which
leaves some of his disciples free to regard it as of merely
"ideal' significance — i.e.. merelv as a recognition of the
" unity ' of man with God — and thus a species of spiritual
Pantheism ; while others see in it, not a special, but a general
fact — a proof of Divine Nature even in the brutal savage —
and thus a no-God, but a sort of Pantheon, in which all are
gods, by reason of possessing the elementary " Idea."
But this ambiguity disappears when we dismiss this
*' Thought ' as a mere abstraction, and consider it only as
it is — an object which takes form from active substance
as a non-Self, whether as Idea or as external " thing." Let
us consider this more in detail. And let us remember that
the Self is known, and is knowable, only as consciousness of
one's own activity, which is susceptible of all shades and de-
grees, from unconsciousness of this Self in an Object up to
that Infinite consciousness of all in the God-Self. Hence, this
self retreats infinitely before us, whether we regard it within
as Actor, or without as Object; and, in both directions, our
knowledge vanishes as infinitesimal. On the one hand, Self
is a deep within deep of hidden power, that can show itself
Only as Activity ; on the other hand, it unites this power with
its object, even in the ideal element of mere contemplation,
in the last shred of its substance as Self — i.e., when that
object exists for it only as relative, either real or imagined.
Thus, we have the Actor, the Activity, and the Object all in
the Self; so that, when differentiated down to an abstraction,
Self is nothing more nor less than that infinitesimal element
of relation which is null in itself, but not so when reconnected
with our own or another's thinking, for then it is what con-
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 391
stitutes thought and ideas in every form. Hegel's immense
power consists wholly in this : that he has fully realized this
method of thinking by self-relation.
Let us note, then, that the conception or the consciousness
of Self, as such, escapes wholly, and in both directions, from
the idea of substance. On the one hand, it seeks in vain,
with the varying form of substance, to reach its inmost ; on
the other, it loses the notion of substance, exteriorly, in the
conception of mere relation. Thus, self-consciousness is
wholly independent of Substance*, and dependent only on
activity. To constitute a self, therefore, it is necessary only
that an activity should be consciously free, whether in sub-
stance of its own or in that of another. The distinction
between Selves — between the Man-self and the God-self —
is not in the consciousness of activity, not in the reality of
the self, but in the additional consciousness in the one that
this activity is dependent upon another for its substance ; and
in the other, that he is not so dependent.
Thus, self resolves formally — i.e., really — into selves within
self, as does substance into substance within substance, no one
can say to what remove. And this we find, in fact, to be the
Reality, both in nature and in thought : there is but a suc-
cessive transformation of substance into an inner substance,
and of self into an inner self.
Of Substance, then, we can know nothing, except in the
various forms which are given it by the Divine activity and our
own ; and this will test the " substantiality " of our products
and the " Reality " of God's, for it shows us wholly depend-
ent upon His substance for our means of activity.
Thus, the Divine substance cannot be known apart from the
Divine activity — separate, static, "by itself," and thus at
rest. Such a substance would be a mere Brahm, such as the
foregoing static theory of " Perfection " makes it ; for it could
have no consciousness of itself, since even that would be an
act of contemplation. We know neither our own nor God's
real nature apart from activity, for there is no such nature ;
it is " incomprehensible," because it does not exist. Nature
is not an abstract, but a concrete ; God there puts His activity
392 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
into form, and thus partially displays His thought, His char-
acter, but not His self. Man, also, can recognize his own
character in his acts ; his ideas, in the forms he gives them.
"That is substantially my idea," says an artist, meaning his
composition of form, e. g., in a statue. He does not say it is
himself, nor his own form, but only that it expresses the
substance of his idea ; and so it does, for that idea has no
substance except form, and hence is equally presented by any
suitable form. In any form, an idea is a self only in the
abstract sense of relation of parts constituting a whole.
And so, we may conceive that God also has ideas apart from
substantial form, or inexpressible save to Himself, in His in-
most forms of substance ; or ideas expressed elsewhere in the
Universe, and not here, too complex, or otherwise inapt for
expression by such forms as we can either contemplate exteri-
orly, or comprehend with our undeveloped interior forms of
idea. But, if there is that in Divine ideas thus beyond expres-
sion to us (even in a Divine man), so, on the other hand, must
the Divine activity combine with substance, in forms of the
utmost simplicity of relation, and of the merest transiency of
static condition ; the one extreme is as necessary as the other
to Divine perfection. Everywhere this elementary activity is
only a potentiality, but one which asks only for relation to
constitute it a higher and higher form or expression of Divine
thought in the Divine substance. Thus, God says to us, e.g.,
in the flower: "That is My idea; repeat it, and comprehend
it in the ideal form of your activity." The flower is a reality,
therefore ; not a mere idea, but an idea expressed in the
Divine, substantial form, and hence with a being of its own,
a life and an identity of its own ; it is not absorbed in abstract
Reason, and thus annihilated, but it remains concrete, as it is,
and lovable for its own sake — " a thing of beauty and a joy
forever."
Thus, Divine ideas, when realized in any form, remain
"immanent' in the Divine substance as Ions: as the form
itself subsists ; and this without at all destroying the Divine
inner-self, but, on the contrary, as the only means of distinc-
tion of the Divine activity from the Divine self by the reac-
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 393
tive effect of an object of contemplation which is not self.
This is not " ji lonely God," who thus lives in a self-con-
sciousness which depends upon creative, formative activity;
any more than a fruitful mind is lonely, when expanding itself
in multiform creation of ideas which seem to it like the uncon-
scious blossoming of a Divine life in it.
But this makes of Reason only a free activity of spirit, and
of spirit only a form of the Divine substance? Even so ; for
every real form must inhere in the Divine substance, and be
in itself, only a secondary whole, or self. To render this
statement more explicit, and possibly more clear, let us bear in
mind that we are only to be free — that we must " be born into
the spirit," which is the only form of our freedom ; and then
let us first conceive of this " spirit" as an interior elimination
of another from this bodily, slave-form of substance — a trans-
formation of the same substance into the free form of spirit.
Have we, in fact, any warrant to believe that this spiritual
form is any more our own than this bodily form? Can Spirit,
any more than Matter, wrench itself from the Divine whole,
and be independent thereof? In fact, they are brought, in
Man, into actual contact and intimate interrelation, as if to
intimate that this Divine substance is every where identical,
and capable of all forms of activity. Shall it be susceptible of
the slave-form, and not also of the free? Of the non-self, and
not of the self? And here we see, again, that the self escapes
substance — i.e., resolves it into an infinite series of transfor-
mations of the same thing. And in the larger, Divine aspect
of this transformation, a self — a free-born potentiality — com-
pletes the round of the Divine activity in or upon its substance,
and returns it from that objective, or out-looking phase —
changes it into this form of in-looking — this consciousness of
self. Both these aspects are contained in Man ; his body also
is a «* Begriff," a be-grasp, or beholding of the Divine thought,
expressed in substantial, but passive form ; and his " spirit"
is, or becomes, a beholder, in the freely-active sense, and finds
God in His whole character, not by looking outward (for
there He is seen only objectively and partially), but only by
looking inward into this infinite mystery of self.
394 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
But yet this does not explain the Ego — the reality of self-
being? it reduces it, in fact, to a mere nullity? For, if we
have no substance of our own, even in the Spirit, how can we
have any real activity of our own? Is not that thus made a
mere return of God's activity into his own self-consciousness?
That, truly, is a vital question, and it calls to mind Des-
cartes' intense efforts at introspection, and the characteristic
French precision with which he expresses its results. His
first conclusion is this : —
"I am a substance of which the whole essence, or nature, is
merely to think." Thus disconnecting himself from his body,
as not being a " thinker," and therefore not his real self, nor
any thing he knows " certainly," he proceeds to reflect
whether there be any other " certain ' knowledge than this
self-knowledge ; and, from the presence in himself of imper-
fection of nature, in conjunction with his idea or conception
of "perfection," he concludes that there is another self —
another thinker, God — from whom alone he could have
derived this idea of perfection ; and he "judges that if there
be any bodies in the world, or indeed any intelligences, which
are not wholly perfect, their being must depend upon His
power, in such sort that they could not subsist without Him a
single moment."
Thus, he really vacates Man of all " substantial ' being,
even in his "intelligence," and finds, like us, that he is only
" a thinker ' in another's substance. And, indeed, what is
the difference between a " body " and a " soul " ? They both
" hold " God's Thought ; the only difference is that one holds
it statically, the other dynamically — the one holds it passively,
the other echoes and repeats it. Is this mere repetition, imi-
tation, of God's Thought in us really our own?
We find here, first, a question of fact, which is fundamental
to all knowledge. However mysterious it be that this free
activity is linked to substantial dependence, the fact, itself, of
our free action in Thought cannot be even denied without
affirming it ; for, to deny it is to do an act which is claimed to
be free. There is in us, beyond dispute, this translation of the
involuntary activity of the body into the voluntary action of
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 395
the soul, thouffh it be «radual, infinitesimal in its beginning,
and all alono; rather " I wish " than " I will." And thus, on
further reflection, we see that this very freedom is only in that
same imperfect form from which we inevitably derive, as from
all other imperfections in us, the idea of the "Perfect" by
mere antithetic and necessary correlation. The mere idea of
God is, therefore, necessarily associated with this fundamental
and only "certain" knowledge of our selves, though it be
only that we " think."
But, as fact, God must be Infinite Freedom to correlate this
finite freedom and make it a reality. Only in such a relation
to an Infinite Other can this infinitesimal self have any assured
beins: as activitv ; but in such relation it is not only conceiv-
able, but necessary. It is necessary that this subordinate self
should exist, not as substance, but only as free activity — not
as Quantity, but as Quality ; for, as we have seen, Substance
is only the means, the form of the self, and not the Self itself,
which escapes all form. Man's dependence upon Substance is,
therefore a proof, and not a contradiction, of his finite free-
dom ; for it is also his formal independence of Substance —
i.e., he is not dependent upon this body, or this Spirit, or
other particular form of that Substance, but has a capacity for
free activity in any form thereof, if so be he develop that
capacity to repeat God's forms of activity therein.
