Full text of "The Journal of speculative philosophy"

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The University of Toronto

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THE JOURNAL

O F

SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.

VOLUME XXI.

EDITED BY WM. T. HAKRIS

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

LONDON : Triibner and Company.

1887.

Entered, according to Act of Con'jrcHt', in the year ISS!), by

WILLIAM T. HARRIS.
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

l^ \' ,0

-' ,'!•'

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Bonaventura's The Soul's Progress in God (Tr.), T. Davidson, 288

Books Received, 224, 329, 452

Boulting, William, A Universal Telos the Presupposition of all Inquiry, .... 259

Brockmeyer, H. C, Letters on " Faust," 36, 151

Bryant, W. M., Philosophy of Landscape Painting (noticed), G. O., 328

Chaniplin, v.. Notice of "La Revue Philosophique" (1883), 326

Channing, William Ellery, Sentences in Prose and Verse, 105

Concoi'd Summer School of Philosophy, Ninth Session, Programme of, .... 110

Criticism of Kant by Professor Kuno Fischer (Tr.), W. S. Hough, 1, 113

Dante's " Divina Commedia," The Spiritual Sense of, ... . W. T. Harris, 349
Davidson, Thomas (Tr.), The Soul's Progress in God by Bonaventura, .... 288

Day, H. N., Psychological Theory, 189

" Divina Commedia," Spiritual sense of, W. T. Harris, 349

Edmunds, James, Kant's Ethics, a Clavis to an Index, 326

Everard, Dr., Translator of Hermes Trismegistus, R. E. Thompson, 109

" Faust," Letters on, H. C. Brockmeyer, Z<o, \^l

Fischer, Professor Dr. Kuno, Criticism of Kant (Tr.) .... W. 8. Hough, 1,113-

Garrigues, Gertrude, Shakespeare's Sonnets, 241

" " Notice of Bryant's Philosophy of Landscape Painting, . . 328

Goethe's " Faust," Letters on, H. C. Brockmeyer, 36,151

Harris, W. T., ^ Theory of Insanity, 222

" " The Spiritual Sense of Dante's " Divina Commedia," 349

Hegel's Philosophy of Religion, Introduction to (Tr.), F. L. Soldan, 18

Hermes Trisme|istus, Dr. Everard, Translator of, R. E. Tho7npson, 109

Homer's " Iliac^' A Study of, D.J. Snider, 226

Hough, W. S., Translation of Kuno Fischer's Criticism of Kant, 1,113

Insanity, Theory of, W. T. Harris, 222

Kant, Criticism of, by Kuno Fischer (Tr.), W. S. Hough, \,\\Z

Kant's Ethics, Clavis to an Index, J. Ednmtuis, 326

Lady Macbeth, Psychological Sketch of, Robert Jhmro, 30

Langley, Alfred G. (Tr.), Leibnitz's Criticism of Locke 268, 337

Leibnitz's Criticism of Locke (Tr.), Alfred G. Langley, 268, 337

Letters on " Faust," I to XIII and XIV to XX, . . . . H. C. Brockmeyer, 315, 151
Locke, Leibnitz's Criticism of (Tr.), Alfred G Langley, 268, 337

iv ContenU.

PAOB

Munro, Robert, Psychological Sketch of Lady Macbeth, 30

Olijihaiit, Lawrence, Sympaeumata, Report on, Sara Carr Upton, 82

Psycholofrical Theory, -fiT. iV. Dai/, 189

Religion, Hegel's Introduction to the Philo3ophy of (Tr.), . . . F. L. Solda?i, 18

Revue Philodophi(]ue, de la France et de L'l^tranger, 1883 (notice) 326

Sentences in Prose and Verse, Selected by H'. E. C/tmmhtff, 106

Shakespeare's Sonnets Oertrwk Garriffucx, 241

" Lady Macbeth, A Psychological Sketch, .... liobert Munro, 30

Snider, D. J., A Study of the " Iliad," 226

Soldan, F. Louis, Translation of Introduction to Hegel's Philosophy of Religion .' 18

Synipncumata, a Report on Lawrence Olipliant's Work, . . iS<ira Carr Upton, 82

Telos, A Universal, the Presupposition of all Inquiry, W. Boultlng, 269

Thompson, R. E., Dr. Everard, Translator of Hermes Trismegistus, 109

Upton, Sara Carr, Report on Oliphant's Sympneumata, 82

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIYE PHILOSOPHY

YoL. XXI.] January, 1887. [IsTo. 1.

CEITICISM OF KANT.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF PROF. DR. KCNO FISCHER, BY W. S. HOUGH.

Chapter IV.

EXAMINATION OF KANt's FUNDAMENTAL DOCTRINES.

By fixing and uniting Kant's fundamental doctrines, we have
won the right conception of the system, as it was present to the
mind of its author. It contains themes enough, which Kant has
only sketched in outline, or not developed at all ; problems enough,
which he partly left unsolved, partly declared incapable of solu-
tion. To discover and supply the deficiencies is the task of schol-
ars who wish to fill out and complete the work of the master with-
out touching upon its principles. On the other hand, the attempt
to extend the system beyond its original limits, and to advance
where Kant remained stationary and commanded philosophy to
halt, is a problem which leads for its solution to a transformation
and development of the Kantian doctrine. But, in order to de-
termine such a problem, we must ascertain whether the principles
of Kant's doctrine, in their authentic form, are permanent princi-
ples, and whether they are fundamentally consistent in themselves
and harmonious with one another.
XXI— 1

2 Tlie Journal of Speculative PhUosoj)}!]/.

I. Examination of the Doctrine of Knowledge.

1. The Contradiction in the "Critique of Reason."

We fasten our eye, first of all, upon the doctrine of knowledge,
which constitutes the real theme of the " Critique of Reason."
And our first question is: Does Transcendental or Critical
Idealism, the founding of which won for Kant the fame of being
the Copernicus of philosophy, stand uncontradicted in the " Crit-
ique of Reason " itself? The fundamental recognition of this
principle of doctrine is unquestionably not the same thing as a
logically consistent adherence to it. Here, as the special student
will at once notice, we touch upon the point which involves the
miich-ctintroverted difference between the first and second editions
of the " Critique of Reason," a point which we have already made
the subject of a very careful and exhaustive discussion, to which
we here take occasion to refer.' The present problem, which is
concerned with the criticism of the Kantian doctrine, obliges us to
return to this very important point.

It will be well to put the question itself as briefly and precisely
as possible. Transcendental idealism teaches: all our phenomena
or objects of experience are mere ideas, and nothing independent
of the latter. That subjective phenomena are such, is beyond
question. AV"e are concerned, therefore, only with the objective
phenomena ; these are the things external to us, the phenomena
in space, hence bodies or matter. Kant must necessarily have
taught, and has taught in the most unambiguous manner in the
" Paralogisms ot Pure Reason," as the}' appear in the first edition
of the " Critique," that matter is a mere idea. In the second edi-
tion of the " Critique " he added a "Refutation of Idealism," in
which he declared that matter was not a mere idea. This is the
])oint we are here concerned with. We have before us a contra-
diction, which no ingenious interpretation can explain away from
either the spirit or letter of the original passages.

In the first edition of the "Critique" — to cite these passages —
in the " Paralogisms of Pure Reason " and the " Observations on
the Result of the Pure Doctrine of the Soul," we read the follow-
ing: "We have undeniably shown in the ' Transcendental ^Es-

* Fischer, " Gesch. d n. Pliilos.," vol. iii, pp. 558-576.

Criticism of Kant. 3

thetie ' tliat bodies are mere phenomena of our external sense, and
not tliino's-in-tliems(!lves." " I understand, under the Trans-
cendental idealism of all phenomena, that pi'inciple according
to which we regard phenomena as a whole as mere ideas, and not
as things-in-themselves." "Since he (the Transcendental ideal-
ist) recognizes matter, and indeed its inner possibility, merely as
phenomenon, which is nothing apart from our sensibility, matter
is with him only a sort of ideas (perception) which are objective,
not as if the}' were related to objects in themselves external^ but
because they refer perceptions to space, in which everything ex-
ternal is, while space itself is in us. To this Transcendental
idealism we have already given our adherence at the beginning."
" 1^0 w, external objects (bodies) are merely phenomena, hence
nothing other than a sort of my ideas, the objects of which only
have existence in virtue of these ideas; apart from them, however,
they are nothing." " It is clearly shown that if I should take
away the thinking subject, the entire material world would disap-
pear, since it is nothing but the appearance in the sensibility of
the subject, and a sort of its ideas." '

According to Kant's doctrine, substance is only knowable through
its persistence, and persistence only knowable in the phenomenon
which at all times fills space. Hence matter is the only knowable
substance, since it alone among objects persists. N^ow, the second
edition of the " Critique of Reason " declares, in its disproof of ideal-
ism : " Thus the perception of this persistence is only possible
through a thing external to .me, and not through the mere idea
of such a thing."*

Accordingly, as to what concerns the things external to \is —
i. e., bodies or matter — Kant teaches in the first edition of the
" Critique " that external objects (bodies) only have existence in
virtue of our ideas, but apart from them they are nothing / in
the second edition, on the other hand, that the perception of
matter is only possible through a thing external to me, and not
through the mere idea of such a thing. There he teaches that
things external to us are mere ideas ; here, on the other hand,
that they are not mere ideas. There he teaches that things exter-
nal to us have existence merely in virtue of our ideas, but that

' Kant, " Kritik der reinen Vernunft." Vid. " Werke," vol. ii, pp. 667, 675, 676, 684.
* Ihid., p. 224.

4: The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tlit'v are nothing iudejiendent of tlie latter ; here, that they liave
existence, by no tneans in virtue of our ideas, but independently
of them. Hence our ideas of things external to us, and these
tilings themselves are different from one another, and external
things must, consequently, be objects independent of our ideas —
«. <?., things-in-themselves. Since, now, things external to us are
in space, space also must be something independent of our thought.
But this means as much as utterly to abandon Transcendental
idealism and to return under full sail to the old dogmatism. In
his establishment of Transcendental idealism, Kant appears as the
Copernicus of philosophy ; in his refutation of " psychological
idealism,'' on the contrary, as Ptolemy, or rather as Tycho Brahe,
who confounded both systems.

The inconsistency of the two editions is perfectly obvious. The
second, in which the text of the "Critique" should presumably
have received its definitive form, contains the establishment of
Transcendental idealism, and at the same time a disproof of
idealism, which directly contradicts the original doctrine. Accord-
ingly, the Kantian " Critique of Reason," or doctrine of knowl-
edge, is here at variance with itself, and indeed in literal state-
ment.

2. The Origin of the Contradiction.

The new refutation of idealism in the second edition of the
*' Critique," as well as the notes and a])pendix to the "Prolego-
mena," was called forth by the misconceptions which arose with
the very first review of the Kantian masterpiece, the transcen-
dental idealism of the new doctrine being confounded with the old
dogmatic idealism, and especially that of Berkeley.

Kant wished to shield his work from such misapprehensions,
and therefore undertook radically to distinguish the new idealism
from the old by a logical and convincing proof. The former
establishes phenomena and experience ; the latter, on the contrary,
bases itself upon the facts of inner experience. Hence Kant
designates this dogmatic idealism as the ^'' empirical''^ or ''^ jysyeho-
logicaiy lie found this developed in two principal forms. Upon
the ground of our inner experience, which furnishes nothing but
idejis in us, empirical idealism had declared the existence of things
external to us to be either doubtful or impossible. The former
position was taken by Descartes, the latter by Berkeley. Hence

Criticism of Kant. 5

Kant called the doctrine of the one the '-'■ }yrdblematic^'' that of tlie
other the " dogmatic idealism^

Berkeley had a radically false idea of space, which, like color,
taste, etc., he ascribed to our sensations, and, consequently, re-
garded a space idea independent of impressions as something im-
possible and wholly imaginary. He took as the matter of thought
what is the form of thought. Hence he denied the existence of
external things. Kant rightly said : " The ground for this idealism
has already been destroyed in our 'Transcendental ^stlietic.'" '

Thus it only remained to disprove Descartes. To do this, it
was necessary to show that our inner experience was only possi-
ble under the presupposition of outer experience, which consists
in the idea of external things. But since all ideas are in us, even
those of thinsrs external to us, it had to be shown that these ideas
were only possible under the presupposition of the existence of
things external to us, or that " the idea of matter is only possible
through a thing external to me, and not through the mere idea of
such a thino;." Preciselv this course was taken, and for this rea-
son, by the " Refutation of Idealism" in the second edition of the
" Critique." In order to prove the existence of things external to
us, Kant made inner experience dependent upon outer, and outer
experience dependent upon the existence of external things ; that
is, he made the existence of external things independent of our
thought, and the latter dependent upon the former ; he thus made
things external to us — bodies and matter, tilings in-them.selves.
And so Kant subverted, in this particular, his own doctrine of
Transcendental idealism, while seeking to vindicate it, and to secure
it against being confounded with empirical idealism. In order
fundamentally to differentiate the one from the other, he tore them
asunder in the very point in which they agree ; for they agree in
holding all our objects of knowledge to be phenomena or ideas,
and as such in us. In order, now, to show that he could demon-
strate what Descartes had been unable to prove, he brought for-
ward a proof which Descartes had already made use ot, and,
indeed, in the same way, that, namely, our idea of bodies was
only possible under the condition of the existence of bodies inde-
pendent of our ideas. In like manner Descartes had shown that

» Ihid., " Refutation of Idealism."^ Vxd. " Werke," vol. ii, p. 223. Cf. 1st ed, pp.
67, 68. Note.

6 The Journal of Speculative P/i{7o^oj}/n/.

matter or extended substance was a thinjij in it>elf, entirely inde-
pendent of tlion^lit, and that space was the attribute of tins thing,
and likewise independent of thought.'

Certainly, this refutation of idealism is a very noteworthy illus-
tration of how easily, in the vindication of his cause, even so
powerful a thinker as Kant could surrender his own position in
order to avoid the mere appearance of agreement with certain re-
lated standpoints which he opposed. Kant and Berkeley both
teach that space is in us, and that things external to us are our
phenomena or ideas, and nothing inde)>endent of the latter. In
spite of this agreement, however, their doctrines are fundamentally
different. According to Berkele}', space is a sensation, like color
and taste; according to Kant, it is a perception which is inde-
pendent of all sensatioj. According to Berkeley, space is a given
material of thought, like all our impressions; according to Kant,
it is a necessary form or fundamental law of thought. Thus
Berkeley's idealism was overthrown by Kant's " Transcendental
Esthetic," and, consequently, the confusion of the two points of
view was utterly unjustiiiable and false. Kant rightly appealed
to this refutation, and ought to have let the matter rest there.
But he would have nothing in common with the dogmatic ideal-
ism of Berkelev, and so now he demonstrates that external thiuii^s

.,7 O

are by no means mere ideas, and that matter is something inde-
pendent of our thought. Berkeley had declared matter to be a
nonentity, so Kant now demonstrates its reality, as if it were a
thing-in-itself. Berkeley had said, space is in us; so Kant now
proves that it is external to us.

3. The Second Refutation of Idealisnf. Kant vs. Jaeobi.

But Kant had not satisfied bimself with having disproved ideal-
ism in the text of the second edition of the "Critique" ; he felt
also called upon to furnish the preface to this edition with a long
note, which shonkl renew and confirm most emphatically the
former refutation, and drive from the field an opponent who had
but just appeared. This opponent was Jacohi^ in his " Letters on
the Doctrine of Spinoza," and his " Talks on David Hume." The
former a|)peared two years after the " Prolegomena " (1785), the

' Cf. Fischer, " Gesch. d. n. Philos.," vol. i (.3d ed.), pp. 324-26.

CHticisTii of Kant. 7

latter in the same year as the second eclition of the " Critique of
Pure Reason " (1787), but some months earlier. Now, Jacobi
had maiutained that we can never demonstrate tlie existence of
external things, but only be certain of it throngli faitli^ since
such existence became apparent to us purely through immediate
revelation. This standpoint opposed itself not only to all dog-
matism, but also to all idealism, since the latter was .obliged to
hold external things to be mere ideas in us. This criticism also
affects Transcendental idealism.