On the other hand, for Man to exist as " substance " would
be to have a fixed, and limited independence, instead of an
independent freedom of development ; the former places him
outside the Infinite — i.e., he ceases to exist, even as Quantity,
for he is deprived of all relation. It is only as free activity
that he can either be a Self, himself, or represent the inmost
Self of the Divine nature. So, also, Man, as this image of
God, must be finite, because it is not the All of the Universe
that can show the inmost of the Divine, or reveal its highest
capacity, or even represent its Self ; but the highest glory and
inmost power of the Divine is shown only in this : that it can
repeat its whole Self in its least act — can be infinitesimal as
well as Infinite. Hence, as we have seen, this uttermost of
Self comes up only from an infinite depth in the Divine, and
396 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
so it returns to God objectively from a similar depth of appa-
rent nothingness — of mere vanishing infinitesimal relation —
which is yet the germ of the All.
Thus, we find that consciousness of self depends merely upon
free activity, not on Substance ; that such a self in Man, because
it is finite, depends upon the Divine Substance, and in that
relation only could exist as such ; and that, in the Divine, or
Infinite Being, such subordinate selves, or free activities, are
necessary as a return toward Himself, or re-transformation of
His own activity into His own consciousness in its free form —
its in-look toward Self. Souls are the first forms of God's
introspection.
Hence the whole nature of Man — of his free Self — is to
imitate, to repeat God's activity, to translate it into higher
forms of Substance, and thus to return it to Him as a recrea-
tion of His own inmost thought. Only in this sense can Crea-
tion become a complete or perfect work of God — one which
is not merely objective and static, but dynamic and perpetual,
like Himself, and existing in His consciousness of Self, as his
own constant and whole activity therein. This work is pro-
gressive, after the production of " Spirit," as well as before ;
all before that is only preparatory, partial activities, having
their results in merely objective forms of the Divine thought,
in its ever-changing idea, feeling, let-being. This only is the
full act of Will that commands the Self to "Be!" If we
may admit the common statement that God lets be what He
does not "Will," as well as what He wills, we shall have, at
least, a practical distinction between this passive, or partial,
embodiment of the Divine thought in Nature, and its complete
and vital characterization in Man's inmost being as a Self.
This self, as we have seen, can find its real being, not in any
substance of its own, but only and simply in its free, but lim-
ited and finite activity. It is so related to substance, however,
that it can translate even the relation of motion in matter into
ideal form. And as thus it transforms Divine activity in
Matter into its own in thought, so does it exchange activities
with other selves. Conversely, every thought it builds up
within is at the expense of this "natural" material, upon
The Matter and the Method of Thought. 397
which it reiicts, as if to send its electric message through, or
leave its impress on, this Divine substance, and thus make it
reach the consciousness of that Infinite Self-of-All. And as
for expression to others — in word, act, life — it is obviously
wholly dependent upon a substance not its own. Thus utterly
dependent for substance, it is only measurably and potentially
free. It is free to develop, but not free in scope ; it has,
so to speak, the element of time at its command, but not
that of space. It begins with Thought, not in its infinite
quantity, but only in its infinitesimal element of relation,
and is free to integrate it and test its results by comparison
with God's thought in Nature. Thus, there is no " infinity "
in its thought, any more than in itself. Most assuredly,
this self is Man, and not God.
This discussion of " substance " may not be wholly fruitless,
therefore, if it helps us to understand how there can be a God-
self, and also other selves in the image of His own, and yet
practically, " substantially " dependent, just because they are
free. For the penalty of Freedom is to be free — to be
necessitated to re-create Earth, Heaven, and God for one's self,
and in order to be really a Self. This Freedom, as we have
seen, has its only real character and design as an imitation, —
a repetition and return of God's activity into His own con-
sciousness, as truly like His own. In this, its only real
aspect, Man's Freedom involves Necessity, both for him and
for God. It is Necessity for God, because He cannot lay the
hand of force upon it without destroying its moral character,
and He must, therefore, freely offer to it of His substance as
means of action — as He does, both in particular forms and
in those general forms which we call "laws," in the use of
which Man finds his largest material freedom, so to speak, in
following the material Will of God. And this fact itself is a
revelation to Man, and suggests to him, when he comes to be
cognizant of " moral laws," that inasmuch as power almost
infinite — power to "remove mountains" — accrues to him
from identifying himself with " material laws," so these
higher, spiritual laws, or Will of God, though he is free to dis-
398 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
obey them, and be a slave, are yet offered him as means of his
largest Freedom. Thus his Freedom is Necessity for him,
because he can reach it only through the Mediation of God as
Substance, Law, Goodness — in short, by an activity which is
imitation — thus showing him that if he would be truly Man,
he must be, not God, but like God. For his freedom remains
forever in the womb of Time; it must be "born again "
before it can even become truly Freedom ; and it is not unrea-
sonable to suppose that its course will be through similar,
successive palingeneses, which bring their higher forms suited
to higher capacities, for even a pure " spiritual," and still
another " celestial " form of our poor " Beg riff" may be inade-
quate to comprehend the whole of God's " Idea " in all the
complexity of its Universality.
NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS.
DR. STIRLING AND PROF. CAIRD.
The length of Dr. Stirling's discussion of "Kant's Idea of Caus-
ality, in Relation to Prof. Caird's Interpretation of Kant," which we
announced in our last number, compels us to defer its publication to
the January number. Prof. Caird's article on " Kant's Deduction
of the Categories, with special Relation to the views of Dr. Stirling,"
is in hand, and will appear in the same number. — Ed.]
PHILOSOPHY AT JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY.
[We have received from Prof. George S. Morris (who has recently
entered upon his duties in the chair of philosophy at the above-
named institution — both professor and university are to be congratu-
lated on this auspicious event for philosophy) a circular announcing
his programme for 1879-80. The list of topics is inviting. — Ed.]
" History of Philosophy, and Ethics. Instruction in these subjects
will be given during the last half of the academic year, and will in-
clude (a) a course of public lectures; (&) critical and expository
Notes and Discussions. 399
lectures, for students of the university ; and (c) private readings
and examinations."
(a.) Public Lectures. — The public course will be on "British Thought and
Thinkers." Special Topics. — (1) The General Characteristics of the English
Mind; (2) Mediaeval Anticipations of Modern English Thought (John Scotus
Erigena, John of Salisbury, Roger Bacon, John Duns Scotus, William of Occam);
(3) Englishmen of the Renaissance (Edmund Spenser, Sir John Davies, Richard
Hooker) ; (4) William Shakespeare ; (5) Francis Bacon ; (6) Thomas Hobbes ;
(7) John Locke; (8) George Berkeley; (9) David Hume; (10) Sir William
Hamilton; (11) John Stuart Mill. Of these lectures, the last seven will be
largely biographical, though in each case the attempt will be made to state
pointedly the special purport of the speculative thought of the writer under dis-
cussion. These lectures will be given on Mondays, at five o'clock, p. m., in Hop-
kins Hall, beginning February 23, 1880.
(b.) Lectures for Special Students. — For special and advanced students, exposi-
tory and critical lectures on the "History of British Philosophy," on Tuesdays,
Wednesdays, and Thursday, at four o'clock, p. m., beginning February 24, 1880.
Undergraduate students, previously instructed in Logic and Psychology, who shall
follow this course and pass a satisfactory examination on the general subject-matter
of the same, and also upon some one or more of the masterpieces belonging to
the History of British Philosophy (for example, Bacon's Novum Organum, Locke's
Essay, Berkeley's Principles and Siris, Hume's Treatise, Reid's Intellectual
Powers, Hartley on Man, James Mill's Analysis, Sir William Hamilton's Meta-
physics, the Logic of John Stuart Mill, or the like), may be credited with the
completion of the minor course.
(c.) Private Readings. — Readings and discussions in Ethics. One session of
two hours every Friday (or Saturday), beginning February 27, 1880. Topic. —
Kant's Critique of Practical Reason, with reference to current works on Ethics.
Private reading of other philosophical works will also be directed by Prof.
Morris, with or without reference to the university examinations. Heretofore,
instruction has been given by the same professor in courses of public lectures
only, viz., in 1878, twenty lectures on the General History of Philosophy, ancient
and modern ; and in January, 1879, fourteen lectures on selected topics in the
History and Theory of Ethics. The line of instruction here announced will be
continued in 1880-81, by lectures, public and private, on German Philosophy ; and
in 1881-82 by lectures on Systematic Ethics, and on some phase of the History of
Ancient Philosophy.
HEGEL'S ^ESTHETICS.
[With the present number is completed Mr. Bryant's translation
of the most interesting portion of Hegel's ^Esthetics — the part in
which he characterizes the three great epochs of Art, corresponding
to the three great divisions of the world-history. Not only Art, but
the philosoplry of history and of religion, may be seen in this trea-
tise. Mr. Biyant proposes to reprint his translation in a book
form — making a work of nearly two hundred large pages. It will
400 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
form by far the best work in English on ^Esthetics, and could be
used to advantage in colleges, high schools, and seminaries as a
text-book. The first part of the translation follows Benard's French
translation, the original German being constantly consulted, while
the latter part is translated from the German direct.
Mr. Bryant furnishes the following notice of the complete work of
Hegel, published in three volumes in German, and in five volumes in
French. — Ed.]
The entire work of Hegel's ^Esthetics is divided into three por-
tions. The first treats of the Ideal in Art. The idea of the beauti-
ful is here philosophically accounted for, its characteristics fully
traced, and the course of its development foreshadowed.
The second division treats of the Development of the Ideal in the
Various Forms of Art. The profound historical significance of art
is here fully set forth. Art-activity is but one phase of the develop-
ment of spirit. ^Esthetics is, therefore, but one branch of the Phi-
losophy of Spirit. Hence, the forms developed by aesthetic endeavor
will be found to conform to the successive stages of the develop-
ment of spirit. During the early period of human history, the
spirit of man was crude, and, so to speak, altogether in the potential
mode. Here, thought could at best be but vague and abstract.
Properly speaking, it could not as yet be said to be expressed; it was
only vaguely suggested in sensuous form. Such sensuous forms,
vaguely manifesting spirit, are symbols. The Orient — the cradle of
the race — and, above all, Egypt, is the land of the symbol.
But, with the progress of spirit, the inadequacy of these forms
becomes apparent. Man gradually recognizes himself as a spiritual
being, and the higher powers as intelligences. Let us say : "As man
became more godlike, the gods became more human." Thought
became at once definite and finite, and it here found its perfectly
adequate expression in the finite human form. This is the stage of
the absolute perfection of sensuous beauty. Form and Idea are
now, for a moment in the world's history, absolutely blended ; and
the product is Greek Plastic Art.
It is manifest, however, that the infinitely progressive spirit of
man must ultimately pass beyond this stage of finite sensuous
thought. Finite divinities can be supreme only for a limited period.
The vigor of Greek thought itself, indeed, was quite sufficient to
transcend this limited sphere, and to reach and fairly grasp the con-
ception of the necessary, absolute, self-differentiating unity of the
Notes and Discussions. 401
Supreme. Thus Idea is once more separated from Form. Chris-
tianity completed the realization of this conception, but in such wise
as to afford abundant material for art. The absolute, divine One
was manifested sensuously in an actual human being. The anthropo-
morphism of Greek religion, and hence of Greek Art also, was dis-
solved only to give place to an anthropomorphism of a vastly higher
significance. With the Greeks, man discovered in himself the ideal
of his gods. Christianity shows man that his own infinite Ideal is
found realized in the one supreme Divinity. The human and the
divine are now united by an absolute bond — a spiritual bond —
and the beauty which art seeks in this new realm is, above all, the
beauty of the spirit. The art which develops within this sphere is
thus appropriately styled Christian, or Romantic Art.
We have thus three necessary stages of the development of spirit,
and three fundamentally distinct phases of art corresponding sever-
ally thereto. With three strides, the dwarf of Hindu mythology
takes possession of the world. The dwarf proves to be Vishnu, who
is, indeed, first of all the Preserver, but who also wields and
embodies within himself both the destructive power of Siva and the
creative energy of Brahma. Spirit, dwarfish and impotent at the out-
set, so soon as it realizes and formulates its own demands, speedily
reveals its godlike might, and proves, in its ultimate potency, to be
itself both the universal solvent and the vital element of the world.
The third part of the ^Esthetics presents the System of the Par-
ticular Arts. Of this third part we can here say little more than that
it is but the carrying out, in detail, of the system presented in the
second general division, as the second is itself foreshadowed and
contained in germ in the first.
Architecture, with its abstract mathematical forms and vast, pon-
derous masses, is peculiarly adapted to symbolism. Sculpture, still
occupying the three dimensions of space, yet solves the problem of
reducing heavy matter to the most exquisitely refined representation
of the human form, which, of all sensuous forms, is the most per-
fect and most beautiful manifestation of spirit. Form and content,
spirit and its manifestation, are here viewed as constituting one and
the same simple totality. It is the point of mediation be'tween the
simple, abstract infinity of symbolism and the concrete, vital infi-
nity of the Romantic World. Painting possesses, in respect of its
material, practical freedom from the law of gravity; to it belong the
powerful effects of color, the magic of light and shade, and the two-
fold miracle of perspective. These render it capable of satisfying
XIII— 26
'102 The Journal of Speculative Pilosophy.
demands immeasurably beyond the reach of the other arts of visible
representation — immeasurably beyond any demands that were defi-
nitely made of art during either the period of symbolism or that of
Classicism. Hence, it was only after the human spirit had reached the
profoundly concrete stage of a well-defined and vital faith in the per-
sonal immortality of the individual, witli all that is implied b3 r this, that
the utmost capabilities of this richly endowed form of art were called
into activitv, and its loftiest achievements realized. Painting is thus
a distinctively Christian, or Romantic form of art. Its highest pur-
pose is to express spiritual beauty, independent of, and often in
opposition to, sensuous beauty ; nay, at times, even by means of the
physically ugly and repulsive.
Of Music and P<>/ j tr;/ we can here permit ourselves to utter but a
single word, and that mainly by way of comparing the one with the
other. Music wholly rejects sensuous form from its products.
Poetry retains such forms, but presents them only for the imagina-
tion, through the subtle medium of language. Speaking generally,
music may be said to be the more subjective of the two, since in its
realization it is a series of states of the soul Poetry, on the con-
trary, is more objective, since it excites definite images, which appear
to the imagination as external realities. Music may, in short, in
comparison with poetry, be called the manifestation of spirit under
the passive form of feeling, while poetry is the manifestation of
spirit under the active form of intellectual comprehension. But
both are, in their range, commensurate with the entire range of the
human spirit, in so far as spirit manifests itself under appropriate
sensuous form. They are the wings on which the human phantasy
first fluttered from its nest, and which carry the full-fledged imagina-
tive spirit nearest the sun of truth. Music expresses, with exquisite
exactitude, every phase of feeling, from the simplest to the subtlest.
It is the absolute philosophy of tin' emotions. Poetry expresses, with
equal power and skill, every phase of thought, from the child-like
fancies of the Arcadian shepherd to the loftiest conceptions within
the range of imagery. This immense range and subtlety of power
to sensuously manifest spirit, proves the superiority of these two
forms of art over the arts of visible representation ; and of these
two, poetry, as the more active and virile, must unquestionably be
recognized as holding the first rank.
Thus, from architecture to poetry we have an ascending series, at
each progressive stage of which there is less dependence upon the
material, and greater power to express the spiritual.
Notes and Discussions. 403
It is, of course, impossible, in so brief a compass, to more than
dimly indicate the direction of the current of thought in this extra-
ordinary work, which, in the second (German) edition, extends
through three volumes, containing, in all, more than 1,600 closely-
printed pages, throughout which is exhibited the compact style for
which Hegel is noted. It is, besides, written with great clearness and
force, and often with genuine eloquence and beauty.
Wm. M. Bryant.
St. Louis, Mo., August, 1879.
IMMANUEL HERMANN VON FICHTE.
Germain' has lost two of her greatest philosophers this year. Prof.
Dr. Karl Rosenkranz, of Koenigsberg, the most renowned of Hegelian
philosophers, and Immanuel Hermann von Fichte, the son of Johann
Gottlieb Fichte. He died last month, at his residence in Stuttgart,
at the advanced age of eighty-two years, from a brain disease. His
master-work — "Anthropology" — he styles, himself, in the preface
of the book, " a Prolegomena to every future scientific AntJiropoIogy."
In close connection with this work, he wrote his " Psychology," and
then "The Immortality of the Soul, and the Cosmic Position of
Man."
In 1869, it happened that the learned and wealthy Belgian, Baron
L. de Guldenstable, author of " Positive Pneumatology," arrived,
with his sister, at Stuttgart, the residence of Fichte. Both these per-
sonages were possessed of very remarkable mediunhstic powers, and,
after having become intimately acquainted with Fichte, the}' proved
to him, by undeniable facts, the truthfulness of some of the spiritual
phenomena. After having investigated and studied the somewhat
perplexed and mystified problem of Spiritualism, Fichte stated in
1875-6, when writing a preface to a new edition of his "Anthrop-
ology," his full conviction of the facts of the spiritualistic phenomena,
as far as they had come to his observation. In 1878, he published a
volume on this subject, under the title, "Modern Spiritualism; Its
Value and Delusions — -An Anthropological Study."
After that time he was busily engaged in writing " Spiritualistic
Memorable Events," of which forty pages were finished and pub-
lished, when, on the twenty-second day of April, 1879, a serious affec-
tion of the brain closed his very active and successful literary career ;
and his death, in the middle of August, ended his noble life.
A. E. Kkoeger.
404 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
ASSOCIATIONS OF TONE AND COLOR.
[From Prof. Moritz Wirtb the following letter has been received
(Leipzig, April 10, 1879), which explains itself. Mr. Kroeger trans-
lates both the letter and the circular which follows. — Ed.]
"I do myself the honor to send you a sheet of questions for gathering statis
tics upon the subject of certain associations referred to in his " Vorschule der
^Esthetik," I., p. 176, and II., p. 315, by Prof. Fechner, who desires to have
them answered. I beg that you, yourself, will do us the honor of interesting
yourself in the matter, and will also kindly stir up the circle of your friends and
acquaintances to note and gather facts belonging to this subject.
"In view of the different pronunciations pertaining to the same signs in English
and German, I have taken the liberty to put down such English words as contain
the sound required for these statistics. It is understood that all replies to the
questions may be made in the English language.
" I further make free to inform you of a class of associations which have come to
light onty since these questions were first started. It has appeared that in many
cases the tone-keys associate with colors. For instance : C major is seen as white ;
D major as yellow; D flat major, golden; E major, green; Gr minor, dark red;
C minor, gray, etc. At the same time, passages are to be found in some musical
works, which may appear to be influenced in the choice of keys by such associations.
Thus, Haydn, in his "Creation," after the words, "And there was Light /" brings
in the C-major chord, having previously painted the chaos in C minor. Similarly,
in his "Seasons," the fogs of winter are sketched in C minor. The association
of the tone-keys with colors being thus of quite immediate interest for experi-
mental ^Esthetics, I beg you to direct your attention also to this matter. Should
you consider the undertaking a proper one for a small notice in your journal, Prof.