Of course, Jacobi understands, under external things, things
independent of all our ideas, i. e., tliings-in-themselves. Now,
Kant wants to prove the contrary; he wants to demonstrate the
existence of external things in the same sense in which Jacobi
maintains its indemonstrability. Thus originates the note which
he has inserted in his preface.' One sees in advance that he will
abandon his standpoint a second time ; he will show that external
things are things-in-themselves. Really, the attack of Jacobi put
Kant so beside himself that he let idealism fall with a word.
"Idealism may be held to be, however, innocent (what it in fact
is not) in respect to the essential aim of metaphysics, yet it ever
remains a slander of philosophy and of common human reason to
be obliged to take the existence of external things (from which
we nevertheless receive the entire material of knowledge, even for
our inner sense) merely on faith, and not to be able, if any one
is inclined to doubt it, to confront him with satisfactory proof."
He had, to be sure, already disproved idealism and cleared him-
self of the charge of it, but " certain obscurities " were found in
the expressions of the proof which should now completely disap-
pear. And this time the refutation of idealism takes such a form
that we can no longer doubt that external things now figure as
things-in-themselves ; else also his disproof of Jacobi's philosophy
of faith would be completely ineffectnal.

We know tliat, according to the doctrine of Kant, all the ma-
terial of our cognitions consists in our impressions or sensations,
which we do not make, but receive — which are given to us — and,
indeed, through things-in-themselves.^ The new note now in-
structs us that it is the external things " from which we receive

' Kant : " Kritik d. r. Vernunft," preface to 2d ed. Vid. " Werke," vol. ii, pp. 31, 32.
2 Vid. mpra, Chap. I, Part III, Sec. II, on " The Thing-in-Itself."

8 'The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

the entire material of knowledge, even for our inner sense." Ac-
cordingly, external things tigure as things-in-themselves.

According to the doctrine of Kant, matter, among all our ob-
jects of knowledge, is the only substance, since it is the only thing
that persists ; and as that which fills space, it is nothing other than
external apj)earance or idea,' We are now told in the new note
most expressly, and in italics, the diametrical opposite: "This
persisting object, however, cannot be a perception in me, for all
determining grounds of my being, which can be found in me, are
ideas, and demand as such a persisting object distinct from them,
in relation to which their change, and hence ni}- existence in time,
in which they change, can be determined." There is, accord-
ingly, no doubt that in these passages, in order that all idealism
be disproved, and the existence of external things demonstrated,
matter must function as something independent of our ideas — i. e.,
as a thing-in-itself.

It is likewise pointed out to us anew, that inner experience is
dependent upon outer, and that the latter is dependent upon the
existence of external things. For, the note continues, " To this
the remark may still be added, that the idea of something •/>^;*-
sistent in existence is not tantamount to a persisting idea, since
this may be very variable and inconstant, as all our ideas are —
even those of matter — and yet it is related to something persistent,
which must consequently be an external thing distinct from all
my ideas," etc. The Kantian doctrine holds matter to be (1)
the sole jyersi sting 6h]ect\ and (2) a mere appearance or idea;
it is accordingly the ou\y persisting idea, and, as sucii, completely
identical with the idea of somethhig pei-sistent in existence. If,
now, this persisting something must be, as the new note declares,
" an external thing, distinct from all my ideas," then matter is a
thing-in-itself. And, if consistent, we shall now be ol)liged, in
harmony with the " note," also to distinguish space and the idea
of space, and to pronounce space an object wholly independent of
and distinct from our idea of space — /. <?., a thing-in-itself, or the
attribute of a thing-in-itself. And thus space becomes, once more,
with Kant what it was with Descartes.

When thought is distinguished from the object of thought, as

' Cf. Kupra, Chap. IV, Part I.— 1. "The Contradiction in the Critique of Reason."

Criticism of Kant. 9

was done by Kant in his disproof of idealism and in the " note,"
Transcendental idealism is surrendered, and, at the same time,
the possibihtj of explaining the correspondence between idea and
object — i. e., of explaining knowledge, and, as well, of understand-
ing the " Critique of Reason." It was with this insight that Sigis-
mund Beck declared such a distinction between thought and its
object to imply a standpoint from which it was impossible to
understand or rightly estimate the " Critique." For thought can
only correspond with its object when its object also is thought.
This point of view, which regards the object of thought, not as a
thing independent of thought, but as its necessary product, Beck
called " the only possible " one for comprehending and rightly
appreciating the " Critique of Reason." From this point of view
he wrote a comm.entary of Kant's work, and, indeed, as he ex-
pressly says on the title-page of his book, " With Kant''s Com-
mendationP This is a very noteworthy fact, and one which must
not be overlooked, when the question of the real teaching of
Kant, and of passages that contradict it, is to be investigated and
decided upon. Beck very well knew of the contradictions, but
sought too lightly to explain them away, in permitting the phi-
losopher to assume at times the language of dogmatism and the
common consciousness for the sake of a pleasing intelligibility.
He thinks that when Kant talks about the object of thought as
a thing independent of thought, he speaks, say, as Copernicus
might of the rising and setting of the sun ; he simply speaks ac-
cording to the common usage, without at all changing his stand-
point. We find, however, that, in the passages we have examined,
Kant exchanges his standpoint for that of the common conscious-
ness, since he teaches that the existence of external things can be
demonstrated in the sense in which such existence is denied by
dogmatic idealism and presupposed by the common understanding.
Kant had shown the existence of external things in a manner
perfectly consistent with Transcendental idealism, and, indeed, in
such a way that the fact of the external world, as it appears to
the common consciousness, was completely explained. He had
pointed out that and why the existence of things external to us
is immediately apparent to every human consciousness — a fact
which would be impossible if external things were anything
other than jjhenomena or ideas. " Now, all external objects

10 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

(bodies) are uierely pheiionieiiti, lienco uothintr other than a sort
of my iiJeas, the objects of which only have existence through
these ideas, wliile apart from them they are nothing. Internal
things exists therefore., just as loell as T myself etcist^ and botli, in
truth, on the immediate evidence of my self-consciousness, only
with the difference that the idea of myself as the thinking subject
is referred merely to the inner sense, while the ideas which desig-
nate extended beings are also referred to the outer sense. I am
just as little obliged to deduce the actuality of external objects as
the actuality of the objects of my inner sense (my thought) ; for
they are on both sides nothing but ideas, the immediate percep-
tion (consciousness^ of which is a sufficient proof of their actu-
ality."' This lucid and highly significant declaration stands in
the jirst edition of the "Critique of lieasou"; in the second edi-
tion it is left out, and in the observations that take its place it is
by no means compensated for by any equivalent statement, al-
though, also here, at the close of the critique of rational psychol-
ogy, it is noted that outer and inner objects " are distinguished
from one another only so far as the one appears external to the
other, and that which underlies the phenomenon of matter, as
thing-in-itself, may perhaps not be so unlike in kind." ^ As if
totally unconscious that he had already elucidated from the criti-
cal point of view the existence of the external world, and shown
with transparent clearness that and why we are not obliged logi-
cally to deduce the actuality of external objects, Kant now gives
in the second edition of the " Critique " a refutation of idealism
in which the existence of external things is syllogistically proved.
The syllogism runs, in brief, as follows: Our inner experience is
dependent upon the outer ; outer ex])erience is dependent upon
the existence of external things ; therefore external things are
independent of our inner experience, and are not mere ideas.

4. Review of Objections.
Emil Arnoldt has shown himself, by a series of instructive in-
quiries, such a thorough and scholarly critic of both the life' and

' Kant, " Kritik der reinen Vernunft" (1st ed.). " Critique of the Fourth Paralogism
of Transcendental Psychology." ( Vid. " Werke," vol. ii, p. 676.)

' Ibid. (2d ed.), " Conclusion of the Solution of the Psychological Problem," pp. 326,
327.

' By his recent biographical studies he has, among other things, shown, for the first

Criticism of Kant. 11

doctrines of Kant, that his investii^atioiis are deserving of the most
careful attention. In his couunendatory review of mj work he
has also brought forward the points in which he does not share my
views. The most important among them concerns the contradic-
tion stated to exist in the Kantian doctrine of knowledge. Ke-
specting the character and fundamental import of Transcendental
idealism we are agreed. Arnoldt, too, is " not disposed to ex-
plain away the philosophical difference between the two editions
of the ' Critique of Keason.' " lie grants that the second edition
might give rise to a false conception of the Kantian doctrine, and
indeed, as a matter of fact, has done so ; and that the lirst edition,
owing to the energetic and unambiguous manner in which it
teaches the ideality of the material world, is to be preferred to the
second. On the other hand, he contends that the difference be-
tween the two editions does not affect \\\^ fundamental iwinciples
of Kant's doctrine of knowledge, and that, in particular, the
" Refutation of Idealism," which Kant developed in the second
edition, is not inconsistent with Transcendental idealism. The
rather, Kant here sought to show, as a refutation of Descartes only,
that our inner experience is dependent upon and mediated by the
outer ; he had succeeded in proving it, and this constituted the
special service rendered by his new " Refutation of Idealism." ' I
must oppose Arnoldt's pointed arguments f<n- the following rea-
sons : 1. Transcendental idealism teaches the full and direct imme-
diacy of inner and outer experience. This doctrine is contradicted,
when outer experience is regarded as the means and condition of
the inner. Outer experience can not be such a condition, since it
is itself also inner experience ; it is a part or special and necessary
sphere of inner experience. 2. To show that our inner experience
is dependent upon and mediated by the outer was not the end of
Kant's new " Refutation of Idealism," but merely a stadium of the

time beyond doubt, that Kant was never enrolled in the theological faculty, and that
his pedagogical and social relations to the Count Kayserling's house in Rauteuburg and
Konigsberg are to be determined according to family relations hitherto unknown. V\d.
E. Arnoldt, " Kant's Jugend und die fUnf ersten Jahre seiner Privatdoceutur (Konigs-
berg, 1882), pp. 26, and 54-57. I mention this incidentally, in order to correct my own
expo.sition in reference to Kant's theological studies. Vid. Fischer, " Gesch. d. n. Philos.,"
vol. iii, p. 51. Cf. Pref., p. viii.

IE. Arnoldt, "Kant nach Kuno Fischer's neuer Darstellung" (Konigsberg, 1882)
pp. 3lHt2.

12 The Journal of Speculative Pidlosophy.

arguiiieiit. The real end was to sliow tlie dependence of outer ex-
perience upon tlie existence of external things — /. ^., to show tliat
external things are independent of our thought. Then tilings ex-
ternal to us function as tliings-in-themselves ; then phonomena are
confounded with things-in-theniselv^es; then Transcendental ideal-
ism and Kant's whole doctrine of knowledge are completely con-
tradicted. This is-the crucial point of the whole matter. I main-
tain, therefore, that the Transcendental idealism expounded in
both editions of the " Critique," compared with the new "Refuta-
tion of Idealism," and the note to the preface of the second edi-
tion, is related to these latter positions, as A to non-A. In order
to disprove this, one must consequently show that Kant has not
denied throughout the first edition of the " Critique" that external
things (bodies) are independent of our ideas, and that he has by
no means affirmed and sought to demonstrate the same in the
passages cited.

Arnoldt denies that there is a contradiction in the two editions,
and seeks to graduate their difference. " The first shows with
greater explicitness that bodies, but with less explicitness, that souls
are phenomena; it a])proximates spiritualism. The second shows
with greater explicitness that souls, but with less, that bodies are
phenomena ; it vindicates, as opposed to spiritualism, which it sets
aside, the relative justification of materialism, which it likewise re-
jects."' If one only knew in each case the degree of " the greater"
and " the less explicitness ! " For Kant declared with all explicit-
ness, in the first edition of the " Critique," that bodies were mere
phenomena, and denied with all explicitness, in both editions, that
souls were phenomena or knowable objects at all.'

In an excellent paper, evincing exact technical knowledge and
a penetrating judgment, written upon my history of philosophy,
and especially my work on Kant, Johann Witte has also touched
uj^on the critical question with which we are at present occupied,
lie is of my o])inion, that the " altered exposition of the second
edition is not to be regarded as a change for the better,'' but de-
nies that it contradicts the fundamental doctrine of the first edi-
tion, and would limit the difference of the two to the fact that
" the second weakens the idealistic character of the first by indis-

' E. Arnoldt, " Kant nach Kuno Fischer's neiier Darstellung " (Konigsberg, 1882), p. 32.

Criticism of Kant. 13

tinctnessy I must object that this expression is too indefinite,
and tliat Witte'a further explanation is incorrect. What Kant
seeks in the passages cited to show, as appears from both context
and literal statement, is not, as "Witte supposes, that external
things are independent of subjective or individual thought, but of
thought as such. Of that, the note appended to the preface of the
second edition — which, in the intention of Kant, should confirm
the "Refutation of Idealism" to be found in the text — does not
leave the least doubt. Nor, indeed, does the " Refutation " itself,
according to which " the perception of this persistence is only pos-
sible through a t/mig external to me, and not through the mere
idea of such a thing." Now, Witte interprets '• the perception of
this persistence" as that "of my existence in time." This inter-
pretation seems to me impossible for two reasons : because (1) " my
existence in time " is not persistent, and because, (2) according to
Kant's express teaching, no other existence, among all knowdble
objects, persists except matter. If Kant, as Witte holds, always
understands under " thing " an " object thought," or the idea of a
thing, then he in reality says in the above passage : " The percep-
tion of this persistence is only possible through a thing ii. e.,
through the idea of a thing) external to me, and not through the
mere idea of a thing external to me." It is evident that no sort
of skilful exegesis can explain away the contradiction which I
have pointed out and traced to its origin. And I ought certainly
to be protected from the supposition, which surely would not be
entertained by so acute and expert a critic as Witte, that any pre-
possession for the doctrine of another philosopher, as Ilegel, has
exerted the least influence upon my estimate of Kant.'

It is always a tliankworthy and profitable experience to receive
the criticisms of thorough scholars, in order to be able either to
correct one's own views, or, as I may have succeeded in doing in
the present important question, to confirm them. But it is most
disagreeable to be obliged to repel opponents who know nothing
w^iatever of the matter in question, or of the method in which it
is treated, yet who, with ignorant and over-confident loquacity,
take part in the discussion, and affect to undertake a philippic,

' Job. Witte, " Kuno Fischer's Behandlung der Gesehichte der Philosopliie und sein
Verhaltniss zur Kantphilologie." "Altpr. Monatssehr.," vol. xx, pp. 129-151, esp. pp.
145-148.

14 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

sueli as one of our weekly papers lias granted an unknown writer
against me.' Entirely objectively, as I am always accustomed to
proceed, 1 investigate the contradiction between the two editions
of the " Critique of lleason," which stands in question, and which
aiiccts the Kantian doctrine of knowledge. It is with this point
— which an exposition of the Kantian philosophy cannot overlook
— that we are here concerned, and not with my standpoint, nor
with Fichte, nor Schelling, nor any one else. It indicates an un-
common amount of confusion, and a very deficient sense of truth,
to confound things which have nothing whatever to do with one
anotlier, and to mix them up in a question in which they do not
at all belong, and from M'hich I myself kept them entirely distinct.
But in this way, to be sure, the difficult task of investigation is
avoided, and tlie barren toil of professional writing made much
easier. The following sentences have nothing whatever to do
with the matter : " It must be highly acceptable to every admirer
of Kant that at length the great master of the history of philoso-
phy begins to measure his strength with the master of philosophy
in the matter of the real nature of knowledge." " With sadness
the admirers of Kant have long beheld his most lucid expounder
following the steps of a Fichte and a Schelling." " We regard it
as important and necessary to enlighten our youth respecting the
otherwise so great historian in the matter of the determinative
fundamental truths, and to beg them to believe no teacher who
maintains that Kant has really contradicted himself."* How
touching and solicitous ! It is to be hoped that our dear youth
will hear his entreaties, and believe liim rather than me, since he
requests it so prettily. I have already shown, in an earlier sec-
tion,' that he does not know what Kant taught, since he makes
him maintain, in reference to the thing-in-itself, the precise o])po-
site of his authentic teaching.

It will suffice to point out, by a second striking illustration,
what ignorance of the critical philosophy, and what comj)lete in-
capacity for a comprehension of it, our anonymous critic exhibits
with his empty bombastic phrases. Every one versed in the
" Critique of Reason " knows that, and why, Kant regarded the

' " Die Gronzboten," No. 40 (1882); " Kant und Kuno Fischer," pp. 10-17.