Fechner will certainly be very grateful. It is, of course, left altogether to your
own inclination whether you care to collect the observations and information thus
drawn out, in larger circles of interested persons, for your own use, or whether you
will cause them to be sent to the address on the enclosed cover, so as to reach Prof.
Fechner directly."
Tone and Color.
It is a well-known fact that many persons associate colors with
vowels ; frequently it happens, also, that the major and minor keys
of tones, and also temperaments, are associated with vowels. It
would be, in many respects, interesting to know whether there is any
regularity in these phenomena ; but only a very extensive compila-
tion of statistics can make this known.
Prof. Fechner, who has exerted himself for a long time to fix
jesthetical laws empirically, has appealed to the Academical Philo-
sophical society to aid him in gathering the necessary material.
Authorized by the society, the undersigned take the liberty to sub-
mit to you the enclosed sheet of questions.
In explanation, we add the following: —
1. Colors include black, white, and mixed colors. It is desirable
Notes and Discussions. 405
that any particular shading — if any — be also specified, e.g., metal-
lic, dim, glossy.
2. For the sake of clearness it is well to designate the species of
tones (major and minor), and also the temperaments (sanguine,
choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic), merely by their first letter,
using capitals for the former, and small letters for the latter.
3. A special sheet is enclosed for any other associations — as, for
instance, of numbers, temperaments, connections of diphthongs and
consonants with colors, etc.
4. Of course, it is also of importance to ascertain the percentage
of such persons as have no association at all. We request them to
sign their names and address on the second enclosed sheet.
5. We beg that, on all three sheets, the occupation and place of
residence be added to the signature.
Prof. Fechner desires, in general, only the judgment of cultured
persons. The cooperation of ladies will be specially valuable to him.
It is understood that only such associations are to be inserted as
arise unforced of themselves, and without systematic reflection.
Should the interest in this matter grow in your circle, further sheets
are at yoxxv service.
Allow us to remark, in conclusion, that a speedy return of the
sheets will be very agreeable to Prof. Fechner. We request you
to use the enclosed envelope for that purpose.
At the instance of Prof. Fechner, the commission of the Aca-
demic Philosophical Society.
[Signed by] George Wendel, Stud. Arch.
Moritz Wirth, Stud. Philos.
Adolf Forstrik, Stud. Math.
Leipzig, February, 1879.
[These tables require information in regard to correspondence of
color, major or minor, and temperament in respect to each of the
following vowel-sounds: a (as heard in ah, calm), e (English long-a-
sound, as heard in shade, hail, or they), i (English long-e-sound, as
heard in scene, sheep, fatigue), o (as in hope, note, cloak), u or oo
(as in rule =oo in fool, pool), a (in back, bad, shall), u (in hut,
gun, luck), a or au (as in fall, naught, talk).
Any persons who feel an interest in the question will confer a
favor by making the experiments indicated, and collecting the infor-
mation in a tabular form and transmitting the same to the editor of
The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, or An dem Akademisch-
Philosophischen Verein, Leipzig, Germany. — Ed.]
406 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
RAPHAEL'S "SCHOOL OF ATHENS."
In the year 1508, Julius II., the haughty and violent conqueror of
Bologna, was in the fifth year of his pontificate, and at the very acme
of his destiny. His warlike deeds had established his reputation as
an earthly ruler, and the keys of St. Peter, which he held, were the
indisputable sign of his spiritual authority. Although no lover of
art for art's sake, his ostentatious mind, seeking to perpetuate itself,
accepted that as the nearest road, and the number and character of
his works have stamped him one of the greatest figures of the
Renaissance. Already St. Peter's, his glory and his crown, was far
advanced, and Bramante, its architect, stood high enough in favor to
be one of his chief advisers. Michael Aimelo was engaged in con-
structing for him a tomb, on a plan which, had it been completed,
would have put all former efforts of the kind to shame, and have
driven all future artists to despair. Julius was happy in the posses-
sion of the first architect and sculptor of his time, and his glory
seemed like to live again, fresh and green, in their works.
It is said that Bramante conceived a jealousy of the sculptor ; he
feared that Michael Angelo's project would eclipse his own ; he looked
with an eye of some thing stronger even than disapprobation upon the
work which was destined to be enshrined within his own. Casting
about for a means of supplanting him, he bethought himself of his
townsman, Raphael, the young artist of Urbino. He presented him
to the old pope, and asked for him the task of painting the unfinished
stanze of the pontifical palace. Julius II. was ravished at sight of
the young and graceful painter, and, satisfied with the account of his
fame, "caused all other painting to be effaced, and gave him the im-
mensity of the Vatican to decorate."
Raphael d'Urbino, the first painter of all time, was now at the
flow r ering time of his genius. He had gradually disentangled himself
from the net of Perugino's influence ; he had passed through the stage
of his subjection to Fra Bartolommeo, and was now ready to stand
forth in the might of his own unapproachable genius — a genius which
had no flaw in the early development, no . stain of vain-glory in its
onward progress. Beside that "fire off the altar " with which he had
been touched by nature, he was presented by the Fates with the two
best gifts they have in their power to confer on man ; he was born
well and died early — -died in the zenith of his powers and of his
fame.
Art, beauty, and grace were his by legitimate inheritance. Born of
Notes and Discussions. 407
an artist father, whose devotion to his art, whose high sense of the
artist's calling, is best expressed by his own words: "Care never
weighs so cruelly as on a man already laden with the magnificent bur-
den of art, a burden which would lie heavy even for the shoulders of
an Atlas;" he had for a mother one whose best epitaph was, " She
made her husband's life happy." Added to this, she was so lovely
that Giovanni often used her and his beloved young son as models
for his Holy Families. Thus Raphael imbibed, with his earliest
breath, his taste, his grace, his beauty of mind and of person. His
first years were passed in an atmosphere of love, beauty, and sweet-
ness, and amid all the refinements and ennoblements of art. He here
learned of his father to paint those images of maternal love which
haunted his imagination through life, and which he ever labored to
embody, passing onward through every grade of excellence, until at
last his conquering brush gave to the world, as its lasting inheritance,
that apotheosis of all that is loveliest and purest in womanhood and
childhood, transfigured by all that is most divine in nature and in
God, the Madonna di San Sisto.
We have listened long, we must still continue to listen, to the futile
comparison of Raphael with Michael Angelo. We must hear one
rated as to his repose, the other as to his power, forgetful all the
while that there is a power in the calm of a summer sea, that has no
thought of the tempest; and another power of the calm after the
storm, the sea of which is as motionless, as still as the other, but
whose quiet wave broods over the wreck of brave barks and loving
hearts which lie deep beneath its shimmering surface. Michael
Angelo's repose is a conquered peace. He is the only artist who has
united the deed to its consequence ; who has rounded the circle, so
that we can find in all his great works the power that comes of a free-
will acknowledging necessity. Raphael's is the repose of a soul that
has never sinned. Not for him the conflicts and the questionings,
not for him the doubt and surmise ; he is safely anchored, and his faith
is sure.
Raphael's art was his whole life. He lived for a time in Florence,
amid the contentions of Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, and the lesser
artists, without a thought of engaging in their disputes, only seeking
to learn of them their methods, and always endeavoring to perfect
himself. At TJrbino he was an habitue of the court — one of the
most brilliant of the time, full of lovely women and gifted men — at
whose feasts and revelries he was ever a welcome guest. But we find
him chiefly delighting in the conversations upon Plato and the Ideal
408 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
philosophy, carried on between Count Cagliosti'o and Pietro Bembo —
conversations which he carried long in his mind, the close attention
which he paid them yielding a rich harvest at a later time. In Rome,
received everywhere, and himself a centre of admirers, of pupils,
and of friends ; living in the midst of all the angry passions, the
sensuality, and the restless misery of the full Renaissance ; living
during the progress of the most tragic events, while Italy was being
overrun by stranger hordes and enslaved by foe and friend alike, he
still kept on his quiet way, accepting as his mission the glorious work
of rounding off and completing the noble circle of Italian painters —
of leaving to after ages the benediction of perfect beauty and of holy
peace.
The first work put into the hands' of Raphael, on his arrival at
Rome, was the task of decorating the walls of the Stanza della Sig-
natura. This was already partially accomplished, and some artists
were still at work on it when Pope Julius placed it in the hands of
Raphael, desiring him to do what he thought best with it. He re-
tained some of the lesser ornamentation of the ceiling, but the walls
he caused to be cleared for his own work. On each of these four
walls he painted a large picture, averaging 16x26 feet, which
accommodated itself to the shape of the room, and had for subject,
respectively, Theology, Poetry, Philosophy, and Jurisprudence. Of
the other three, though each great in its kind, and having each its
host of admirers, we shall not speak. We shall direct our attention
solely to Philosophy, or, as it is more commonly called, the "School
of Athens."
Viewed only as a work of art, the School of Athens will chal-
lenge comparison with the most ambitious attempts of its own creator,
or of any other artist. Its beauty and finish ; its magnificent archi-
tecture, s"o superbly drawn that the illusion of distance and of light
is perfect ; the grace, ease, and variety, both of movement and of rest,
exhibited in the figures, are all unique. But this is the smallest part
of its excellence. It is as the epitome of Greek philosophy that it
claims our deepest attention. We have here mapped out, as it
were, before us, the whole complex product of Greek thought.
Assembled in the atrium of a noble edifice, built in the earliest, and
therefore the purest, Renaissance style, we behold the representatives
of every phase of Greek philosophy, that wonderful plant which
grew up in a night, as it were, and bore its fruit for the ages. Each
group or circle, complete in itself, is related to all that precede and
to all that follow ; and thus these interlacing circles form, together,
Notes and Discussions. 409
the one great round which is itself but a moment in the circling
movement of human thought.
The Greek philosophy, counting from its earliest appearance down
to its latest outcome (the noble school of exact science at Alexandria),
may be divided into three phases: the material, the speculative, and
the scientific. In Raphael's work, the first and third, as merely
physical, occupy the lower level ; the speculative appears, by right,
upon the platform above. Like the "closed circle, ending in its
beginning," which we are told typifies philosophy, this circle may be
broken anywhere. But in the logical sequence we shall begin with
the earliest exponents, and so make our progression "in time."
The lonely dreamer, who occupies the first place at the left, is
Heraclitus. He is the representative of the Ionian school, which
counted Thales, the father of Greek philosophy, as its founder.
This school accepted as its mission the search after the beginning of
things, and was thoroughly cosmogonal. As a material philosophy,
having not yet reached a standpoint higher than that derived from
sensation, it necessarily attached itself to a material element — water,
air, fire — as its first principle. But it was the first effort of Greek
thought to realize itself, and in that lies its deep meaning.
Leaning on a pedestal, a stylus in his hand, a tablet resting beside
him, he appears immersed in thought. No disciple or friend attends
him. The "Obscure" finds, in his own day, no one to sympathize
with his doctrine. Vainly endeavoring to make intelligible the great
thought that fills his soul, he ponders ceaselessly his own enigma :
"All is and is not; for though it does indeed come into being, yet it
forthwith ceases to be." "On the same stream we embark and
embark not, we are and we are not ! ' '
In strange contrast with this solitary thinker, we see next Pytha-
goras, surrounded by his disciples and his friends. Their number
and eager attention prove unquestionably the popularity of his exoteric
doctrine, while the disciple at his right (probably Archytas), peering
over his shoulder and copying diligently in a large book, is a subtile
reminder that he had an esoteric one as well: "Not unto all should
all be made known." Still seeking after the first principle of things,
and wavering between water, air, fire, the Greek mind hungered for
something solid and unvarying on which it might make its stand.
Pythagoras, founder of the Italian school, thought he had discovered
this in Number. His aim was to bring harmony into creation.
Aristotle says: "He concluded that the elements of Numbers are
the elements of things, and that the whole heaven is a harmony and
a Number." The young man, holding a tablet on which music is
410 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
noted, reminds ns of his maxim: "The nature and energy of Num-
bers may be traced, not only in divine and demonic things, but in
human works and words everywhere, and in all works of art, and in
music." The woman behind, seen only in profile, refers to his es-
timation, — extraordinary at that day — of the importance of woman.
Many women ranked among his disciples. This undoubtedly repre-
sents his wife, Theano, who was herself a philosopher. The Arab
leaning over his shoulder indicates the Arabic invention of figures,
and the use made of them in arithmetical combinations of num-
bers.
These two systems, which form the first antithesis of the picture,
form the first antithesis of philosophy. With Heraclitus, and the
philosophers of his school, the earth is all in all ; it is the centre of
the system ; the ground beneath their feet is the only realit} 7 . Pytha-
goras looks abroad into the heavens and sees the sun, fixed and
immovable, with all its train of planets circling in majestic procession
round it, singing as they go. Sensualism and Idealism in embryo!
Back of Pythagoras, and seeming almost a part of his group, is
Parmenides, chief of the Eleatics. He is placed near Pythagoras, as
believing, like him, "all comes from One;" but his inattention to
him, and his pre-occupation, separate them widely — as did their
doctrines. Parmenides's "Being is, and nothing is not," is the
foundation of pure thought. Of all the pre-Socratic schools, the
Eleatic approached nearest to the heights of speculative inquiry, and
Raphael has placed Parmenides nearest the platform — almost upon
the first step. One of the strongest antitheses in the whole picture is
to be found between Heraclitus and Parmenides. Heraclitus broods
moodily and heavily ; his thought is clogged and weighed down by its
gross material embodiment. Parmenides is calm, serene, beautiful
(Raphael is said to have given him the features of his prince,
Francesco Maria della Rovere) ; looking abroad from the heights he
has scaled, his vision is far and unimpeded.
Between Parmenides and Heraclitus, more in the foreground than
Parmenides, but farther removed than Heraclitus and Pythagoras, is
Anaxagoras. Standing directly below Socrates, he seems placed
there partly to separate him from the physical school, which he held
in such contempt, and partly to suggest the deep significance which
Socrates was afterwards to give to the assertion of Anaxagoras :
" Nuut; o-overns the world." The infinite One Substance of the
Ionians became in his hands the liomceomerim. To express this, he
is represented turning quite away from Heraclitus, but seems to be
arguing with Pythagoras that, as "without the One there could not
Notes and Discussions. 411
be the Many, so, with the Many only could there be One." Though,
with Anaxagoras, the One was not the Many, but the Moving Principle
of the man}'.
The group at the extreme left, and the last on the lower level, in-
troduces us to Democritus. He embodies the final summing up of
the material s}rstems, both negatively and affirmatively. He rejected
both the One and the Many, and declared Atoms, "indivisible and
intangible," to be the primary elements. But the Atom, being in-
divisible, is necessarily one; and being one, is necessarily self-ex-
istent. He thus affirmed that the self-existent must be One ; that
there were many things existing ; and also that the One could never
be more than the One — never become the Many. It is not, however,
as the atomic, but as the traditional "'laughing philosopher," that
Raphael has represented Democritus. We behold him crowned with
ivy, and accompanied by boon companions, who believe, like him,
that philosophy is the "art of enjoying life;" his jovial face and
figure in strange contrast with the earnest, preoccupied air of his
predecessors. At his left, a roguish child, whose sunn}' face is sud-
denly clouded over at view of the serious company into which he has
intruded, connects him with the old school of philosophy, whose
systems were articles of faith. On his right, the old man presenting
a babe typifies the senility of the material conception, which, in the
person of Democritus, approaches its dissolution ; but before its
departure, presents, still in the person of Democritus, the new-born
speculative insight.
The age of Faith, in the Greek philosophy, closes with Democritus.
Indeed, attempts have been made to identify him with the Sophists ;
and his celebrated axiom, "•Either nothing is true, or what is true is
not evident to us," quoted by Aristotle, gives color to the theory.
Certain it is that, by ascribing all our knowledge to sensation, and
then affirming its (sensation's) unreliability, he opened the way for
the assertion that we have no criterion of truth.
The negative phase of thought has its uses, and is as fully a part
of the general movement as the affirmative. After a phase of phi-
losophy has run its course and reached its highest point, it is neces-
sary that it should pass away, not into oblivion, but to 'reissue as
component part of the new doctrine. Before the new edifice can be
raised, the old structure must be torn down — but not therefore anni-
hilated. The worthless bricks, the plaster, and other debris must all
be cleared away ; but the solid and heavy stones of the foundation,
the polished and sculptured mural tablets, will all be numbered and
laid aside, ready for use by the new architect. The work of building
412 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
is slow, laborious, calm ; tearing down is a wild act, full of move-
ment, haste, and passion. The first group at the left of the platform
represents the Sophists. The}' come hurriedly on the scene ; they are
in haste to proclaim their mission — to announce the utter vanity and
uselessness of all philosophy.
The Sophists had no school, properly so called ; no one great master,
around whom all the rest revolved. It was rather a popular move-
ment than a s}*stem. Accordingly, we see in our picture a group of
three men, neither of whom appears to be especially prominent. The
one who seems in the most violent haste, who enters half-clothed,
his draper}* fluttering after him in resistance to his rapid advance, is
Diagoras of Melos, whose desire to implant distrust of all precon-
ceived ideas earned him an exile from Athens. More in the back-
ground, his head and face alone visible, appears Gorgias of Leonti-
num, whom Plato honored b} - making his name the title of one of his
dialogues. The third figure represents Protagoras — probably the
most representative name of the class. His celebrated dictum,
"Man is the measure of all things," which formulated the relativity
of all knowledge, was the essence of the whole doctrine. Pointing
to the next circle, which includes Socrates and his pupils, while turn-
ing to his companions, he connects the two groups, and seems to
indicate the war which was to be waged between them.
We have now reached the central point of the picture, the highest
effort of Greek philosophy, represented by the great triune — Socra-
tes, Plato, Aristotle. Occupying the central and highest point — en-
shrined, as it were, in the temple itself, each surrounded by his own
pupils, — they seem separate, but are really one.
The Greek mind, baffled in its expected results from physics, had
sunk for a moment in the slough of scepticism. Only for a moment:
too energetic to remain there long, it shook itself free and turned its
attention to morals. Socrates aimed to withdraw the mind from what
seemed to him to be the utterly barren contemplation of the
phenomena of nature, and to turn its regard on its own phenomena.
He believed every man has within himself the germs of knowledge,
and the only way by which man can conquer truth is to struggle
valorously with himself for its possession. Hegel says of him :
"Socrates is celebrated as a teacher of morality, but we should
rather call him the inventor of morality. The Greeks had a mo-
rality of custom ; but Socrates undertook to teach them what moral
virtues and duties were. The moral man is not merely he who wills
and does that which is right — not the merely innocent man — but he
who has the consciousness of what he is doing. Socrates, in assign-
Notes and Discussions. 413
ino - to insight, to conviction, the determination of men's actions,
posited the individual as capable of a final moral decision, in contra-
position to country and customary morality, and thus manifested a
revolutionary aspect towards the Athenian State ; for the peculiarity
of this State was, that customary morality was the form in which its
existence was moulded — an inseparable connection of Thought with
actual life. But when, on account of the giving utterance to that
principle, which was advancing to recognition, Socrates is condemned
to death, the sentence bears, on the one hand, the aspect of unim-
peachable justice — inasmuch as the Athenian people condemns its
deadliest foe — but, on the other hand, that of a deeply .tragical
character, inasmuch as the Athenians had to make the discovery that
what they reprobated in Socrates had already struck firm root among
themselves, and that they must be pronounced guilty or innocent with
him."