» ll>i,l., pii. 11 and 17.

3 Cf. supra, Chap. I, Part III.— 2. " The Thing in Itself."

Criticism of Kant. 15

standpoints of transcendental idealism and empirical realism on
the one hand, and those of transcendental realism and empirical
idealism on tlie other, as necessarily belonging together; and that
he united the first two in his doctrine, and claims to have dis-
proved the other two, which belong to dogmatism. Transcen-
dental idealism teaches the origin of our common phenomenal
world ; empirical realism teaches that there are, accordingl}', no
other objects of knowledge but phenomena, or sensible things.
Therefore the two standpoints necessarily go together, and their
names merely denote ditFerent sides of the same way of thinking.
It is precisely the same with the other two. Transcendental
realism teaches that things external to us are independent of our
thought, or are things-in-themselves; empirical idealism teaches
that precisely on that account we do not conceive external things
immediately, but only mediately — ^. e., by logical inference, and
that therefore we can be less certain of their existence than of our
own thought; or, what is the same thing, that the existence of
our thinking being (soul) is alone certain, while the existence of
external things is uncertain or doubtful. In other words, who-
ever is a transcendental realist must also be an empirical idealist.
These two standpoints are not at variance with one another, but
identical, and their names simply denote ditFerent sides of the
same method of thought. If it is as the transcendental realist
maintains respecting the existence of external things, then it must
be as the empirical idealist teaches regarding our idea of things,
and the certainty of their existence. The two points of view need
no reconciliation, since they do not conflict with one another, but
are complementary sides of the same thing, and together constitute
the character of that dogmatic rationalism which was founded by
Descartes, and overthrown by the critical investigations of Kant.*
The matter stands so. And now the " Grenzboten " lets its phi-
losopher announce the following nonsense, with that ridiculous
emphasis which delights empty heads : " Kant exerted his lohole
prodigious power to reconcile the contradiction between empirical
idealism and transcendental realism," ^ etc. So Kant is (1) to
have reconciled two standpoints which, according to his view, are
completely harmonious ; he is (2) to have reconciled two points

' Cf. Fischer, " Gesch. d. n. Philos.," vol. iii (3d ed.), pp. 450-456.
' " Die Grenzboten," No. 40 (1882), p. 16.

16 The Journal of Speculative Pldlosoplky.

of view, both of wliicli he proved to he rintenahle ; and, in order
to solve a contradiction whicli, according to his doctrine, is none,
nor ever was one, he is (3) to have " exerted liis prodigious power,"
and, too, the " whole " of it ! It is impossible to utter more non-
sense in fewer words. If our anonymous critic has anything
further to beg of his readers, it is to be hoj^ed that he will beg
tlioir pardon for his whole scribble, which is the most pitiable
stuff ever written on Kant.

I come back to the result of my examination of the Kantian
doctrine of knowledge, and must regard it as not invalidated.
According to Kant's doctrine, things-in-themselves are to be dis-
tinguislied from phenomena, hence also from things external to
us, with the utmost precision, and every confusion of the two is
to be most carefully guarded against. Notwithstanding, in the
text and in the ] reface of the second edition of the " Critique of
Reason," Kant lias refuted idealism in such a way that things
external to us are recognized as independent of our thought, hence
as things-in-themselves, and consequently the latter are confounded
with phenomena. It corresponds completely to the Kantian doc-
trine, both in its spirit and letter, to ascribe reality and causality
to thinr>;s-in-themselves. Yet it iust as much contradicts this doc-
trine to attril)ute to them theoretical knowability {empirical real-
ity) and external causality. They are the causes of our sensible
impressions, or of the empirical material of our knowledge, but
thev are not external causes, since these are external things or
phenomena, which originate from sensations, hence cannot create
the latter. It is, accordingly, a radically false and inverted con-
ception of the Kantian doctrine to regard it as holding things-in-
themselves to be the external causes of our affections of sense.
Such a conception is absolutely impossible Mith transcendental
idealism, but with the later "Refutation of Idealism" it is not
impossible — indeed, 'it is so far possible — that it soon became the
customary one with Kantians of the ordinary sort. It is this view
which Fichte, in his opposition to the Kantians, and later Scho-
penhauer, in his " Critique of the Kantian Philosophy," could not
strongly enough condemn as anti-Kantian and contradictory.
Fichte said : " So long as Kant did not expressly declare, sensa-
tions are to he explained in philosophy from an externallij present^
in itself transcendental ohject, so long I shall not believe what

Criticism of Kant. 17

tliese expounders tell ns about Kant. But, if lie makes this decla-
ration, I shall sooner hold the " Critique of Pure Reason " to be
the product of remarkable chauce than that of a mind." ' Yet it
is just as false and inverted a view of the Kantian doctrine to hold
that it denies all reality and causality whatever to things-in-them-
selves, since thev cannot be the external causes of our sensations,
and that it recog-iiizes them as nothing further than mere inopera-
tive notions. I have already shown in detail, both from the spirit
and letter of the Kantian system, that our philosopher taught, and
must have taught, the reality and causality of things-in-themselves,
only this reality is not the empirical, and this causality not the
sensible and external, but the supersensible and intelligible —
namely, the causality of will. Is will and freedom, then, accord-
ing to Kant, somehow not thing-in-itself, and at the same time
reality and activity? The thing-in-itself is, according to Kant's
explicit teaching, the cause of our sensations. The thing-in-itself
is, according to Kant's explicit teaching, will. How can will be
the cause of our sensations, of our sensibility, and of the constitu-
tion of our reason in general ? Ilowf This is the question. Kant
regarded an answer to it as forever impossible. Schopenhauer
saw in it the enigma of the world, which he sought to solve
by his doctrine of the will. And to-day's oi-ganic history of
development, which emanates from Darwin, employs, as ap-
pears from the intelligent way in which it grasps the relation of
function and organ, this factor which Schopenhauer called the
will to live.^

After I have shown that and why the Kantian philosophy main-
tains the reality and causality of things-in-themselves, it makes a
singular impression upon me to read in a " prize-essay " on this
philosophy : " Even Kuno Fischer is open to the charge of a mis-
taken interpretation of Kant, since he speaks of a reality of things-
in-themselves." But as I see the author appeals for his support
to the anonymous critic of the " Grenzboten," and himself informs
his readers that, in the Kantian piiilosophy, '' the thing-in-itself is
always only the indistinct reflection of our understanding," I no

1 .1. G. Fichte, " Zweite Einleitung in die Wissenschaftslehre." Vid. " Werke," vol. i,
p. 486.

'^ Cf. supra, Chap. I, Part III, 2, and Chap. Ill, Part I.

XXI— 2

18 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy .

lonirer wonder at his " chai-fje," but only at the awarder of liis
prize.'

If Kant liad not maintained the heing of things-in-themselves
independent of all ideas and phenomena, a man like Ilerbart, that
pronounced opponent of all idealism and monism, would never
have called himself a " Kantian,'' and have been convinced that
" Kant ]^ossessed the true notion of beiuf];.'' lie who had demon-
strated the impossibility of the ontolo<rical proof for the existence
of God, as Ktint in the " Critique of Reason," was, in Herbart's
view, "the man to overthrow the old metaphysics."'

(To be continued.)

EEC; EL'S PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION.

INTRODUCTION COMPLETED.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY P. LOUIS BOLDAN.

This potential unity (an sich seyende Eirilieit), or, to e;?press it
more definitely, the human form of God, or His incarnation, is an
essential element of religion, and must have its place in the de-
termination of its object. In the Christian religion this determina-
tion is fully developed, but it is found also in lower religions, even
in those where the manner in which the infinite appears united
with the finite is, that the former is conceived as some individu-
ally present Being, as immediately present existence in the form
of stars or animals. The other conception should also be men-
tioned here, in which God is represented as existing only moment-
arily in some human or other form of existence, whether He
appears externally or manifests His pressence internally through
dreams or as the inner voice.

This is the phase of presupposed unity which is necessarily
involved in the idea of God, so that the object of consciousness
{i. e., God) may exhibit in its content the whole idea of religion,
and be itself the totality. Each of the phases of the true Idea is

' K. Lasswitz, " Die Lchre Kant's von dcr Idealitat des Raumes und der Zeit." ]ld.
his note on p. 132.

« Cf. in/ra, Chap. V, Part II, 2.

TIegeVs Plnlosophy of Religion. 19

the same totality which is found in the whole. The determina-
tions of the contents of the two phases are thus not different in
themselves, but differ in form merely. The absolute object thus
determines itself for consciousness as the totality in union with
itself.

h. This totality exists also in the form of separation which con-
stitutes another side of totality united in itself, and is in contrast
with it. The component phases of the whole idea are here posited
as separation or difference, or as abstractions. The first phase on
the side of differentiation is that of potentiality or being-in-itself,
of self-identity, of formlessness, of objectivity in general. This is
Matter, which is indifferent, neutral existence. Form maj' become
attached to it, but in such case it is as yet form in abstract poten-
tiality. Then we call it World, which in relation to God appears
as His Garment, vestment, form, or stands in contrast to Him.

The opposite of this phase of indifferent potentiality or being-
in-itself is actuality, or being-for-itself — in other words, nega-
tivity or form in general. This negativity, in its first and indefi-
nite form, appears as negativity in the world, while the latter
itself is -the positive, that which exists. The negation of this ex-
istence, of this self-consciousness, of being and stability, is the
presence of evil in this world. In contrast to God, who is the
harmonized union of potentiality and actuality (des Ansichseins
und Fuersichseins), there appears differentiation. While the world
is positive existence, there enter into it destruction and contradic-
tion, and those questions arise which constitute part of every re-
ligion, whether its consciousness be more or less developed ; one
of these questions, for instance, is how the presence of evil can be
reconciled with absolute unity of God, and how evil can origi-
nate. This negativity appears first as evil present in the world ;
but negativity is also found as returning into itself in the j)hase
of self-identity, where it appears as the actualization (das Fuer-
sichsein) of self-consciousness, or as finite spirit.

Negativity, when it thus returns into itself, becomes, in turn,
something positive, since it thereby becomes simply self-related.
As evil it appears entangled in positive existence. That self-
existent negativity, however, which is for itself and not sim])ly in
the existence of something else, that which is self-reflecting, inter-
nal, infinite negativity having itself for its object, is simply the Ego.

20 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

In tlie self-consciousness of the latter and its inner movement ap-
pears finitiule, and to it belongs the contradiction with one's self.
Thus the disturbing element exists in it, in it the evil appears;
this is the evil element in will.

c. Yet, I am free, and can abstract from all these [limitations] ;
this negativity and its rejection constitute my essence. The evil
does not form the totality of the subject ; the latter, on the con-
trary, has [the power of rising to] unity with itself, which fornis
the positive side {i. e.^ goodness), the absoluteness and iutiuity of
self- consciousness. The essential phase of the separateness of
spirit consists in my abih'ty to abstract from whatever is imme-
diate or external. This separateness is exempt and free from
time, change, and the vicissitudes of the course of this world, from
evil and discord ; this separateness, since it is the absoluteness of
self-consciousness, is represented in the thought of the immortality
of the soul. This implies, in the first place, most pointedly, the
determination of perpetuity in time. Tiiis elevation above the
power and the vicissitudes of change is represented as belonging
to spirit inherently, and not merely as the result of reconciliation.
Thus the second determination is added, that the self-consciousness
of spirit is an eternal, absolute phase of eternal life, in which it is
removed above time (which is the abstraction of change) and
above diremption (which is the objective element in change) as
soon as it has been received into that unity and conciliation which
are ])resupposed to exist iidierently and originally in the object of
consciousness.

II. Differentiation ( Urtheil), or Determinate Religion.

While in the first part we have considered religion in its
idea and have discussed its simple idea as well as the determi.
nation of its content, the universal, we now must proceed beyond
this sphere of universality and enter upon that of determination.
The idea as such is not yet unfolded ; it still contains its determina-
tions or phases implicitly [as possibih'ties] ; they have not yet
become explicit or actual ; they have not 3'et risen to the claim of
differences or distinctions. This they can attain only through
completed differentiation. Not until God, the idea, differentiates
and the categorj' of determination arises, shall we meet with exist-

JlegeVs Philosophy of Religion. 21

inp: relii^ion, which is at the same time determinately existing
religion.

The movement from the abstract to the concrete is hased on our
method, on the idea, but not for the reason that the latter has
much of a special content. Our doctrine adopts this basis for an
entirely different reason. Spirit, to which absolute and high-
est being must be attributed, exists as activity only ; in other
words, it exists only in as far as it posits itself, as it actualizes
(fuer sieh ist) and creates itself. In this self-activity, however, it
acts knowingly, and, whatever it is, it is as a knowing principle.
Thus it is essential to religion not merely to exist in its idea,
but to be the consciousness of what the idea is. The material in
which the idea, like a plan, realizes itself, which it makes its own,
and shapes in accordance with itself, is the human consciousness.
In a similar way (to quote an analogous example). Right has exist-
ence only in as far as it exists in spirit and occupies human will,
or in as far as man knows it as a determination of his will. Thus
the idea here realizes itself, whereas in the preceding, immediate
stage it was posited only as the form of the idea.

Spirit is not at all immediate ; only natural objects are imme-
diate and retain ^uch form of being. The existence of spirit is not
immediate in that sense ; it is self-creative ; it makes itself for itself
by negating its own subjectivity. Otherwise it would be sub-
stance only. The return of spirit back into itself is a movement,
an activity, and is its own self-mediation.

A stone is immediate; it is a settled and finished, fact. But
whatever is living shoAvs activity. The tirst existence of the plant
involves the activity of the germ ; it must develop out of it and
create itself. In the end the development of the plant is summed
up in the seed ; the beginning of the plant is thus at the same
time its last product. Similarly, man is a child in the first place,
and, like all natural things, he must complete this round and cre-
ate another existence.

In the plant there are two individuals; the seed in which it
begins its life is another than that which forms the completion of
its existence and into which it develops in its maturity. Since
spirit is always life and animation, it is its nature to exist, in the
first place, in itself [an sich — i. e., intrinsically or potentially]
or in its idea. Its second stage is, that it steps out of itself into

22 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

[external or extrinsic] existence ; it unfolds and creates itself, it
ripens and creates the idea of itself as potential, or intrinsic. The
actualized idea tlius corresponds to that which was potential or
intrinsic. The child is not yet rational man ; it has possibilities,
potentialities only ; it is merely potential reason, potential spirit.
It is only throu<z;h his education or development that he becomes
spirit [actually].

This, then, is tlie meaning of the expression " to determine one's
self : namely, to step forth into existence, [to appear in] exist-
ence for another, to bring out its phases through differentiation,
or to unfold itself. These differences are no other determinations
than those which the concept itself contains.

The unfolding of these differences, and the tendencies which
result therefrom, form the road along which spirit moves in order
to arrive at itself; [for] spirit is its own goal and aim. Its abso-
lute aim is to know and grasp itself, to become its own object in
its potentiality, and to attain a perfect cognition of itself ; in this
aim alone spirit finds its true being. This process and course of
self-creative spirit contains diverse phases ; but the road is not
yet the goal or aim. Spirit does not attain the latter before
having run to the end of the road ; it does not find itself near
the goal, to begin with. Even what is most perfect must run
its course to the goal in order to attain it. In the midway sta-
tions of this process, spirit is not yet perfect. It does not yet pos-
sess true self-knowledge or self-consciousness, nor has it ])ecome
manifest or revealed to itself. Since spirit is essentially this activ-
ity of self-evolution, it follows that there must be midway stations
or stages of its consciousness ; the latter does not rise for the time
being above the relative height of the stage which it has reached.
These stages form the [various] determinate religions. There
religion is consciousness of the universal spirit which is not yet
absolute and for-itself. The consciousness of spirit on each of
these stages is its determinate consciousness of itself, and con-
stitutes the course of the education of the spirit. Thus we
shall have to consider determinate religion, which is necessarily
imperfect, since it is merely a stage or station in the course of
s])irit.

The various forms or determinations of religion are in one
respect phases of religion in general ; that is to say, of perfect

HegeVs Philosophy of lieligion. 23

religion. But they have also an independent aspect, since it is in
them that religion has developed in time or historically.

Religion, in so far as it is determinate, and has not yet moved
through the circle of its determinateness, and is still finite religion,
and exists as such, is historical religion, which forms a special
aspect of religion.

Whatever has been determined by the idea exists by necessity,
and religions and their mode of succession did not originate in
accident. It is spirit which rules [the world] from within, and it
is foolish to see nothing in this, in the manner of the historians*
but accident or contingency.

The essential phases of the idea of religion become apparent
on every stage of its existence ; the difference of these phases from
the true form of the idea lies in the fact that they are not yet
posited in the totality of the idea. The [various] determinate
religions are, indeed, not our religion, but they are nevertheless
contained in ours because they are essential although subordinate
phases, which are necessary parts of universal truth. In these
religions, we are not dealing with what is foreign and strange, but
with what is ours, and the cognition that such is the case is the
conciliation of true religion with false religion. Thus, on the
lower stages of development, the phases of the religious idea
appear as forebodings or superstitions, which grow by accident
like the flowers and other forms of nature. And yet, the prevail-
ing determination [or characteristic] of these stages is the deter-
mination of the idea itself, which cannot be lacking or be
omitted on any of the stages. The thought of incarnation, for
instance, is found in everj' religion. The substantial elements of
all ethical relations — as property, marriage, the defence of ruler
and state, the last decision (ultimately based on subjectivity) as to
what is due to tlie public good — all these elements exist in the un-
developed state of society as well as in the fully developed one ;
but the determinate form of these substantial elements differs ac-
cording to the advancement of social growth. The main point
here is, that the idea be truly known in its totality ; according as
such knowledge exists more or less perfectly the stage of religious
spirit is high or low, rich or poor. Spirit may embrace something
as its property or possession, M'ithout having a developed conscious-
ness of it. Spirit has or owns its immediate, peculiar nature, its

24 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

physical, organic existence, but it does not know them in their
deterininateiiess and truth ; it has but a vague, general idea of
them. Men live within the state ; they themselves are its life,
activity, and reality ; but for all that there may be no conscious-
ness, no positing of what the state really is. It is the character-
istic of the perfect state that whatever it involves potentially, or
whatever is contained in the idea of the state, has been realized
and developed in the form of rights, duties, and laws. In a simi-
lar way, the determinate religions contain the phases of the
idea in the shape of intuitions, feelings, or similar immediate
forms, while the consciousness of these phases has not yet been
developed ; leastwise, these phases have not yet been elevated to
determinations of the absolute object, and God lias not been rep-
resented under these determinations of the totality of the religious
idea.

The determinate religions of the various peoples show us often
enouerh, indeed, the most distorted and wiiirasical caricature of a
conception of the Divine Being — of the duties and modes of wor-
ship or cultus. But it will not do to dispose of these views lightly,
and to look upon these religious representations and rites as super-
stition, error, and fraud, or to see nothing in them except that they
originate in piety and must therefore be admitted to be pious acts,
no matter what their character is otherwise. Nor shall we find
any satisfaction in the compilation or elaboration of the external
and phenomenal details. We feel the higher need of cognizing
[in these phenomena] their meaning and truth — their connection
with the true ; in sliort, the rational principle in them. Those
that established these religions were human beings, and for this
reason there must be reason in them ; in all contingency there must
be a higlier necessity. This acknowledgment is but an act of jus-
tice to those religions, for what is human and rational in them is
ours as well, even if for our higher consciousness it should seem but
a single phase. To understand the history of religion in this sense
involves a reconciliation with what is horrible, terrible, or absurd
in lower religions, and a justification of it. This does not mean
at all that we are to look upon these as right or true, as found in
their original Hovm.. By no means. Nevertheless, we may recog-
nize something human in the beginning or source from which
thev emanated. Therein lies the conciliation with this whole

IlegeVs Philosophy of Religion. 25

topic, the conciliation which completes itself in the idea. The
religions, as they follow upon each other, are deterniined by the
idea ; their determination is therefore not an external one, but
brought about through the nature of spirit, which enters the
world, self-impelled, in order to attain the consciousness of itself.
The contemplation of these religions, according to the idea, is
therefore tlie purely philosophical contemplation of that which is.
Philosophy never considers what is not ; it never deals with what
is impotent and unable to give to itself real existence.

In the development itself, since it is a process and has not yet
reached its end and goal, the phases of the idea are still sepa-
rate and extrinsic to each other, and therefore the reality has not
yet become adequate to the idea; the Unite religions form the
historical phenomena or manifestations of tliese phases. In order
to understand such religions in the light of these truths, they
must be considered in two aspects : first, in regard to the manner
in whicii God is conceived, and, secondly, how the subject, through
this conception, knows himself. The further determination of
these two sides rests on the same basis, and the same determinate-
ness extends through both. The conception which man has
of God corresponds to that which he has of himself and of his
freedom. If he knows himself in God, he knows also his imper-
ishable life in Him ; he knows the truth of his own being, and the
idea of the immortality of the soul enters with this as an essential
element into the history of religion. The concepts of God and of
the immortality of the soul stand in a necessary relation to each
other ; when man has a true knowledge of God, he has also a true
knowledge of himself: both sides correspond to each other. God
is, in the beginning, an indefinite principle; in the course of de
velopment there is formed, more or less clearly, the consciousness
of what God really is, and there is a corresponding growth of real
self-consciousness. To the sphere of this development belong also
the proofs for the existence of God, which have for their object
the exposition of the necessary elevation to him. The diversity
of determinations which are ascribed to God in this elevation is
involved at the outset in the difference of the points of departure,
and this difference again finds its basis in the nature of each of those
historical stages of self-consciousness. The various forms of this
elevation will show in each case the metaphysical spirit of the

26 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

respective stage, with which the real conception of God and the
sphere of worship or cultus will correspond.

As a preliininar}' step, we shall atteinj)t a elassilication of this
stage of determinate religion ; the hasis of it will be the mode of
Divine manifestation, or phenomenality. God is phenomenon, but
he is not phenomenon in general ; He determines himself as spirit
and becomes phenomenon to Himself. In other words, He is not
object in general, but object to Himself.

1. Phenomenality in general, or abstract phenomenality, is the
same as naturalness in general. Phenomenality means : being for
another, the externalitv of elements that are different from each
other, an immediate and not yet self-reflected externalitv. This
logical determination, which is here taken in its concrete meaning,
is naturalness. Whatever exists for another is for this verv reason
a sensuous mode of existence. Even thought, when it is posited
tor another thought of an alien existence (that is to say, another
thought which compared with the first is an independent subject),
can be communicated to the latter only by the sensuous medium
of gesture, speech, or some such physical mediation.

But, since God is essentially only His own phenomenon', the
abstract relation of man to nature does not belong to religion ; in
religion the natural is but a phase of the divine, and when it ex-
ists for religious consciousness, it must necessarily possess the de-
termination of a sj^iritual mode. It does not remain in its pure
natural element, but receives the determination of the divine which
dwells in it. Thus it can not be said of any religion that men
pray to the sun, the sea, or to nature. AVlien men pray to these,
they are then no longer the every-day things which they are for
us. While these objects are divine for their worshippers, they are
still natural ; but since they are also objects of religion, they are
at the same time conceived in a spiritual manner. The contem-
plation of the sun, of the stars, as of mere natural phenomena, lies
outside of the domain of religion. The so-called prosaic or every.
day view of nature, which common-sense consciousness has, is a
later distinction ; to make its rise possible, deeper and more funda-
mental reflection was necessary. Not until spirit .has posited itself
independently for itself, as free from nature, can the latter appear
to it as object and as external.

The first mode of manifestation or phenomenality — namely,

HegeVs Philosophy of Religion. 27

naturalness — has therefore for its central point subjectivity, or
the spirituality of God in general. These two determinations
have not yet entered into any relationship with each other through
reflection. This relationship begins in our second division.

2. God in himself is spirit; this is our idea of God. For the
same reason He must be posited as spirit — i. e., the manner of
His manifestation or His phenomenality must be spiritual in itself,
and consequently be the negation of the natural. This makes it
necessary that its determinateness (which is that side of the idea
which we call reality) be identical with the idea ; the relation of
reality to the divine Idea is completed when spirit is spirit ;
that is to say, when both the idea and the reality are spirit.
In the first place, we shall see that naturalness constitutes that
determination of the idea of God which we have called the
side of reality in the idea. The rise of spirituality, or subjec-
tivity, out of naturalness appears first as a struggle between the
two sides which, while struggling, are still involved in each other.
This is the reason why also this second stage of determinate reli-
gion remains in the sphere of naturalness ; it forms, together with
the preceding one, the stage of natural religion.

While still within the course and process of determinate relig-
ion, the movement of spirit makes the attempt to render the
determinateness adequate to the idea ; this determinateness,
nevertheless, appears as yet abstract on that stage, and the idea
is as yet finite. These attempts, in which the principle of the pre-
ceding stages, the Essence, tries to comprehend itself within infi-
nite inwardness, may be enumerated as follows : 1. The Jewish
religion ; 2, the Greek religion ; and 3, the Roman religion. The
Jewish God is the unique Being which remains an abstract unity
not yet concrete in itself. This God is, indeed, God in spirit, but
not yet as spirit ; He is that non-sensuous abstraction of thought
which lacks as yet the content by which it becomes spirit. The
freedom into which the idea tries to develop itself in the Greek
religion still stands under the rule of the necessity of [its] essence,
and the idea, as it appears and strives after independence in the
Roman religion, is as yet limited, since it is related to a confront-
ing externality, in which it is to exist objectively only ; it is there-
fore external utility (aeusserliche Zweckmaessigkeit).

These are the principal determinations which appear here as

28 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

modes of the reality of spirit. Since they are deteriniiiations
they are not adequate to the idea of spirit, and are finitiides
only; in this we must include also the infinite [thought] that
there is One God, for this is here [merely] an abstract athrniation.
If we were to look upon this determination of the phenomenality
of God in our consciousness (where it appears as the pure ideality
of the One and the concord of the multii)licity of external phe-
nomena) as the true religion, and contrast it as such with natural
religion, we should find that the former is but one single determi-
nation compared with the totality of the idea of spirit. It is
as little adequate to this totality as its opposite is. These deter-
minate religions are not yet the true religion, and in them God is
not yet known in His truth, because the absolute content of spirit
is lacking therein.

III. Manifest or Revealed Religion.

■ Manifestation, development, and determination do not continue
to infinity, nor do they discontinue by accident. The true course
consists in this: that the reflection of the idea in itself is inter-
rupted by its own real return movement. Thus the phenomenon
itself becomes an infinite one, the content becomes adequate to
the idea of spirit, and the phenomenon becomes like the spirit
in-and-for-itself. The idea of religion becomes objective for itself
in [actual] religion. Spirit, when it has once realized its poten-
tiality, deals in its further development no longer with the single
forms and determinations of itself as spirit; it knows itself no
longer in determinateness or limitation ; it has conquered limita-
tion and finitiide, and is now actually and for itself what it
was potentially and in itself. Tliat spirit in its actuality should
know itself as it is potentially, constitutes the potentiality and
actuality (das An- und Fuersichsein) of knowing spirit; it is the
perfect, absolute religion in which it becomes manifest what
spirit or God is; this is the Christian religion. It is necessarily
im])lied in the idea of religion that spirit must run its course in
religion as in everthing else; it is spirit only because it exists for
itself as the negration of all flnite forms and as absolute idealitv.

I have representations and perceptions, a certain content, for
instance, this house, etc. They are my percepts, representations
within myself. I could not have these representations if I could

HegeVs Philosophy of Religion, 29,

not comprehend this content within myself and posit it within me
in a simple, ideal manner. The meaning of Ideality is, that we
cancel external existence, space, time, materialness, externality ; in
the fact that I know them, they are no longer representations
extrinsic to each other. They are comprised within myself in a
simple manner.

Spirit is knowing; but, in order that it may be knowing, it is
necessary that the content of that which it knows should have
attained tins ideal form (and in this manner have become negated) ;
whatever spirit is, njust in this way have become its own. Spirit
must have moved through this circle, and it is necessarj^ that those
forms, determinations, and finitudes should have existed in order
that it may make tliem its own.

This, then, is the road and the goal ; spirit must attain its own
idea, that which it is, potentially or in itself. It attains it onlj'
in the manner whose abstract phases have here been outlined.
The revealed religion is also the manifest religion, because in it
God has become manifest most completely. Here everything is
adequate to the idea; there is nothing that remains secret in
God. We iind here the consciousness of the developed idea of
the spirit of reconciliation — not in the form of beauty, or seren-
ity, but in spirit. Religion was at first veiled and did not exist
in its truth ; but manifest religion arrived in due time. This was
not a contingent time, dependent on arbitrariness or caprice ; it
was a time lixed in the eternal, essential counsel of God — that is to
say, of eternal Reason or of God's wisdom. The idea of the thing
itself, the divine idea, the idea of God himself, has determined
itself in this development and has given to it time and goal.

This course of religion is the true Theodicy ; it exhibits all the
creations of spirit and every form of its self-cognition in their
necessity — a necessity which is based on the reason that spirit is
ever living and active, and that it is the impulse which seeks to
penetrate through the series of its phenomena to the attainment
of the consciousness of itself, which is the sum of truth.

30 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

LADY MACBETH: A PSYCHOLOGICAL SKETCH.

BY UOBERT MUXRO.

Timantlies, in the celebrated picture of the sacrifice of Iphige-
nia, asserted the skill of his art by veiling, instead of trying to
depict in its inexpressible anguish, the face of xVgameninon, the
father of the victim. What was not expressed was left to the
imagination to portray, and, in every case, he who had any imagi-
nation at all would till in such details as no painter could transfer
to canvas.

It is something after the same fashion that Timanthes moved
men more than twenty-two centuries ago that Shakespeare creates
for Lady Macbeth such an interest and strange fascination. She
does not often appear on the scene, and when she does she is in-
variably veiled. Excepting the few moments when, like a spectre,
she flits before us in her night-vigil, she has on the mask, and it is
not she we see, but her evil counterpart — that other self which
the most of us, instead of showing to the world, seek to hide from
its too curious gaze.

When we are first permitted to make the acquaintance of Lady
Macbeth she is resident in her castle at Inverness. The best tra-
dition — and there seems to be some foundation for it in scattered
references in the play — speaks of her as being " fair, feminine,
nay, perhaps, even fragile." (Mrs. Siddons.) She was certainly
no tall, muscular. Highland Amazon, as is vulgarly supposed, but
she belonged to the true Celtic type of woman ; she had a quick
mind, a strong will, and a form beautiful as it was instinct with
grace and animation. No wonder should her husband, the rough
soldier, love her, and that, after his own way, tenderly to the last.

On our introduction to her she is alone, and has a letter in her
Land. It is a message from Macbeth, in M"iiich he eagerlv relates
his meeting with the witches, and the supernatural sanction they
seemed to give to his unhallowed ambition, as " the king that shall
be." But, to me, the most significant part of it is the closing sen-
tence, in which, after rehearsing his story, he says : " This have I
thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that
thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing by being ignorant of
what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and fare-

Lady Macbeth : A Psychological Sketch. 31

well." Strong man, and full of courage as he was, he yet shud-
dered when brought face to face with " the swelling act " he knew
must be done in order to the attainment of his hopes ; and it was
to her, as a last stay, he looked for inspiration and " a spur to
prick the sides of his intent," Lay it to thy heart : little need
had he for saying that. His ambition was already hers, and had
burned itself into her very soul. She had looked at the matter in
every aspect of it, and did not shrink from contemplating the way
that must ultimately be travelled — the way of blood — that she
might share with her lord the crown of Duncan.

We iliay be sure it was not all at once, or without a struggle,
that she arrived at this terrible resolution. There is the agony of
inward conflict as well as the notes of high decision in the awful
invocation :

** Come, you spirits

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

And fill me, from the crown to the toe, topful

Of direst cruelty ! Make thick my blood,

Stop up the access and passage of remorse ;

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace

Between the effect and it ! Come to mv woman's breasts,

And take my milk for gall, you mnrthering ministers,

Wherever in your sightless substances

You wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick night.

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell !

That my keen knife see not the wound it makes.

Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark.