We see him here, the centre of a motley crowd, "seeking for the
meaning of the oracle." He is now interrogating one of those arti-
ficers whom he acknowledged "knew things which he did not."
Alcibiades, dressed in complete armor, stands opposite. His fixed
look, his eager, breathless attention, prove that he will soon be obliged
" to stop his ears, and flee away as fast as possible, lest he should
sit down beside him and grow old listening to his talk." To the right
of Alcibiades, iEschines, the plebeian Athenian orator, warns off the
approaching Sophists, and at the same time connects his circle with
the one preceding. To the left of JEschines, and directly behind the
artisan, is Crito, always the fast friend of Socrates ; his benefactor
when, removing him from his uncongenial occupation in the marble-
cutter's yard, he had him educated ; his disciple in later life, and his
executor when dead.
Leaning on a stylobate, and watching his master eagerly, is
Xenophon. He seems, though, to be intent, rather upon the man
than upon his words. He is thinking, "Knowing him, of a truth,
to be such a man as I have described ; so pious towards the gods, as
never to undertake any thing without first consulting them ; so just
towards men, as never to do any injury, even the very slightest, to
any one, whilst many and great were the benefits he conferred on all
with whom he had any dealings ; so temperate and chaste, as not to
indulge any appetite or inclination at the expense of whatever was
modest and becoming ; so prudent, as never to err in judgment of
good or evil, nor wanting the assistance of others to discriminate
rightly concerning them ; so able to discourse upon, and define with
the greatest accuracy, not only those points of which we have been
414 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
speaking, but likewise every other, and, looking, as it were, into the
minds of men, discover the very moment for reprehending vice or
stimulating to the love of virtue ; experiencing, as I have done, all
these excellencies in Socrates, I can never cease considering him as
the most virtuous and most happy of mankind. But if there is any
one who is disposed to think otherwise, let him go and compare
Socrates with any other, and afterwards let him determine."
More in the background appear Aristippus and Euclid of Megara,
two of the most eminent of Socrates's disciples — -after Plato — who
founded schools. The nearest one. who is represented as an old
man, is Aristippus of Cyrene. He specified Pleasure as the infinite
Good ; but believed that, in order to secure the highest pleasure, it
was necessary to temper enjoyment with moderation. Directly be-
hind him is Euclid. The Megaric school was a mixture of the Eleatic
and Socratic. Euclid accepted the One which is known only to
Reason, but announced that One to be the Good. This One Good
was the only true existence ; all else is phenomenal and transitory.
Occupying the central and highest position is the double group,
with Plato and Aristotle in the centre. Plato is represented as an
old man, with flowing white beard and hair. Aristotle is in the prime
of manhood. Plato marks the highest point of speculative philos-
ophy ; Aristotle, though still a speculative thinker, is the summit from
which was to flow the clear stream of positive science.
Democritus embodied the first resume of Greek philosophy ; Plato,
the second. Plato was the heir of the accumulated riches of the
ages. He collected, enlarged, and improved upon the thoughts of all
his predecessors, and. adopting their leading features, applied to them
the Socratic method — definitions, Analysis, and Induction. Like his
master, he made the investigation of universals his specialty. Dia-
lectics, with him, was the science of Universals. This science was
not confined solely to subjective things, but occupied itself with
what were the only real existences — Ideas. His doctrine of Ideas
was the centre of his system, around which his other speculations —
as to Reminiscence, Metempsychosis, God, the World — revolved.
Standino- erect, a laroe book — to denote his voluminous writing —
in his hand, he points upward to that celestial region which he con-
sidered the home of Ideas, the seat of Existence itself, and which
he was "constantly, to the best of his powers, occupied in trying to
recollect."
On the right of Plato are arranged the Academicians. Speusippus,
his sister's son, who succeeded him in the conduct of the Old Acad-
emy, is nearest the spectator. Leaning on his shoulder, his face
Notes and Discussions. 415
turned from us, is Xenocrates, who succeeded Speusippus (339
B. C). These two carried out the principles of their master, and
illustrated and defended his doctrines. The Middle Academy is
represented by Arcesilaus, who developed the doctrine of the uncer-
tainty of sensuous impressions and the nothingness of human knowl-
edge. His face exhibits the sweet temper for which he was
renowned. The next figure is in strong contrast ; this shows us
Carneades, the founder of the New Academy, the subtile rhetorician,
who was largely tinged with Cynicism. Back of him, and almost
concealed by his tall figure, is Philo of Larissa, the avant courier
of Neo-Platonism.
On the left of Plato, we see the one whom he himself characterized
so well: "Aristotle is the Mind of my school." The pupil was no
slavish imitator of his master. Receiving gladly and cherishing ten-
derly all that he learned of him, he 3 et dared to disagree on some
paints of his philosophy, and, by so doing, struck out a new pathway
for himself. He opposed Plato's theory of Ideas, and we see him
here engaged in dispute. Plato has just proclaimed that Ideas, and
Ideas alone, have any existence. Aristotle replies, "I tell thee,
Plato, my master, thou art wrong — radically wrong. Far be it from
me to deny the subjective existence of Ideas ; on the contrary, I con-
sider them the very materials of science. But to give them an ob-
jective existence, is merely to perpetuate an empty and poetical
metaphor." The real existence with him was Thought, the activity
of Divine Reason — God himself. "God, as the Absolute Unmoved
Eternal Substance, is Thought. The Universe is a thought in the
'CD O
mind of God." It is "God passing into activity, but not exhausted
in the act." Aristotle made science possible by proclaiming experi-
ence to be its basis ; by directing man to the observation of nature.
He did not, therefore, eliminate Reason, but made of it the architect
of science. Hegel has abundantly proved that, "although Aristotle
laid more stress upon experience than did Plato, }^et he also ex-
pressly taught that Reason alone could form science."
Ranged on the left of Aristotle, and opposed to the Academicians,
are the Peripatetics — over against the moralists, the natural philos-
ophers. Theophrastus, the foremost of the line, was first a pupil of
Plato, but subsequently became the favorite of Aristotle, who made
him his heir. Standing next him, with an arm thrown around his
neck, is Strato of Lampsacus, who followed Theophrastus as con-
ductor of the Lyceum. These two were the natural philosophers,
par excellence, of the school. Theophrastus, according to Cicero,
attributed a character of divinity to the heavens, and to all astronom-
416 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
ical systems ; Strato declared that what is called God, Intelligence,
Divine Power, was nothing more than the power of nature, deprived
of all consciousness of itself ; that every thing is explained by the
necessary connection of causes and effects, by the poise and coun-
terpoise of nature. The third represents Aristoxenes, the musician,
who regarded the soul as a vibration of the body. Peering over his
shoulder is Dicaearchus, who taught there was no soul ; what we call
by that name was nothing else than life, equally diffused throughout
all bodies. To the right of Aristoxenes is Eudemus of Rhodes, cele-
brated as an editor and commentator, as well as a disciple of Aris-
totle. Lycon, the third conductor of the Lyceum, and Aristo, the
fourth, follow in succession.
Back of this row, in allusion to the designation Peripatetics, we
see two philosophers, who seem to be walking swiftly, while engaged
in close conversation. There is a touch of the ludicrous in this little
piece of naturalism. And in the next figure — the young man who
indicates the Eclecticism about to commence, whose irresistibly comic
hurry is manifested by his unstable position (he stands on one leg-
with the other crossed, and writes, resting the tablet on his knee), and
his hair waving aside — Raphael must have had a premonition of the
modern newspaper reporter.
The disciples of Socrates were of two different orders : those —
and Plato is the only true example of this order — who understood,
who carried out the whole of his philosophical method, and those
who were more attracted by his views of morality, his ethical tenden-
cies. We have seen how, in the Megaric school, the abstract Good
of Socrates was identified with the Eleatic One ; and how, in the
Cyrenaic school, it was represented by the concrete, Pleasure. The
Cynical and Epicurean schools, though antipodal in their tenden-
cies, were developments of the same idea. Cynicism consisted in
the absolute renunciation of all worldly pleasure, of all bodily desires.
It was a subjugation of the body by the mind. Its devotees find
their parallel only in the hermits and ascetics of later times. To go
clothed in the scantiest excuse for raiment, to eat barely sufficient
to ward off starvation, to wallow in filth, and to live, to act, and to
to talk with the most brutal coarseness, was to live a life of virtue, was
be free of sin, and was to have a mind unclogged in its free development.
To this vile doctrine is opposed the elevated one of Epicurus —
elevated in itself, though seduced into base uses — of the right emplo}--
ment of all the faculties, a rigid temperance the only rule. His
doctrine was not an art of Truth. He could not scale those airy
heights where Socrates, Plato, Aristotle dwelt serene, but he created
Notes and Discussions. 417
the noblest of all the arts of Life. Over his "Garden" in Athens
might have been written the noble aphorism of Goethe, " Think of
Living." Democritus had a glimpse of this high thought, Aristippus
saw it "darkly," too, but to Epicurus is due its embodiment — to
his followers, alas, its prostitution.