To cry, ' Hold, hold ! ' "

Thus dominated by the same master thought, when they at
length met, it was she who was the first to allude to the matter,
as if she doubted his force of purpose, and wished at the outset to
throw the whole weight of her influence into the opposite scale.
With rare psychologic insight she read his soul as if it had been
an open book. She knew his strength and weakness, his hopes
and fears, and with a skill that is almost demoniac, and too horri-
ble to conceive as existing in woman, the weaker vessel and min-
istering angel, she played upon his nature with as much ease as if
she were fingering the strings of her native harp. It was, how-

32 The Journal of Speculative Pkilosophy.

ever, that last touch of hers that taunted him with cowardice that
made liim her slave, not only in thought — for he was that already
— but in deed as well, lie was a genuine Celt, to whom reputa-
tion for bravery was dearer than conscience, dearer even than
life itself; and so he was goaded and lashed by the " valor" of
his wife's tongue into the doing of aii act from which his soul
otherwise utterly recoiled.

It is sometimes asserted that when a woman is l)ad she is ten
times more a child of Satan than the most abandoned of men ;
but, though history records cruel enough things against iier, the
accusation is certainly not true. She, no doubt, " feels the future
in the instant," and acts not so much from calculation as from the
instinct or emotion strongest for the moment ; yet for all that she
is so constituted as to lack the muscular and nerve power needed
for being such a great and persistent criminal as her brother man.
Her intentions may be equally bad, perhaps even more subtle and
diabolic, still she cannot carry them through as he can. The case
of Lady Macbeth, which — fictitious though it be — is often adduced
as an illustration of the depths to which woman can sink, really
proves nothing, for, in the hour of decision, when she tried to do
tlie deed she ignominiously failed. But, besides this, there are
elements in her supposed history which put her entirely out of the
reckoning. In her opening speeches we can trace signs of that
confusion of thought and moral conception that are, according to
modern medical psychologists, the surest preludes to the awful
malady with which, we know, she was afterward afflicted ; and
we may infer it was with the design of indicating that tendency
she was represented at the outset as acting the extravagant part
slie did. Brooding too long over one idea, and being thrown too
much on her own company, it was clearly the intention of Shake-
speare to represent her, from the very first, in the attitude of one
suffering from the etiects of an ever-increasing monomania.

The deed, preceded by such conflict and passion, had at length
been accomplished ; and, in its turn, it became the starting-point
for a new development in the character of each.

Macbeth had (pialities which might, under other circumstances,
have developed into a better life. He was a brave man, loved by
his soldiers and trusted by his king; he was not insensible to
kindness ; he shuddered at the thought of violating the rites of hos-

Ladij Macbeth : A Psychological Sketch . 33

pitality ; and, above all, he had strong affection for his wife. But,
in the step he took in mnrderinc; his kinsman and guest, he seemed
to have put between himself and the possibility of better things a
chasm which could not be crossed. From that day he began to
drift away from all that was good. The evil of his heart became
unreined, and it hurried him madly on in the dark pathway which
now opened before him. Even as highly excitable persons often
maintain a strangely impassive calmness when surrounded by the
bustle of activity, so he sought, by heaping crime upon crime, not
only to make sure his own position, but, by stifling every move-
ment of what was noblest in his nature, to bring a kind of tran-
sient peace to his troubled spirit.

With Lady Macbeth it was far otherwise. She had no way of
escaping from her own thoughts, no way of plunging into such a
course of action as might help to keep away the remembrance of
the past or to relieve the present. It was hers to suffer silently
and alone. She had obtained the object of her desires, but it was,
in the attainment of it, turned into Are and ashes on her lips. Tlie
crown was placed on her head, but it weighed upon her heavier
than lead. Among all her gettings there were some things she
did not count upon, and of these were remorse and its black train
of crushing years.

When the crime was being enacted she spoke lightly of it :

" The sleeping aud the dead
Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil."

" A little water clears us of this deed ;
How easy is it then ! "

But see her now in her night perambulations — a very picture of
woe — wringing her hands in anguish because the blood-spots will
not out, and sighing her very heart away because " all the per-
fumes of Arabia will not sweeten her little hand." She turns and
looks, but she does not see, for, though her eyes are open their
sense is shut ; and it is an indescribably sorrowful face that meets
ours — more sorrowful by far than that of Guido's " Beatrice Cenci "
— for it is the face of one upon whom the shadows of despair are
leno-thenino- out: and the darkness more to be dreaded still, the
extinction of reason itself, is fast settling.
XXI— 3

34: The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Signor Salvini objects to the walkins^ scene being assigned to
Ladj Macbeth, and liints that originally it must have been in-
tended for Macbeth, though afterward given to Lady Macbeth,
pos>ibly enough, at the request of some charming actress who did
not find lier part c/therwise sutticiently important. The reason he
adduces for this view is the necessity why Shakespeare should main-
tain the individuality of his personifications; np till now it was he^
not ■sA^', who betrayed signs of weakness and remorse ("Impres-
sions of Some Shakespearean Characters," by Tominaso Salvini).

It is strange that Salvini, one of the noblest scenic interpreters
of our great dramatist, should have fallen into this mistake.
Apart altogether from the incongruity,of representing the brawny
chieftain stalking about the stage in " the trappings and suits " of
night, there is another reason — the psychological one — why this
part should have been acted by Lady Macbeth. Macbeth had
already, by his career of evil, paid the immediate debt of nature,
and given play to his feelings even to the point of weariness; and
there need be no doubt that, like many another criminal, he slept
as soundly as if Innocence descended nightly to close his eyelids,
and the angels of purity hovered around to defend him as he slept.
But she had no outlet at all for the misery that was gnawing at
her heart. She had to bear it in all its secret reality ; and, as long
as she could, she bore it with wonderful fortitude. She even tried
to be cheerful and unconcerned, while all the time her heart was
breaking, and her mind tortured past endurance. But she could
not long hope to maintain this enforced cheerfulness ; for nature,
if prevented from having its normal course, will, like water that is
dammed, force its way through some other channel. Its " com-
punctious visitings" may be repelled for a season, but it is only
that they may come again upon the soul with redoubled energy.
So much is this the case that were there no walking-scene for Lady
Macbeth, no representation of her as bowed under the weight of
her woes, she would have been no woman, but a demon incarnate —
worse than the weird sisters and a rival in wickedness of Hecate
herself. It is only when she is asleep, when the will is bound,
and the senses closed to all but the soul's dominant thought, that
the mask is laid aside, and we see her for what she is — a veritable
woman — our sister — for whom, as much as we may detest her
crimes, we can still cherish feelings of pity and compassion.

Lady 2facbeth : A Psychological Sketch. 35

Instead of there being a break in the lite-development of Lady
Macbeth, there is a marvellous consistency iti all the parts of it.
This is the more remarkal)le when we remember that little or
nothing was known in Shakespeare's day of the physiological and
mental conditions under which it is supposed to grow. As to
somnambulism, the most incredible views were held. By some it
was regarded as a prophetic or ecstatic state in which the subjects
of it were believed to be under the influence of angels, and gifted
with a true power of divination. Others, again, found a conclu-
sive explanation of its origin in the imperfect performance of the
baptismal ceremony. This is why, in that age, somnambulists
were frequently called " the ill-baptized." Ideas equally crude
and indefinite were current as to mental disease. Even Tlieo-
phrastes Paracelsus (1493-154:1), who has been so much extolled
as the founder of modern Medical Psychology, could speak about
insanity with less real knowledge than falls to the lot of any or-
dinarily intelligent reader of the present day. '' That man," said
he, "is sick in mind in whom the mortal and immortal, the sane
and insane spirit do not appear in due proportion and strength."
His method ot cure was equally explicit : " What avails in mania
except opening a vein ? Then the patient will recover ; this is
the arcanum; not camphor, not sage and marjoram, not clysters,
not this or that, but phlebotomy."

There is nothing of this unscientific vagueness in Shakespeare.
"With a knowledge of psychology which was far in advance of his
time and which may be said to have anticipated the most recent
findings, he always speaks of the abnormal conditions of mind
with marvellous accuracy. The outlines of his picture of Lady
Macbeth might, for that part of it, have been sketched by a
Maudsley, or a Morel, or any nineteenth-century specialist. There
is, first, the intellectual and moral disturbance, then the crime and
the consequent depression, finding, by and by, expression in som-
nambulism — which is, in the words of Baron Feuchtersleben,
"sometimes a precursor of dangerous neuroses, as of epilepsy,
catalepsy, and the like " — and there is, lastly, the " mind dis-
eased" — the permanent "sorrows" and " troubles of the brain "
and heart — to which no medicinal balm or " purgative drug " can
minister any deliverance.

The end of this weirdest creation of the poet's imagination is

36 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

alike touchinij; ami trao^ic, as it is in keepino; with all that went
before it.- To Macbeth, life, though it had more than its meed of
€vil, was a thinsj to be desired, and he died bravely fightinp^ in its
defence. With Lady Macbeth, however, life was not outward but
inward, not a thing of pleasure but a weariness and an intolerable
burden, from which there was no hope of escape, and so she
raised an unfriendly hand against it.

It is a fancy, but I cannot help thinking it was when asleep
and in her night-vigil she did the deed. Dr. E. Mesnet relates
('"Archives generales de medicine,'' 1860, vol. xv) that he was
witness to an attempt at suicide begun in one and continued in
the other of two consecutive attacks of somnambulism. And
so it may have been here. Life has its nightly side as well as the
side that is to the day ; and there was a kind of fitness in her ease
it should have been then. She who, when awake, restrained her
will with such indomitable power, had, at last, when pressed by
the shadows and the suggestions of the night, to vield, and throw
off forever the mask she had worn so long.

LETTEKS ON FAUST.

BY H. C. BROCKMEYER.

Cordenln: Distinction between subjective criticism and objective criticism, the former
stating merely the relation of the work criticised to the critic's feelings ; the dangers of
subjective criticisms of this kind ; defects of criticisms based on biography ; based on
gossip ; literary dish-water ; the objective criticism that investigates the idea of the
poem and sees the parts in relation to the whole.

Dear II. — Yours of a recent date, requesting an epistolary
criticism of " Goethe's Faust," has come to hand, and I hasten to

' The first nine of these letters are reprinted here from Volumes I and II of this
Journal, where they appeared in 1867-'68. Having recently received Letters X to XX
from the author, completing the series by a discussion of the Second Part of Faust,
we have decided to reprint the first series in order to bring together, for the present
readers of the Journal, this remarkable contribution to literary criticism. We have
added to each letter an index to its contents. — Editor.

Letters on Faust, 37

assure you of a compliance of some sort. I say a compliance of
some sort, for I cannot promise you a criticism. This, it seems
to me, would be both too little and too much ; too little if under-
stood in the ordinary sense, as meaning a mere statement of the
relation existing between the work and myself; too much if in-
terpreted as pledging an expression of a work of the creative
imagination, as a totality, in the terms of the understanding, and
submittino; the result to the canons of art.

The former procedure, usually called criticism, reduced to its
simplest forms, amounts to this : that I, the critic, report to you
that I was amused or bored, flattered or satirized, elevated or de-
graded, humanized or brutalized, enlightened or mystified, pleased
or displeased, by the work under consideration ; and — since it
depends quite as much upon my own humor, native ability, and
culture acquired, which set of adjectives I may be able to report,
as it does upon the work — I cannot perceive what earthly profit
such a labor could be to you. For that which is clear to you may be
dark to me ; hence, if I report that a given work is a " perfect riddle
to me," you will only smile at my simplicity. Again, that which
amuses me may bore you, for I notice that even at the theatre
some will yawn with ennui while others thrill with delight and
applaud the play. Now, if each of these should tell you how he
liked the performance, the one would say "excellent," and the
other " miserable," and you be none the wiser. To expect, there-
fore, that I intend to enter upon a labor of this kind, is to expect
too little.

Besides, such an undertaking seems to me not without its pecul-
iar danger ; for it may happen that the work measures or criti-
cises the critic, instead of the latter the former. If, for example,
I should tell you that the integral and differential calculus is all
fog to me — mystifies me completely — you would conclude my
knowledge of mathematics to be rather imperfect, and thus use
my own report of that work as a sounding-lead to ascertain the
depth of my attainment. Nay, you might even go further, and
regard the work as a kind of Doomsday Book, on the title-page of
which I had " written myself down an ass." Now, as I am not
ambitious of a memorial of this kind, especially when there is no
probability that the pages in contemplation — Goethe's Faust —
will perish any sooner than the veritable Doomsday Book itself,

38 Tlte Journal of Speculative PhilosopJnj.

I request von, as a special favor, not to understand of nie that I
propose engat^ing in anv undertaking of this sort.'

Nor are you to expect an inquiry into the quantity or quality
of the author's food, drink, or raiment. For the present infantile
state of analytic science refuses all aid in tracing such lyrimary
elements, so to speak, in the composition of the poem before us;
and hence such an investigation would lead, at best, to very sec-
ondary and remote conclusions. Nor shall we be permitted to
explore the likes and dislikes of the poet, in that fine volume of
scandal, for the kindred reason that neither crucible, reagent, nor
retort are at hand which can be of the remotest service.

By the by, has it never occurred to you, when perusing wtn-ks
of the kind last referred to, what a glowing picture the pious Dean
of St. Patrick's, the saintly SwI/t, has bequeathed to us of their
producers, when he places the great authors, the historical Gulli-
vers of our race, in all their majesty of form, astride the public
thoroughfare of a LilijHitian age, and marches the inhabitants, in
solid battalions, through between their legs ? you recollect what
he says ?

Nor yet are you to expect a treat of that most delightful of all
compounds, the table-talk and conversation — or, to use a homely
phrase, the literally diahvKiter retailed by the author's scullion.
To expect such, or the like, would be to expect too little.

On the other hand, to expect that I shad send you an expres-
sion, in the terms of the understanding, of a work of the creative
imagination, as a totality, and submit the result to the canons of
art, is to expect too much. For while I am ready, and while I
intend to comply with the first part of this proposition, I am un-
able to fulfil the requirement of the latter part — that is, I am not
able to submit the result to the canons of art. The reason for
this inability it is not necessary to develoj) in this connection any

' In this connection, permit me, dear friend, to mention a discovery which I made
concerning my son Isaac, now three years old. Just imagine my surprise when I found
that every book in my possession — Webster's Spelling-book not excepted — is a perfect
riddle to him, and mystifie;* him as completely as ever the works of Goethe, Hegel,
Emerson, or any other thinking man, do or did the learned critics. But my parental
pride, so much elated by the discovery of this remarkable precocity in my son — a pre-
cocity which, at the age of three years (!), shows him possessed of all the incapacity of
such " learned men " — was shocked, nay, mortified, by the utter want of appreciation
which the little fellow showed of this, his exalted condition ! '

Letters on Faust. 39

further than merely to mention that I find it extremely incon-
venient to lay my hand upon the aforementioned canons just at
this time.

I must, therefore, content myself with the endeavor to summon
hefore you the Idea which creates the poetn — each act, scene, and
verse — so that we may see the part in its relation to the whole,
and the whole in its concrete, organic articulation. If we succeed
in this, then we may say that we comprehend the work — a con-
dition precedent alike to the beneficial enjoyment and the rational
judgment of the same.

II.

Contents : The author can not avoid the use of general philosophical terms in treating
of this poem ; " the beautiful world," an expression used by the poet, is itself a term
of universal import ; classification of the contents of the two worlds (a) of nature ; {b)
of spirit.

In my first letter, dear friend, I endeavor to guard you against
misapprehension as to what you might expect from me. Its sub-
stance, if memory serves me, was that I did not intend to write on
Anthropology or Psychology, nor yet on street, parlor, or court
gossip, but simply about a work of art.

I deemed these remarks pertinent in view of the customs of the
time, lest that, in my not conforming to them, you should judge me
harshly without profit to yourself. With the same desire of keep-
ing up a fair understanding with you, I must call your attention
to some terms and distinctions which we shall have occasion to
use, and which, unless explained, might prove shadows instead of
lights along the path of our intercourse.

I confess to you that I share the (I might say) abhorrence so
generally entertained by the reading public, of the use of any
general terms whatsoever, and would avoid them altogether if I
could only see how. But in reading the poem that we are to
consider, I come upon such passages as these :

{Choir of Invisible Spirits.)