Perhaps the finest episode of the picture, certainly the strongest
antithesis, is the contrast of Cynicisn and Epicureanism, as repre-
sented by their chief exponents. Lying negligently upon the middle
step (Raphael was no ascetic) is Diogenes of Sinope. His eyes
fixed upon a tablet which he holds in his hand, he is absorbed in
thought. His drapery is scanty and poor, but he has not } - et reached
the lowest point of his voluntary destitution ; his bowl stands on the
step beside him. Mounting the steps we see a young man, hand-
somely dressed. He has heard of the congress of philosophers, it
seems, and has come hither to seek a master. Meeting a stranger
(Epicurus, also richly dressed) descending, he inquires of him,
" Who is the greatest teacher here? Surely this man, who exhibits
so much contempt for all the luxuries and gauds of life ; who, soli-
tary, has no need of companionship." Epicurus points to the trium-
virate above, telling him not to stop on the way, but seek always the
highest good ; and bids him not to trust too much to an appearance
whose only characteristic may be its singularity. We seem almost to
hear the echo of words like unto these of Emerson: "It is easy in
the world to live after the world's opinion ; it is easy in solitude to
live after our own ; but the great man is he who, in the midst of the
crowd, keeps, with perfect sweetness, the independence of solitude."
We have seen how the first physical speculations, the utter reliance
on sensation, had been thrust aside ; and how there had followed a
feeling of the unreliability of all knowledge. From that moment Scep-
ticism took firm hold of the Greek mind. Indeed, it must have been
latent there from the first ; for, who ever begins to inquire until he
has first learned to doubt? Socrates himself was so thoroughly con-
vinced of the utter uselessness of all outward knowledge that he
was forced to turn his attention inward, thus again making man,
though in a new sense, "the measure of all things." The Sophists
discovered the weak points of the old belief, and, having discovered
them, they attacked and demolished them. Plato, coming after, ac-
cepted so much of their conclusions, and, on the ruins of sense-
perception — built up his Ideal theory. Aristotle successfully com-
bated that ; and Pyrrho, with his absolute scepticism in regard to all
speculative thought, was the result.
XIII — 27
418 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
Pyrrho declared that though Plato and Aristotle, who contained
between them all that there was of speculative philosophy, asserted
that Reason was the criterion of Truth, the}' failed to see that Reason,
too, was in need of a criterion. His uncertainty drove him so far as
to proclaim, "We assert nothing, — no, not even that we assert
nothing." In the picture, he stands to the left of the young man
representing Eclecticism. Leaning against the base of a column,
he gazes contemptuously across the circle of speculative thinkers,
and pities their easy credulity.
It is impossible not to notice the scattered appearance of this side
of the platform. The woes of Greece, consequent upon her subju-
gation, were telling upon her philosophy as well as upon her art and
political institutions. The short and brilliant dominion of Macedonia
was in itself a subjugation for Greece proper, and with Aristotle
the glory of the Greek speculative philosophy ended. His immediate
and best-beloved disciples earned the sobriquet of "Natural Philos-
ophers." There is no reason to quarrel with the result. Greek phi-
losophy had made use of all the material in its possession. Aristotle,
though a very erudite man, the most learned of his time, was obliged,
again and again, to depart from his method for the pitiful reason
that he did not know enough; he did not possess "a sufficient
number of experiences." It was necessary that science should make
new discoveries in order that philosophy might make a new syn-
thesis.
To the left of Pyrrho stands Zeno. His doctrine did not absolutely
deny to man the right to speculative endeavor, but inculcated, above
every thing else, a virtuous activity. Man must live to be virtuous,
to do brave deeds, to be a Man, in the true Latin sense of the word
(w'r-tus). This is what turns his body away from his Grecian com-
patriots, though his face, turned towards them, connects him with
the passing phase. Stoicism is more the philosophy of old Rome
than of Greece.
At the extreme right of the platform we see a philosopher who ap-
proaches leaning upon a staff, and closely followed by another, whose
head and face alone appear. This must represent Plotinus and Pro-
clus, the fervent mystics, who, having learned of Christianity the
transcendence of the Deity, return, leaning upon it as a staff, to the
old Greek form of Thought.
The youth who appears to be running away typifies the passage of
the speculative. But we are consoled to see he is only a youth.
The babe which we saw presented by the old man of the material
phase has scarcely grown to manhood. He leaves the scene w 7 ith
Notes and Discussions. 419
the old civilization, but we shall meet him again. With the modern
civilization, modern philosophy was born.
We descend now to the lower level — the circle must end in its
beginning. The whole round of philosophy must be traversed.
Scepticism, which set aside the material philosophy, has done the
same for the speculative. But, though it has announced that we
can know nothing of the real Existences, it does not deny that what
we know of appearances may be true of them as appearances ; and
the next step is to observe and classify phenomena. Thus science
is born. There are two ways in which a phenomenon is viewed : it
may be considered as caused by a power which is outside of the ob-
ject; or, the effect may be viewed as the gradual development of a
power which is inherent in the object. The first is typical of the
natural man, of the earlier stages of civilization, and is represented
in our picture by the material schools. The second is only possible
when, after a long series of painful studies and experiences, man has
learned to trace an effect through its chain of causes, and is typified
by science.
Science, as represented in the " School of Athens," is purely mathe-
matical ; and that is the only aspect in which we can suppose Raphael
to have been conversant with it. We see gathered together, explain-
ing each his subject — as we might have seen them in the Museum at
Alexandria — the professors of Geography (almost wholly mathe-
matical at that day), Astronomy, and Geometry. The two figures
holding globes in their hands represent Eratosthenes and Ptolemy ;
both distinguished — the former as an astronomer, the latter as a
geographer. Ptolemy is depicted wearing kingly robes and a crown,
probably to suggest the line of kings (of the same name) whose
munificence made of the Museum a model for all future colleges.
Raphael has introduced himself, and his master Perugino, in this
group. We can imagine how they, as every one else, were interested
in the tidings which spread through Europe, during the period of their
connection, of the wonderful discovery of Columbus. At the time,
too, of Raphael's arrival in Rome, Copernicus had but lately resigned
his chair of mathematics in that city. And couid Raphael have failed
to hear — even lost in his art as he was — some account of the
mighty theory afterwards to be so noised abroad ?
The last group introduces us to Euclid, the most illustrious name
in Geometry. Raphael has here portrayed his friend, Bramante, ex-
plaining a problem to a group of attentive pupils. In this group
we can trace a likeness to the four chief attitudes of Thought pre-
sented by the whole great circle: the first, who kneels before the
420 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .
tablet, eager and earnest, but, despite all his efforts, unable to seize
the demonstration, might symbolize the material philosophy, seeking
in vain to solve the Problem of the Universe ; the second, who leans
against him, typifies the utmost height of the speculative, which, gaz-
ing on the everlasting Existences themselves, through them solves
the Problem ; the third, also kneeling, sees and understands the Ap-
pearances, and thinks he knows the Truth ; he turns to speak of it to
the fourth, who appears lost in ecstasy at the revelation he receives.
Having arranged the grouping, the expression, the tout ensemble of
his characters, Raphael must have felt somewhat at a loss for a fitting
scene in which to place them. The groves, the walks, the porches,
the gardens, even the river banks were all occupied. Pausing only
for a moment to consider the concrete element he had to locate, he
placed them, fitly, at the entrance of a structure, built in that style
which is itself the concretest expression in architecture. On the one
side, as presiding deity, he placed the sculptured image of Apollo,
the god of inspiration, and of high endeavor ; on the other, Min-
erva, the genius of wisdom, science, and practical life.
To us, who have followed Raphael so far, who have been his com-
panions, as it were, in his search after the Beautiful and the True,
how utterly vain and idle it would seem to be told of his authority
for this or that part of his work; of the books he read, or had read
to him ; of the instruction he received from Bembo and Cagliostro.
What we know, without the telling, is, that the baser metal of their
information, whether much or little, turned to purest gold at the mere
touch of the philosopher's stone of his genius.
CtERTRUDE Garrigues.
St. Louis, March, 1879.
WEEDS.
Was it the devil sowed the weeds,
As once was writ in ancient creeds?
Wilding sisters of the flowers,
Unnursed save by sun and showers,
Saved from year to year without care,
We know not how nor can tell where,
Often they make the heart so glad
We cannot think the Fiend all bad.
As saith St. Augustine —
I forget page and line —
Once he was fair and fine;
Weeds. 421
Composed of purest sky and air,
And of all intellect the heir.
Doubtless, of these a little dower
He saved from Eden's ruined bower,
And wieldeth with imperfect power.
The weed is a dethroned flower ;
It grows, it leaves, it blooms, unsought
By man, and dies without his thought.
And often minds me it must have
Another life itself to save.
A wanderer from Paradise,
Where once it grew to glad all eyes,
And happy in its own sweet ease,
It now itself nor us can please.
Two things alone escaped the curse,
The flowers, and high, immortal verse;
But man and weeds together driven
Beyond the portal of that heaven,
Together strive to right their wrong,
One by man's love, and man by song.
Beside the garden wall
They hide until the Fall
Scatters their million seeds ; —
How safe a wild thing breeds !
"While o'er all earthly fields men flock
To find and nurse some choicest stock,
Rearing slow some growth triumphant,
As nothing could their proud craft daunt,
Storm, stealthy slug, or drought, or frost
Undo their work, and all is lost.
Weeds fail not, parcel of that might
Beyond our power to wrong or right.
The weeds, the stars, the winds and sea
Are self-preserved and wildly free ;
All that is slave to mortal wills
Shares in the curse of mortal ills.
Nature hath set by rock and road
The wild weed's most secure abode :
In spots where we so often come,
We see, nor envy them their room,
That we whose hearts with nature meeting
May find a pleasant, welcome greeting.
So, Esther dear, with me and 3 r ou,
The meanest things shall have their due ;
The tares and thistles all be sweet,
Nor to the Lord perhaps unmeet; —
Run child, and on His altar lay
This bunch of weeds we pulled to-day.
John Albee.
New Castle, >T. II., August, 1879.
422 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
BOOK NOTICES.
The Principles oe Science ; a Treatise on Logic and Scientific Method. By W.
Stanley Jevons, LL.D., Prof, of Polit. Econ. in University College, London.