" Woe ! Woo !
Thou Iiast destroyed it,
The beautiful world !
It reels, it crumbles,
Crushed by a demigod's mighty hand ! "

40 The Journal of Speculati've Pldlosoplnj.

and I cannot see how we are to understand these spirits, or the
poet who gave tliein voice, unless we attack this very general ex-
pression " The heautiful world," here said to have been destroyed
by Faust.

I am, however, somewhat reconciled to this by the example of
my neighbor — a non-speculative, practical farmer — now busily
engaged in harvesting his wheat. For I noticed that he first di-
rected his attention, after cutting the grain, to collecting and
tying it together in bundles; and I could not help but perceive
how much this facilitated his labor, and how difficult it would
have been for him to collect his wheat, grain by grain, like the
sparrow of the field. Though wheat it were, and not chaff, still
such a mode of haudlinor would reduce it even below the value of
chaff.

Just think of handling tiie wheat crop of the United States,
the four hundred and twenty-five millions of bushels a year, in this
manner ! It is absolutely not to be thought of, and we must have
recourse to agglomeration, if not to generalization. But the one
gives us general masses, and the other general terms. The only
thing that we can do, therefore, is, in imitation of our good neigh-
bor of the wheat-field, to handle bundles, bushels, and bags, or —
what is still better, if it can be done by some daring system ot
intellectual elevators — whole ship-loads of grain at a time, due
care being taken that we tie M'heat to wheat, oats to oats, barley
to barley, and not promiscuously.

Now, with this example well before our minds, and the neces-
sity mentioned, which compels us to handle — not merely the
wheat crop of the United States for one year, but — whatever has
been raised by the intelligence of man from the beginning of our
race to the time of Goethe the poet, together with the ground on
which it was raised, and the sky above — for no less than this
seems to be contained in the expression " The beautiful world " — I
call your attention first to the expression "form and matter,"
which, when applied to works of intelligence, we must take the
liberty of changing into the expression " form and content "; for
since there is nothing in works of this kind that manifests gravity,
it can be of no use to say so, but may be of some injury.

The next is the expression " works of art," which sounds rather
suspicious in some of its api)lications — sounds as if it was intended

Letters on Faust. 41

to conceal rather than reveal the worker. Now, I take it that the
"works of art" are the works of the intelligence, and I shall have
to classify them accordingly. Another point with reference to
this might as well be noticed, and that is that the old expressions
"works of art" and "works of nature" do not contain, as they
were intended to, all the works that present themselves to our
observation — the works of science, for example. Besides, we have
government, society, and religion, all of which are undoubtedly
distinct from the " works of art " no less than from the " works of
nature," and to tie them up in the same bundle with either of
them seems to me to be like tying wheat with oats, and therefore
to be avoided, as in the example before our minds. This seems
to be done in the expression " works of self-conscious intelligence "
and " works of nature."

But if we reflect upon the phrases " works of self-conscious in-
telligence" and " works of nature," it becomes obvious that there
must be some inaccurac,y contained in them ; for how can two dis-
tinct subjects have the same predicate ? It would, therefore, per-
haps be better to say " the works of self-conscious intelligence "
and the " 'products of nature."

Without further rasping and filing of old phrases, I call your
attention in the next place to the most general term which we
shall have occasion to use — " the world."

Under this we comprehend :

I. The natural world — Gravity ;
II. The spiritual world — Self-determination.

I. Under the natural world we comprehend the terrestrial globe,
and that part of the universe which is involved in its processes ;
these are :

(a) (1) Mechan!o=^Gravity, 1 Me,eorologic=EIectricity.

(2)Chemio— Afhnity, | " •'

(5) (1) Organic-Galvanism, 1 vital=Sensation.

(2) Vegetative= Assimilation, \

II. Under " The Spiritual World," the world of conscious in-
telligence, we comprehend :

{a) The real world=implement, mediation.
(5) The actual world=self-determination.

42 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

(a) The real world contains whatever derives the end of its ex-
istence only, from self-conscious intelligence.

(1) The family=x\.t}ection.

(2) Society=Etiiics. ]

(3) State=Rights, [ ^^ediation.

(b) The actual world contains whatever derives the end and the
means of its existence from self-conscious intelliijence.

(1) Art= Manifestation, \

(2) Religion^Revelation, - Self-determination.

(3) Philosophy^Definition, )

From this it appears that we have divided the world into three
large slices — the Xatural, the Real, and the Actual — with gravity
for one and self-determination for the other extreme, and media-
tion between them.

III.

Contents : The genesis of spirit (or human nature) through three stages — manifesta-
tion, realization, and actualization ; art shows, religion teaches, and philosophy compre-
hends ; the self-consciousness of an individual, of a nation, of an age ; the ethical con-
tent of Homer's " Iliad," the ethical content of Faust ; the entire life of man affected
by the Faust collision which denies that man can know truth ; hence three great spheres
of conflict to be treated in the poem.

In my last I gave you some general terms, and the sense in
which I intend to use them. I also gave you a reason why I should
use them, together with an illustration. But I gave you no rea-
son why I used these and no others — or I did not advance anything
to show that there are objects to which they necessarily apply. I
only take it for granted that there are some objects presented to
your observation and mine that gravitate or weigh something,
and others that do not. To each I have applied as nearly as I
could the ordinary terms. Xow this procedure, although very
uni)hilosophical, I can justify only by reminding you of the object
of these letters.

If we now listen again to the chant of the invisible choir,

" Thou bast destroyed it,
The beautiful world,"

it will be obvious that this can refer only to the world of media-
tion and self-determination, to the world of spirit, of self-conscious

Letters on Faust. 43

intelligence, for the world of trravitation is not so easily affected.
But how is this — how is it that the world of self-conscious intelli-
gence is so easily affected, is so dependent upon the individual
man ? This can be seen only by examining its genesis.

In the genesis of Spirit we have three stages — manifestation,
realization, and actualization. The first of these, upon w^hich the
other two are dependent and sequent, falls in the individual man.
For in him it is that Reason manifests itself before it can realize
or embody itself in this or that political, social, or moral institu-
tion. And it is not merely necessary that it should so manifest
itself in the individual ; it must also realize itself in these insti-
tutions before it can actualize itself in Art, Religion, and
Philosophy. For in this actualization it is absolutely dej)endent
upon the former two stages of its genesis for a content. From
this it appears that Art shows what Religion teaches^ and what
Philosophy comprehends ^ or that Art, Religion, and Philosophy
have the same content. Nor is it difficult to perceive why this
world of spirit or self-conscious intelligence is so dependent upon
the individual man.

Again, in the sphere of manifestation and reality, this content,
the self-conscious intelligence, is the self-consciousness of an indi-
vidual, a nation, or an age. And art, in the sphere of actuality,
is this or that work of art, this poem, that painting, or yonder
piece of sculpture, with the self-consciousness of this or that indi-
vidual, nation, or age, for its content. Moreover, the particularity
(the individual, nation, or age) of the content constitutes the indi-
viduality of the work of Art. And not only this, but this particu-
larity of the self-consciousness furnishes the very contradiction
itself with the development and solution of which the work of art
is occupied. For the self-consciousness which constitutes the
content, being the self -consciousness of an individual, a nation,
or an age, instead of being self-conscious intelligence in its pure
universalitj', contains in that very particularity the contradiction
which, in the sphere of manifestation and reality, constitutes the
collision, conflict, and solution.'

' From this a variety of facts in the character and history of the different works of art
become apparent. The degree of the effect produced, for example, is owing to the
degree of validity attached to the two sides of the contradiction. If the duties which
the individual owes to the family and the state come into conflict, as in the Antigone

44 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Now, if we look back upon the facts stated, we have the mani-
festation, tlie realization, and the actualization of self-conscious
intelligence as the three spheres or stages in the process which
evolves and involves the entire activity of man, both practical and
theoretical. It is also obvious that the realization of self-conscious
intelligence in the family, society, and the state, and its actualiza-
tion in Art, Religion, and Philosophy, depend in their genesis
upon its manifestation in the individual. Hence a denial of the
possibility of this manifestation is a denial of the i)Ossibility of the
realization and actualization also.

of Sophocles, and the consciousness of the afie has not subordinated the ideas upon
which they are based, but accords to each an equal degree of validity, we have a content
replete with the noblest effects. For this is not a conflict between the abstract good
and bad, the positive and the negative, but a conflict within the good itself. So like-
wise the universality of the effect is apparent from the content. If this is the self-
consciousness of a nation, the work of art will be national. To illustrate this, and, at
the same time, to trace the development of the particularity spoken of into a collision,
we may refer to that great national work of art— the " Iliad " of Homer. The particularity
which distinguishes the national self-consciousness of the Greeks is the pre-eminent
validity attached by it to one of the before-mentioned modes of the actualization of self-
conscious intelligence — the sensuous. Hence its worship of the Beautiful. This pre-
eminence and the consequent subordination of the moral and the rational modes to it
is the root of the contradiction, and hence the basis of the collision which forms the
content of the poem. Its motive modernized would read about as follows : The son of
one of our Senators goes to England ; is received and hospitably entertained at the house
of a lord. During his stay he falls in love and subsequently elopes with the young wife
of his entertainer. For this outrage, perpetrated by the young hopeful, the entire light-
ing material of the island get themselves into their ships, not so much to avenge the
injured husband as to capture the runaway wife.

But — now tnark — adverse winds ensue, powers not human are in arms against them,
and before these can be propitiated, a princess of the blood royal, pure and undefiled,
must be sacrificed ! — is sacrificed, and for what V That all Greece may proclaim to the
world that pure womanhood, pure manhood, family, society, and the state, are nothing,
must be sacrificed on the altar of the Beautiful. For in the sacrifice of Iphigenia all
that could perish in llclcn, and more too — for Iphigenia was pure and Helen was not —
was offered up by the Greeks, woman for woman, and nothing remained but the Beauti-
ful, for which she henceforth became the expression. For in this alone did Helen
excel Iiihigcnia, and all women.

But how is this V Have not the filial, the parental, the social, the civil relations,
sanctity and validity ? Not as against the realization of the Beautiful, says the Greek.
Nor yet the state V No ; " I do not go at the command of Agamemnon, but because I
pledged fealty to Beauty." " But then," Sir Achilles, " if the Beautiful should present
itself under some individual form — say that of Briseis — you would for the sake of its
possession disobey the will of the state ? " " Of course." And the poet has to sing
"Achilles's wrath!" and not "the recovery of the runaway wife," the grand historical
action.

Letters on Faust. 45

Now, if this denial assume tlie form of a conviction in the con-
sciousness of an individual, a nation, or an age, then there results
a contradiction which involves in the sweep of its universality the
entire spiritual world of man. For it is the self-consciousness of
that individual, nation, or age, in direct conflict with itself, not
with this or that particularity of itself, but with its entire content,
in the sphere of manifestation, with the receptivity for, the pro-
duction of, and the aspiration after, the Beautiful, the Good, and
the True, within the individual himself ; in the sphere of realiza-
tion with the Family, with Society, and with the State ; and
finally, in the sphere of actuality with Art, Religion, and Phi-
losophy.

Now, this contradiction is precisely what is presented in the
proposition " Man cannot know truth." This you will remember
was, in the history of modern thought, the result of Kant's philoso-
phy; and Kant's philosophy was the philosophy of Germany at
the time of the conception of Goethe's Faust. And Goethe was
the truest poet of Germany, and thus he sings :

" So then I have studied philosophy,
Jurisprudence, and medicine,
And, what is worse. Theology,
Thoroughly, but, alas ! in vain.
And here I stand with study hoar,
A fool, and know what I knew before ;
Am called Magister, nay, LL. D.,
And for ten years am busily
Engaged leading throiigh fen and close
My trusting pupils by the nose ;
Yet see that nothing can be known.
This burns my heart, this, this alone!"

Here you will perceive in the first sentence of the poem, as was
meet, the fundamental contradiction, the theme, or the " argu-
ment," as it is so admirably termed by critics, is stated in its
naked abstractness, just as Achilles's wrath is the first sentence ot
the " Iliad."

This theme, then, is nothing more nor less than the self-con-
sciousness in contradiction with itself, in conflict with its own
content. Hence, if the poem is to portray this theme, this con-

46 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tent, in its totality, it must represent it in three spheres : first,
Manifestation — Faust in contlict with liimself ; second, Kealization
— Faust in conflict with tlie Family, Society, and the State ;
thirdly, Actualization — Faust in conflict with Art, lieligion, and
Philosophy.

Now, my friend, please to examine the poem once more, reflect
closely upon what has been said, and then tell how much of the
poem can you spare, or how much is there in the poem, as printed,
which does not flow from or develop this theme.

IV.

Contents: The sphere of manifestation; the individual has receptivity for productive
capacity, and aspiration for the True, the Good, and the Beautiful ; the agnosticism of
Faust strikes against all these ; the German nation ; Faust's culture negative ; the con-
juration of the earth-spirit by aspiration ; the inadequacy of the individual to compre-
hend the universal ; hence despair and suicide.

In my last, dear friend, I called your attention to the theme, to
the content of the poem in a general way, stating it in the very
words of the poet himself. To trace the development of this
theme from the abstract generality into concrete detail is the task
before us.

According to the analysis, we have to consider, first of all, the
sphere of Manifestation.

In this we observe the threefold relation which the individual
sustains to self-conscious intelligence, viz.: Receptivity for, and
production of, and aspiration for, the True, the Good, and the
Beautiful. Now, if it is true that man cannot know truth, then it
follows that he can neither receive nor produce the True. For
how shall he know that whatever he may receive and produce is
true, since it is specially denied that he can know it. This con-
clusion as conviction, however, does not aftect immediately the
third relation — the aspiration — nor quench its gnawing. And
this is the first form of conflict in the individual. Let us now
open the book and place it before us.

The historic origin of our theme places us in a German Univer-
sity, in the professor's j)rivate studio.

It is well here to remember that it is a German University, and
that the occupant of the room is a German professor. Also that

Letters on Faust. 47

it is the received opinion tliat the Germans are a theoretical people ;
by which we understand that they act from conviction, and not
from instinct. Moreover, that their conviction is not a mere
holiday affair, to be rehearsed, say on Sunday, and left in charge
of a minister, paid for the purpose, during the balance of the
week, but an actual, vital fountain of action. Hence, the con-
viction of such a character being given, the acts follow in logical
sequence.

With this remembered, let us now listen to the self-communion
of the occupant of the room.

In bitter earnest the man has honestly examined, and sought to
possess himself of the intellectual patrimony of the race. In pov-
erty, in solitude, in isolation, he has labored hopefully, earnestly ;
and now he casts up his account and finds — what ? " That nothing
can be known." His hair is gray with more than futile endeavor,
and for ten years his special calling has been to guide the students
to waste their lives, as he has done his own, in seeking to accom-
plish the impossible — to know. This is the worm that gnaws his
heart ! As compensation, he is free from superstition — fears neither
hell nor devil. But this sweeps with it all fond delusions, all con-
ceit that he is able to know, and to teach something for the eleva-
tion of mankind. IN^or yet does he possess honor or wealth — a dog
would not lead a life like this.

Here 3'ou will perceive how the first two relations are negated
by the conviction that man cannot know truth, and how, o!i the
wings of aspiration, he sallies forth into the realm of magic, of
mysticism, of subjectivity. For if reason, wnth its mediation, is
impotent to create an object for this aspiration, let us see what
emotion and imagination, without mediation, can do for subjective
satisfaction.

And here all is glory, all is freedom ! The imagination seizes
the totality of the universe, and revels in ecstatic visions. What
a spectacle ! But, alas ! a spectacle only ! How am I to know,
to comprehend the fountain of life, the centre of which articulates
this totality?

See here another generalization ; the practical world as a whole !
Ah, that is ray sphere ; here I have a firm footing; here I am
master ; here I command spirits ! Approach, and obey your
master !

48 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

'^ Spirit. Who calls ?
Faust. Terrific face !
Sp. Art thou he that called ?

Thou treinliling worm !
Faust. Yes ; I'm he ; am Faust, thy peer.
Sp. Peer of the Spirit thou cornprehendest — not of me !
Faust. What ! not of thee ! Of whom, then ? I, the image of Deity
itself, and not even thy peer?"

No, indeed, Mr. Faiist, thou dost not include within thyself
the totality of the practical world, but only that part thereof
which thou dost comprehend — on]y thy vocation^ and hark! "It
knocks !"

Oh, death ! I see, 'tis my vocation ; indeed, " It is my famulus ! "

And this, too, is merely a delusion ; this great mystery of the
practical world shrinks to this dimension — a bread-professorship.

It would seem so ; for no theory of tiie practical world is possi-
ble without the ability to know truth. As individual, you may
imitate the individual, as the brute his kind, and thus transmit a
craft; but you cannot seize the practical world in transparent
forms and present it as a harmonious totality to your fellow-man,
for that would require that these transparent intellectual forms
should possess objective validity — and this they have not, accord-
ing to your conviction. And so it cannot be helped.

Bat see what a despicable thing it is to be a bread-professor !

And is this the mode of existence, this the reality, the only reality,
to answer the aspiration of our soul — the aspiration which sought
to seize the universe, to kindle its inmost recesses with the light
of intelligence, and thus illumine the path of life? Alas, Reason
gave us error — Imagination, illusion — and the practical world, the
WiU., a bread-professorship! Nothing else? Yes; a bottle of
laudanum !

Let us drink, and rest forever! But hold, is there nothing else,
really? No emotional nature? Hark, what is that? Easter
bells ! The recollections of my youthful faith in a revelation !
They must be examined. We cannot leave yet.

And see what a ])anorama, what a strange world lies embedded
with those recollections. Let us see it in all its varied character
and reality, on this Easter Sunday, for exaniple.

Letters on Faust. 40

Contents : Faust's agnostic conviction leaves him with a mere avocation and youthful
recollections to hold him back from suicide; goes with Wagner to see his fellow-men on
the Easter festival and discover what it is that makes life worth living for them ; his
recognition by the people; Wagner thinks such recognition to be a great blessing; his
motto : live to make a living ; Faust despises undeserved honors, but sees that if he can
not know truth, still he possesses power over his fellow-men, and that he can certainly
obtain wealth and sensual pleasure; this conviction is the dog; one's avocation followed
without higher ends than to make a living is a poodle ; re-examines revelation ; takes
up the passage from St. John to translate ; has to get the idea, has to understand the
passage in order to translate it ; but an agnostic can not understand the truth revealed
to him, and revelation is therefore impossible ; the dog gets restless as the conviction
becomes clear that religion can not furnish truth ; it swells to colossal proportions ;
Faust will renounce the pursuit of truth and turn to selfish gratification.

I have endeavored before to trace the derivation of the content
of the first scene of the poem, together with its character, from the
abstract theme of the work. In it we saw that the fundamental
conviction of Faust leaves him naked — leaves him nothing but a
bare avocation,^ a mere craft, and the precarious recollections of
his youth (when he believed in revealed truths) to answer his;
aspirations. These recollections arouse his emotions, and rescue
him from nothingness (suicide) — they fill his soul with a content.

To see this content with all its youthful charm, we have to re-
trace our childhood's steps before the gates of the city on this the
Easter festival of the year — you and I being mindful, in the mean-
time, that the public festivals of the church belong to the so-called
external evidences of the truth of the Christian Religion.

Well, here we are in the suburbs of the city, and what do we
see? First a set of journeymen mechanics, eager for beer and
brawls, interspersed with servant girls ; students whose tastes run
very much in the line of strong beer, biting tobacco, and the well-
dressed servant-girls aforesaid ; citizens' daughters, perfectly out-
raged at the low taste of the students who run after the servant-
girls, " when they might have the very best of society " ; citizens
dissatisfied with the new mayor of the city — " Taxes increase from

1 Avocation is used in these letters in preference to vocation, the latter signifying
one's calling as determined by inward character or aptitude, while the former (avoca-
tion) signifies the external occupation or business followed by the individual. This
seems to be the present common usage both in England and in the colonies. See Mur-
ray's " New English Dictionarv," sub voc. — Editor.

XXI— 4

50 The Journal of Speculative Philosoj^hy.

day to day, and nothing is done for the welfare of the city." A
beggar is not wanting. Other citizens, who delight to speak of
war and rumors of war in distant countries, in order to enjoy their
own peace at home with proper contrast; also an " elderly one,"
who thinks that she is quite able to furnish what the well-dressed
citizens' daughters wish for — to the great scandal of the latter,
who feel justly indignant at being addressed in public by such an
old witch (although, ''between ourselves, she did show us our
sweethearts on St. Andrew's night "); soldiers, who sing of high-
walled fortresses and proud women to be taken b}' storm ; and,
finally, farmers around the linden-tree, dancing a most furious
gallopade — a real Easter Sunday or Monday " before the gate " —
of any city in Germany, even to this day.

And into this real world, done up in holiday attire, but not by
the poet — into this paradise, this very heaven of the people, where
great and small fairly yell with delight — Faust enters, assured
that here he can maintain his rank as a man ; " Here I dare to be
a man ! " And, sure enough, listen to the welcome :

" Nay, Doctor, 'tis indeed too much
To be with us on such a day,
To join the throng, the common mass,
You, you, the great, the learned man !
Take, then, this beaker, too," etc.

And here goes — a general health to the Doctor, to the man who
braved the pestilence for us, and who even now does not think it
beneath him to join us in our merry-making — hurrah for th.e Doc-
tor ; hip, hip, etc.

And is not this something, dear friend ? Just think, with honest
"Wagner, when he exclaims, " What emotions must crowd thy
breast, O great man ! while listening to such honors?" and you
will also say with him :

" Thrice blest the man who draws such profits rare
From talents all his own ! "

Why, see ! the father shows you to his son ; every one inquires
— presses, rushes to see you ! The fiddle itself is hushed, the danc-
ers stop. Where you go they fall into lines ; caps and hats fly
into the air. But a little more, and they would fall upon their
knees as if the sacred Host passed that way !

Letters on Faust. 51

And is not this great? Is not this the very goal of human am-
bition ? To Wagner, dear friend, it is ; for the very essence of an
avocation is, and must be, " success in life." But how does it stand
with the man whose every aspiration is the True, the Good, and
the Beautiful I Will a hurrah from one hundred thousand throats,
all in ffood vellinof order, assist him ? No.

To Wagner it is immaterial whether he knows what he needs,
provided he sees the day when the man who has been worse to
the people than the very pestilence itself, receives public honors ;
but to Faust, to the man really in earnest — who is not satisfied
when he has squared life with life, and obtained zero for a result,
or who does not merely live to make a living, but demands a
rational end for life, and, in default of that rational end, spurns
life itself — to such a man this whole scene possesses little signifi-
cance indeed. It possesses, however, some significance, even for
him ! For it is indeed true that man cannot know truth — that the
high aspiration of his soul has no object — then this scene demon-
strates, at least, that Faust possesses power over the practical
world. If he cannot know the world, he can at least swallow a
considerable portion of it, and this scene demonstrates that he can
exercise a great deal of choice as to the parts to be selected ; do
you see this conviction ?

Do you see this conviction ? Do you see this dog ? Consider
it well ; what is it, think you? Do you perceive how it encircles
us nearer and nearer — becomes more and more certain, and, if I
mistake not, a luminous emanation of gold, of honor, of power,
follows in its wake. It seems to n^eas if it drew soft magic rings,
as future fetters, round our feet ! See, the circles become smaller
and smaller — 'tis almost a certainty — 'tis already near ; come,
come home with us !

The temptation here spread before us by the poet, to consider
the dog " i/j^Z^," is almost irresistible; but all we can say in this
place, dear friend, is that if you wall look upon what is properly
called an avocation in civil society, eliminate from it all higher
ends and motives other than the simple one of making a living —
no matter with what pomp and circumstance — no doubt you will
readily recognize the poodle. But we must hasten to the studio
to watch further developments, for the conflict is not as yet de-

52 The Journal of Speculative Pliilosophy.

cided. We are still to examine the possibility of a divine revela-
tion to man, who cannot know truth.

And for this purpose our newly-acqnired conviction that we
possess power over the practical world, although not as yet in a
perfectly clear form before us, comfortably lodged behind the
stove, where it properly belongs, we take down the original text
of the ]S'ew Testament in order to realize its meaning in our own
loved mother-tongue. It stands written : " In the beirinninff was
the Word." Word ? Word ? Never ! Meaning it ought to be !
Meaning wdiat? Meaning? No; it is Power! No; Deed!
Word, meaning, power, deed — which is it? Alas, how am I to
know unless I can know truth ? 'Tis even so, our youthful recollec-
tions dissolve in mist, into thin air; and nothing is left us but our
newly-acquired conviction, the restlessness of which during this
examination has undoubtedly not escaped your attention, dear
friend. (" Be quiet, there, behind the stove." " See here, poodle,
one of us two has to leave this room ! ") What, then, is the
whole content of this conviction, which, so long as there was
the hope of a possibility of a worthy object for our aspiration,
seemed so despicable ? What is it that governs the practical
world of finite motives, the power that adapts means to ends, re-
gardless of a final, of an infinite end ? Is it not the Understand-
ing? and although Reason — in its search after the final end., with
its perfect system of absolute means, of infinite motives and in-
terests — begets subjective chimeras, is it not demonstrated that the
understanding possesses objective validity? Nay, look upon this
dog well ; does it not swell into colossal proportions — is no dog at
all, in fact, but the very power that holds absolute sway over the
finite and negative — the understanding itself^ — Mephistopheles in
proper form ?

And who calls this despicable? Is it not Reason, the power
that begets chimeras, and it alone? And shall we reject the real,
the actual — all, in fact, that possesses objective validity — because,
forsooth, the power of subjective chimeras declares it negative,
finite, perishable? Never. "No fear, dear sir, that I'll do this.
Precisely what I have promised is the very aim of all my endeavor.
Conceited fool that I was! I prized myself too highly" — claimed
kin with the infinite. " I belong only in thy sphere " — the finite.
" The Great Spirit scorns me. Nature is a sealed book to nie;

Letters on Faust. 53

the thread of thonejht is severed. Knowinjv disgusts me. In the
depths of sensuality I'll quenclh the burning passion."

Here, then, my friend, we arrive at the final result of the con-
flict in the first sphere of our theme — in the sphere of manifesta-
tion— that of the individual. We started with the conviction tJiat
man cannot know truth. This destroyed our spiritual endeavors,
and reduced our practical avocation to an absurdity. We sought
refuge in the indefinite — the mysticism of the past — and were
repelled by its subjectivity. We next examined the theoretical side
of the practical world, and found this likewise an impossibility and
suicide — a mere blank nothingness — as the only resource. But
here we were startled by our emotional nature, which unites us
with our fellow-man, and seems to promise some sort of a bridge
over into the infinite — certainly demands such a transition. In-
vestigating this, therefore, with all candor, we found our fellow-
men wonderfully occupied — occupied like the kitten pursuing its
own tail ! At the same time it became apparent that we might
be quite a dog in this kitten dance, or that the activity of the
understanding possessed objective validity. With this conviction
fairly established, although still held in utter contempt, we exam-
ined the last resource : the possibility of a divine revelation of
truth to men that cannot know truth. The result, as the mere
statement of the proposition would indicate, is negative, and thus
the last chance of obtaining validity for anything except the activ-
ity of the understanding vanishes utterly. But with this our con-
tempt for the understanding likewise vanishes ; for whatever our
aspiration may say, it has no object to correspond to it, and is
threfore merely subjective, a hallucination, a chimei'a, and the
understanding is the highest attainable for us. Here, therefore,
the subjective conflict ends^ for we have attained to objectivity,
and this is the highest, since there is nothing else that possesses
validity for man. Nor is this by any means contemptible in itself,
for it is the power over the finite world, and the net result is : That
if you and I, my friend, have no reason, cannot know truth, we
do have at least a stomach, a capacity for sensual enjoyment, and
an understanding to administer to the same — to be its servant.
This, at least, is demonstrated by the kitten dance of the whole
world.

64 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

yi.

Contents : The dog becomes Mephisto ; if man can not know truth, his understand-
ing, or Mephisto, can procure sensual enjoyment for him ; the intellect in the service
of the body is Mephistopheles ; the world of reality, the institutions, family, society, and
State, have no force to hold man back from sensual gratification with such convictions ;
Faust will give up striving for the impossible; theory is gray, but the tree of life is
green ; they will travel on the quality of their cloth.

Dear H. — In following our theme through the sphere of mani-
festation, we arrived at the conclusion : " Altliough man cannot
know truth — lias no Reason — he does possess a stomach, a capac-
ity for sensual enjoyment and an Understanding to minister to
the same — to be its servant." With this conclusion, we have
arrived at the world of Reality — for we have attributed objective
validity to the Understanding. It also determines our position in
that world. The Understanding — Mephisto — is our guide and
servant ; the world of Reality a mere means for individual ends —
for private gratification. Whatever higher pretensions this world
might make, such pretensions are based upon the presupposition
that man can know Truth, and are therefore without foundation.
Hence this world of Reality — the Family, Societ}', and the State
— have no right and no authority as against the individual incli-
nations and desires of man. The latter are supreme and find their
limitation not in Reason, but in the power of the Understanding
to supply them with means of gratification. It is true that these
means are derived from without, and hence that the individual
under this view is limited and determined from without, and that
external determination is collision and conflict. Besides, what-
ever our conviction with reference to the world of Reality may
be, that world, once for all, is extant with the bold claim of being
on the one side the pledge and on the other the very embodiment
of the rational existence of the race ; and it wields, moreover, in
that existence, the power of the race. But this is onr reflection,
dear friend, which it may be well enough to keep in view, as a
species of logical heat-lightning along the horizon, but which has
no significance under the conclusion arrived at bv Faust. Under
it our individual desires and inclinations, however capricious, are
the end, and whatever ])resents itself has value and validity in so
far, and only in so far, as it is a means for this end.

Letters on Faust. 55

These are the principles of the man before us, who,

** For idle dalliance too old,
Too yoiinc^ to be without desire,"

is still professor in the German University. His life falls in the
historic period when a knowledge of the natural sciences is not as
yet diiFused, and many of the results remain arcana for individual
profit. Possessed of such, and whatever may enrich the Under-
standing of man — convinced, circumstanced, and occupied as he
is — what should be his future career? Shall he spend the re-
mainder of liis life in the same fruitless endeavor as hitherto, even
after he is convinced of its futility and thus deprived of the poor
solace of hope ? Or shall he not rather " learn some sense " and
look around for enjoyment before it is entirely too late?

" Away with this striving after the impossible ! What thougii
your body is your own, is that which I enjoy less mine? If I can
pay for six brave steeds, are they not mine with all their power ?
I run as if on four-and-twenty legs, and am held to be of some
consequence! Away, therefore; leave off" your cogitating — away
into the world ! I tell you, a man who speculates is like a brute
led by evil genii in circles round and round upon a withered
heath, while close at hand smile beauteous pastures green. Just
look at this place ! Call you this living — to plague yourself and
the poor boys to death \vith ennui f Leave that to your good
neighbor, the worth}^ Mr. Book-worm. Why should you worry
yourself threshing sueli straw?"

This, dear friend, is " common sense," and hence the speech of
Mephisto upon the situation, literally translated by the poet no
less than by ourselves from the poet. Its extraordinary good
sense is so apparent that it caimot be without immediate effect,
which we perceive in the scene where the different studies are re-
viewed by the aid of its radiance concentrated into,

" All theory, my friend, is gray,
But green the golden tree of Life ! "

as the focal point. With this final adieu to the past, we congratu-
late ourselves upon the " New career " !

" What about the inniiediate start — conveyance, etc. ? " Well,
I suppose Faust is not the only one that has travelled on the

56 Tke Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

quality of his cloth ! " To flj through the air on Mephisto's
cloak " sounds ver}^ poetic, but to pass in society upon the strength
of appearance is such an everj-day occurrence that it is quite
prosaic.

YII.

Contents: The "new career" of Faust; analysis of the world of reality; the natural
and rational phases of the family — sexual passion vermus the social requirements ; the
collisions between these two phases constitute the contents of light literature, according
to Shakespeare (Rotnen and Juliet) ; the work of art requires that both sides of the col-
lision be recognized as valid in tiie public mind ; the old social requirements no longer
valid in many particulars here in America ; the collisions involved in Jfacbet/i, Hamlet,
Romeo and Juliet ; nature verms society ; the negative family (illegitimacy) ; Auorbach's
Cellar; chemical science.