Second edition, revised. London and New York : Macmillan & Co. 1877.
8vo., pp. 786.
The school of English Positivists is steadily strengthening its claim to be re-
garded as the most distinctly characteristic of the time. While Mill and Lewes
have shaped its philosophy, Bain has written its psychology, and Clifford and
Harrison have given eloquent utterance to its polemics ; and this work of
Prof. Jevons carries its logic well on towards completeness. Like all positive
work, it is conducted in the methods of modern physical science, with a wealth of
physical illustration and an elaborate avoidance of metaphysical discussion. To
the opposite school of thinkers, the author's neglect of the transcendental ques-
tions of absolute being, and of the ultimate categories and relativities of thought,
and similar topics, will seem a serious defect; but, even from their point of view,
there are advantages in treating separately the parts of a subject, where they are
as distinct as transcendental and applied logic. Students are more likely to object
to the superabundance of scientific illustration, which gives a disproportionate
bulk to the latter part of the volume, and, in spite of its interest, actually obscures
the laws it is intended to make plain. In this second edition, so much of beauty
and comfort has been sacrificed to economy in reducing the two tall volumes of
the first edition to this one thick, but still expensive, little book, that one won-
ders the more that omissions were not more frequent. The style, however, is
simple, and very clear; the reasoning is carefully worked out, if not always quite
profound, and the reading which filled the professor's note-book has been wide and
intelligent. That the book has received so much less attention here than in Eng-
land, shows the difference between American thought, with its strong transcen-
dental tendencies, and the scientific English school.
The principle of quantification of the predicate is the basis of the new system.
First shown by Sir William Hamilton, it remained for many years a barren tech-
nicality. Mr. Mill, however, had shaken the power of the old syllogistic logic, by
showing the narrowness of its limits and the insufficiency of its rules. But Mr.
Mill was not a mathematician, and it seems to have required the special insight
which mathematical training gives, to work out the abstractest symbolic forms of
the laws of thought. This De Morgan and Boole had supplied, but encumbered,
unfortunately, with so much obscurity and complexity as to make their essays of
little use to the general student. It is easy to see, however, that it is their work
that has made possible this volume of Prof. Jevons, which, notwithstanding
some points on which it seems open to criticism, gives a definite, and, we think, a
permanent shape to the logic with which he deals.
This quantification of the predicate, by which the portion of the class to which
the subject is said to belong is so exactly defined that the two terms connected by
the copula are identical in extent, was of little value under the Aristotelian system
of deduction simply by the inclusion of a thing in a class; for, when mere inclu-
sion was shown, the argument was complete. But, in the new method, every pre-
mise is an equation of exactly equivalent terms, and the reasoning is performed by
Booh Notices. 423
the substitution and combination of the terms, and thus the exact determination
of the quantity of the terms becomes the means by which the operations of reason-
ing are performed.
In order to use the process readily and accurately, algebraic symbols, A, B, C,
etc., are emploj'ed to represent the several classes, and the negative of each is
represented by a, b, c, etc. It should always be remembered that a = 1 — A, and
b = 1 — B, and that A -|- a, and B -\- b, each = 1. The most general form of
equation is, that a class is precisely similar to another in some respect, or that it
equals a part of that other. A = a part of B, or, as Mr. Jevons ingeniously writes
it, A = AB. This is a more general form of equation than A = B, because the
former may always be inferred from the latter, while the latter can only be in-
ferred from the former in the special case that there is no part of B which is not
A, a point left entirely uncertain by the first equation. This was, doutless, the
reason for Aristotle's adoption of the principle of inclusion in class as a basis for
reasoning; though, unfortunately, the great Greek did not see that this was only
a disguised and imperfect, though simple, and at times very convenient, form
of reasoning by equations. There is a difficulty in handling these logical equa-
tions, not found in ordinary algebra, however. This arises, in part, from the
inverse ratio of connotation and denotation : so that, the. more fully you describe a
class of things, the fewer are the individuals to whom the description applies. B
is a term of broader application than B C, as the denotation of B C is only a part of
that of B. For example : black cattle are only the black part of the class
"cattle," or the cattle part of the class "black objects; " and it makes no differ-
ence whether we combine the class-marks as BC or CB, as they may be, in either
case, read indifferently as the Bth part of the class C, or the Cth part of the
class B, showing that the process, while nearly akin to both multiplication and
division, is not identical with either. Another embarrassment arises from the fact
that each qualit\ r appears as absolute unity, so that A = AA = AAA. The con-
sequences of these peculiar relations are hardly sufficiently shown by Prof.
Jevons. Both addition and subtraction are readily performed. We can say,
if A = AB, and B = BC, that A = ABC, or that A -f B = AB -f- BC = B ( A -f- C).
Subtraction, however, can only be performed when the subtrahend is known to be
present in the minuend, for B — C may be an impossible quantity. But you can
certainly subtract BC from B, leaving Be, for B (C -|- c) must always equal B;
-f- c equalling the whole of any thing. Moreover, subtracting a quantity is the
same as multiplying by its negative, and B — C = Be. While you cannot multi-
ply in a strict arithmetical sense, you can combine under quite similar laws, and
from A= AB infer that AC = ABC; and, though.it is not certain that either
combined term actually exists, yet, if it does, the other must be composed of the
same individuals. But you cannot reverse the process into division, and argue
that, because AC = BC .'. A = B, for that is equivalent to arguing that because
certain parts are alike, the wholes must be. Thus, logical relations cannot be ex-
pressed by fractions unless they are numerical, and the Rule of Three is not
applicable to them. On the other hand, you can simplify the statement, A =
ABC, by eliminating directly either B or C. We do not think Prof. Jevons's
proof of this (p. 58) is sound, for it seems to involve the assumption of the point
to be demonstrated, and one of the expressions he employs, ABC.C, seems to be
self-condradictory, asserting at once that all of C and only a part are taken. The
true proof is, simply, that A = ABC means that A has always the attribute B, and
hence BA = A, and similarly as to C. The written demonstration the reader can
easily make by adding AbC to each term, and reducing.
Prof. Jevons's treatment of disjunctive propositions is the least satisfactory part
424 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.
of his work. He rejects altogether the symbol -(-, which Boole employed, using
• |« instead, not seeing that the -(- symbol is, in many cases, not only true, but
necessary to perform the reasoning; while there are also cases where •]• is to be
used, there being a very important difference in distinctions, which he is not aware
of, though he seems on the point of reaching it on page 69. The first class is of
the nature — men are fools or knaves — meaning that part are the one, and part
the other. Algebraically expressed, it is, P (a part of) A = AB, and p (the rest
of ) A = AC, whence ; by addition (P -\- p) A = A = AB -j- AC. Its negative
is not, as Prof. Jevons asserts, a single combined term, but has the general form,
a = a (B -f- C) -f- be, and we only get his form, a = be, in the special case, when
the premise is A = B -f- C, matter is organic or inorganic, for instance. There
are also other special forms, as, A = B -j- AC — mammals are horses, or some
other animals, for instance ; and, A = B -(- C -|- BC, etc. The abstract formula
is, A= AB -|- AC, not for the reasons he advances, which are wholly unsound,
but simply because it is the most general form, being true whether A is the part or
the whole of B, or of C, or of both, while the others are true only in special cases.
The other form of disjunction is of the kind — man is immortal, or a wretched
failure — meaning that either all men are the one or all men are the other. The
addition that we performed so easily before is only possible now with the condi-
tion that the one or the other of the terms added shall become nothing. A =
AB, or, A = AC, thus gives A = AB -f- AC, with the qualification that either
AB or AC shall equal zero, or that both shall not be true at the same time, and
the equation can best be written, A= AB •[• AC, to distinguish it from the other
one, where the addition is real. The predicate is now really indeterminate, for
B and C may not be equivalent, and you cannot infer from A= B •]• C, and D =
B •!' C, that A = D, an inference which would have been perfectly correct in the
first species of disjunction. This second species may, of course, also take the special
forms of A = B -|> AC, and A= B •[• C, but A — AB •]• AC is again the general
one. The negative of A = B •(• C is not a= be, as before, but a = b •)• c. The
law of duality is of this second kind of disjunction, with the special qualification
added that B -}- C = 1, or C = b. A = B -|- b gives then for its negative, a = b
•]• B. But it cannot now be inferred from this that A= a, or that a = 0. In the
first form the last of these conclusions would have followed, an inference not at all
affected by the fact that a has always an existence in thought. The author's diffi-
culty on page 74, and, indeed, in the whole treatment of disjunctives, arises from
his not seeing this, and attempting to combine in one form two species of argu-
ment which follow very different laws.
We have intentionally selected for comment the points which seem the most
abstruse or imperfectly treated by the author, and the reader is not to suppose
that the reasoning is, in general, so difficult. Most premises can be combined,
and a conclusion reached in an exceedingly simple way, as Prof. Jevons shows.
It is only, however, when all connotation is excluded but the one quality of num-
ber, so that the denotation is supreme, and qualitative unity yields to quanti-
tative division into similar parts, that the difficulties are avoided, and the full use
of our mathematical powers is possible.
Prof. Jevons proceeds, from his examination of equations of identity and of
partial identity, to inference by indirect methods, and so to the laws of com-
bination of the knowledge given by the premises; and it is at this point that his
handling is most original and striking. He takes all the possible combinations in
which the given terms or their absence can occur — sixteen, in the case of three
classes, for example — and rejects from them any term that conflicts with the
Booh Notices. 425
premises, and he has thus left all the values which the given terms can have —
one or more of which each must have, if it exist at all. The process becomes
unmanageable when there are more than a few terms, from the great number
of the possible combinations. But so simple is it in theory that he is actually
able to construct a thinking-machine, so made that, give the premises, properly
expressed, and it will immediately prese 