In our last, we saw our hero off — that is, we saw him enter upon
a " new career," aj^parently furnished with all the requisites for
his journey. Not equipped like him, it will be necessary for you
and me to cast about for some mode of progression, lest we be
left behind. Let us, therefore, proceed in our own way to exam-
ine the locale, the world of Reality into which we saw him enter
with our own eyes, in order that we may duly appreciate the situ-
ation, entertaining no doubt in the mean time but that we shall
meet him again in the course of our ramblings.

Setting aside, therefore, the conviction of Faust, which may be
regarded as his vehicle, we have before us the world of Reality,
characterized in our analysis as deriving the end but not the means
of its existence from self-conscious intelligence, and, as compre-
hending the three institutions, the Family, Society, and the State.
The disparity between the end and the means indicated in the
characterization manifests itself in the family in the two factors
or moments :

First, the natural moment : the affections of the parties.

Second, the rational moment : the social requirements upon
which the family is to be founded.

The first is called natural, because it is unconscious, in the
sense that it is not based upon any specific reasons, and hence
Cupid is represented as blind by the truthful ancients.

The second is called rational, because self-conscious intelli-
gence assigns the reasons for or against the contemplated union.

The fact of this duality renders a collision between the two ele-

Letters on Faust. 57

ments possible, and, in consequence of the peculiar conditions of
modern society which favor such collisions, this content lias occu-
pied modern art to a greater extent than any other.

" Ah, me ! for aiio-ht that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth :
But either it was different in hlood,
Or else misgraffed in respect of years ;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends ;
Or, if there were a sympathy of choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,"

saj^s Shakespeare when he epitomizes the content of what is now
called light literature.

This collision, however, is a proper subject for Art only when
both elements have validity in the public consciousness. Hence,
only in modern times, and then only in certain localities.'

Again, it is a proper subject for Art only when both parties
attach this validity to both elements. For if this is not the case,
then the collision admits of no solution except an external one —
i. (?., through a dens ex machina as to the party denying this va-
lidity, and this is in violation of the great principle that Art is the
Manifestation of self-conscious intelligence to man."

1 I apprehend that a true American, born in the free West — free in the sense that

every man is master over his physical necessities, and not their slave — finds Art of this

kind a foreign affair. Not because he is illiterate — the usual solution assigned for his

want of appreciation — but simply because the content is untrue to him. What is a

social inequality to him that he should snivel with Arthur or Harry because they could

not marry the girls they loved V He has no personal experience in common with Arthur

or Harry. If his parents oppose his marriage because Sally is too poor, he takes her

and sings :

" For Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm,"

and therewith ends the matter. Again, if he is poor and Sally is the daughter of a
United States Senator, and her mother in consequence deadly opposed to the match, he
quietly works his way into the legislature of his State, defeats the old man for the Sen-
ate, and asks the old lady how she would like to be his mother-in-law now. For he is
a free American citizen, containing, by virtue of his liirth, all the social possilnlities be-
tween the gallows and the presidential chair. Social requirements can have no validity
in his presence, in the sense that he should regard them as insurmountable obstacles to
the accomplishment of any rational purpose.

^ This is the principle of free art as recognized in all of its significance by Shake-
speare. It is based upon the final assumption of absolute self-determination for the

58 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Perhaps the extreme modification of this collision presents
itself under the following form : Society promulgates its edict,
based upon the necessity (►f its own existence, that man shall not
be a father until he can protect, maintain, and educate his off-
spring — /. <?., guarantee to it a rational existence. But Nature de-
clares that he shall be a father when he can propagate his species.
Now, the period when the individual may comply with both of
these behests does not coincide with the period when he can com-
ply with either ; tor the command of Nature may be fulfilled on
his part several years earlier than tliat of Society, and during all
this time we have Nature urging and Society dissuading and pro-
hibiting the individual from fulfilling the peculiar destiny of his
individuality — its annihilation in the generic act. This eventu-
ates in what might be called the " Negative Family" — a generic
relation of the sexes utterly devoid of all positive or rational ele-
ments.

As a concomitant, and sharing with it a common origin, is that
peculiar social phenomenon which we witness in " Auerbach's
Cellar," where it appears we have arrived in happy time — to find
our hero joining in the chorus,

" We are as happy as cannibals,
Nay, as five hundred hogs " ;

or, if not our hero, Mephisto for him (for you will notice that
Faust says only, " Good evening, gentlemen," and " I should like
to leave now," during this whole scene), the very leader of the
crowd in wit, song, and wine. Nay, as to the latter, he cannot
refrain from giving them a little touch of his chemical science,
which can dispense with the old grape-wine process, and still give

individual. Macbeth spurns and demands loyalty at the same time. What wonder,
then, that it comes home on the sword of Macduff V

Handet arms Doul)t ; ami Accident, the proper person of Doubt, slays Polonius and
thus arms Laertes against Hamlet, who returns Laertes his own by Accident.

Romeo loves, he knows not whom, and dies, he knows not why ; while Juliet —
" Go ask his name ; if he be married.
My grave is like to be my wedding l)ed."

The Moor of Venice violates the generic conditions of race through physical courage :
" She loved me for the dangers I had passed," and moral cowardice destroys both him
and Dcsdemona.

Compare with tliese the works of Calderon and the contrast will render apparent
what logic has but indicated.

Letters on Faust. 69

perfect satisfaction to his customers — a fact of some importance,
one would suppose, to the landlord. And thus it would appear
that our hero is not left to trust entirely to the quality of his
cloth for the practical wlierewithal. But the little " Feuer-luft,"
which one would at first have been inclined to interpret Fame,
resolves itself into "fire-water," or rather the art to make this — to
Avork the miracle of the Wedding-feast at Galilee on the principles
of natural science.

YIII.

Contents : Faust's age ; necessity of stimulants to arouse passion ; the Witches'
Kitchen a brothel.

There is one thing, dear friend, in the character of Faust to
which I have not called your attention heretofore, and that is,
the age of the man and the practical inconvenience he may expe-
rience therefrom in his new career.

" For idle dalliance too old,
Too young to be without desire,"

he would find it, no doubt, convenient to decrease the one and
increase the other. For in this new career the strength and num-
ber of his desires are an essential element, especially when there
is every prospect of ample means for their gratification. As re-
gards external appearance, that can be readily managed by a judi-
cious use of cosmetics, the tailor's art, and kindred appliances.
But the physical desires, the sexual passions, for example, require
youth to yield full fruition. Proper culture, however, not to men-
tion aphrodisiacs, will do much, even in this direction. The
modes for this are two, but for practical purposes only one; and
although not exactlv to our taste at first, still, since there is no
other alternative presented, we must to the " Witches' Kitchen,"
named the " Negative Family," if I remember correctly, in a for-
mer letter. The popular name for this is somewhat different, but
since I have given the genesis of the thing in the letter referred
to, I may be permitted to omit the more definite designation, for

" Who dares to modest ears announce
What modest hearts will not renounce ? "

If, however, you should find any difliculty in discovering what
is meant by the AVitches' Kitchen, and where to find it, all that

60 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

is necessary is to disregard the name and pay attention to what
transpires.

First, the servants, employed, as tlie poet assures us, in stirring
a very strange disli. Beggar's Broth — a kind of broth, perhaps, not
so well calculated to feed as to make beggars. You will also per-
ceive the strong propensity to gambling which possesses these
creatures. Next, observe the ecstasy of Faust over the image of
a woman which he sees in a mirror — with this strange peculiarity :

" Alas! if I do not remain upon this spot, if I dare to approach
nearer, then I can only see her as in a mist ! " No doubt this beauty
will not bear close inspection ! Still it is very beautiful ! " Is it
possible ? Is woman so beautiful ? Must I see in this moulded
form the very comprehension of all that is in heaven ? And such
an object is found upon this earth? "

Of course it is, and quite attainable, too, says Mephisto. But,
above all, pay attention to the scene between Mephisto and the
M'itch herself, not omitting the mode in which he identities himself
as belonging to the nobility. This latter is based upon a satirical
saying quite current in Germaiiy, but which will not bear trans-
lation.

By paying attention to these things, instead of to the name
by which the poet calls the place, you will readily detect the
original.

I cannot dismiss this scene without calling your attention to the
manner in which a poet treats his theme. The scene just exam-
ined may, at first glance, appear to flow less freely or necessarily
from the content, the idea of the work, even for those who can
recognize the negativity of the conclusions of Faust, and trace that
negativity through the various forms in which it presents itself in
society. And yet, aside from this logical necessity, there is an-
ottier, a physico-psychological necessity for this scene, contained
in the theme, thus:

" So, then, I have studied Philosophy,
Jurisprudence, and Medicine,
And, what is worse, Theology,
Thorouy:lily, hut, ahis, in vain."

Who says this — a young man of twenty or twenty-five ? If so,
what significance can there be attached to his words? AVhat

Letters on Faust. 61

could he be expected to know of such subjects at that age ? But
mark :

" And here I stand, with study hoar,
A fool — and know what I knew before."

Ay, more —

" Am called Magister, nay, LL. D.,
And for ten years am busily
Engaged to lead through fen and close
My trusting pupils by the nose."

You will see, my friend, what an essential element the age of
Faust is, to give weight to his conclusions. Without this, the
whole M'ould sink into utter absurdity. But now comes the ques-
tion : How is this LL. D., hoarj^ with study, professor in the uni-
versity for the last ten years, to enter into a conflict with the fam-
ily, so necessarily contained in his conviction 1 The lessons taught
and appliances furnished in the Witches' Kitchen are the poet's
answer to this question. Of these, advantage has been taken, and
such benefits reaped, that at the end of the scene we are assured,
upon the very best authority, that he is now in a condition to
" see a Helen in every woman." The means used, it is sufficient
to know, were produced under the special directions of the devil,
although the devil himself could not make them, and w^ere there-
fore quite natural.

IX.

Contents : Gretchen's family ; the church the guardian of the sacredness of the
family ; the individual's selfishness first cancelled in the family wherein there is mutual
self-sacrifice ; the family relation impossible with Faust's conviction ; the destruction of
the family results from Faust's deed ; but the destroyer is preserved because the col-
lision that produces the destruction is not one peculiar to the family, but a general one
that attacks all institutions ; agnosticism, whose first result is sensual indulgence, is
therefore not solved in the First Part of Faust.

We are now prepared, my friend, to witness the results of the
elements and powers so carefully elaborated by the poet. In
order to do so, however, with satisfaction, it may be necessary to
recall, in their simplest logical forms, the agents involved. On
the one side, therefore, we have the family relation, with its natu-
ral and rational moments, and on the other the conviction that
this relation has no validity as against the individual desires and
conclusions of man. Imbued with and swayed by the latter, we

62 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

have Faust, a man prepared "to see a Helen in every woman ";
as the simple bearer of the former in its potential perfection, a
young woman — " not so poor but that she enjoys the respect of
her neighbors, nor yet so rich that she may defy their opinion."
For under these social conditions, if anywhere, that which the
Germans call " Sitte^'' and the ancients called " Ethica^'' and what
we, with our usual obliquity of expression, call "public morals,"
must be sought. This young woman, clad in purity and faith, is
met at the tem])le of the living God — at once the primary source
and the still existing refuge of the sacredness of the family rela-
tion. The severely realistic character of Gretchen, therefore, is
determined by the theme ; and the scene where she relates her
daily occupation of cooking, washing, sweeping, etc., besides the
exquisite motive which the poet employs to transfigure its prosaic
commonplace, ought not to be wanting. While this gives the po-
tential, the real side of the family relation must be presented.
This is supplied bj' the family of which Gretchen is a member.
If we desire to determine further the elements of the latter, it is
necessary only to reflect upon the peculiar mediation involved in
the relation.' From this it would appear that the essentiial ele-

* The individual is born. His existence depends upon the constant victory of his
individuality over every opposing individuality, particularity, or process. To this he
owes his existence, both prior and sul>sequent to his birth. And yet the existence of
that individual is dependent in its origin upon the cancelling of individuality in the gen-
eric act. The affirmative solution of this contradiction rests with the Family.

Let us watch the process for a moment. Take a young man of twenty or twenty-five
— one who pays his way, i. e., makes himself valid in the material, social, and political
relations of life. He depends upon himself, has no wife or child, pays what he owes,
and earns what he eats. His success depends upon " looking out for number one " — his
own individuality is the beginning and the end of his exertion. But see, he has looked
into that woman's eyes, and now, lo ! with a peculiar gratification, he pays for her sub-
sistence also ! She was nothing to him — he owed her nothing — and yet the delight of
his life seems to be to labor early and late to provide for her. Her garb is his delight,
her food his enjoyment ; for he is no longer a mere man, but a husband ; no longer a
mere individual, l)Ut a rational somewhat, whose individuality reaches beyond himself,
and finds itself in another. Nor does it stop here ; the two become three, five, ten.
And this individuality, which was centred in and upon itself, had itself for its sole end
and aim, has lost itself, and stands the husband of a wife and the father of a family. It
enjoys itself no longer, save through this assemblage of individualities ; it exists for
them. Again, if we look upon this assemblage, we find a kindred process : the indi-
viduality of each member is modified by the relation which it sustains to all the rest.
The brother is the lover of the sister, her champion and protector, if the father fail.
This prepares them for the kindly glance of strangers, etc., and the process begins

Letters on Faust. 63

ments of that mediation are presented in the motlier, the son,
and the daiif^hter, uniting at once the highest possible degree of
potentiality with the reality of fact. For the son is brother and
fatlier, the daughter is sister and mother, and the mother becomes
grandmother.

From these elements, thus determined as to number, character,
and social position, the scenes flow with logical necessity to the
final solution — the destruction of the Family.

These evolutions are so simple, and their logical import is so
generally understood, that it is not necessary to dwell upon them
in detail. The only point which might, perhaps, require attention
is the artistic side — the true nature of the collision presented and
the mode of its solution. That the family relation is impossible
under the conviction of Faust, or that an existing family should
be destroyed (the mother poisoned, the child drowned, the brother
slain, and the sister stand before the judgment-seat of God as the
self-acknowledged author, cause, or whatever name you may give to
the connection which she had with these effects), by a man's giving
practical effect to the convictions of Faust, is acknowledged and
realized by the general consciousness of the age, as is abundantly
proved by the effect which the part of the work under considera-
tion has produced. But the nature of the collision presented, and
the artistic character of the solution, have given rise to some doubt.
It may, therefore, be well, at the conclusion of this letter, to re-
call to your mind some of the facts and principles formerly alluded
to, which, in my opinion, are well calculated to remove whatever
difficulty may have arisen on this point.

If my memory serves me, I called your attention, in a former
letter, to the collisions inherent in the family relation, and also to
the conditions under which they might be used for artistic pur-
poses — namely, that both parties should give full validity to both
elements of the collision. Now, if from great familiarity with
the themes derived from this source we regard the part of the
work under consideration as presenting one of these collisions,
then we meet with difficulty as regards the solution, or rather want
of solution. For the destruction of the family and the preserva-

anew. Thus an affirmative solution is wrought out, or, what is the same thing, the con-
tradiction has an affirmative result— the perpetuation of the Family and, through it, of
the Race.

64: The Journal of Speculative Pldlosophy.

tion of" the destroyer will hardly pass for a satisfactory solution,
either logical or artistic. To regard the poem, however, in this
light, would be our own act and the consequent difHculty one of
our own creation ; for this would be an attempt to make rather
than to read the poem. And whatever merit or demerit might
attend the undertaking, it would hardly be fair to attribute either
the one or the other to the author of Faust ; for in this poem
we have for our theme " The self-conscious intelligence in conflict
with itself — with its entire content." Xot the content with itself,
but the self-conscious intelligence on the one side and its content
on the other. Included within this content we have the institu-
tion of the family. Hence, the collision presented is one not in-
herent in this institution (for that involves as its presupposition
the valid existence thereof), but between the family and its nega-
tion. It is, therefore, not an independent but a subordinate col-
lision. The Family is a part of the content of self-conscious
intelligence, and as such a part it is drawn into the conflict posited
between that intelligence and its content in the proposition : "Man
cannot know Truth." But since it is only a part of this content,
the conflict is not exhausted by the destruction of the Family, any
more than it was exhausted at the end of the sui)jective collision
which resulted in the destruction of the rational avocation of Faust
and delivered him over to the guidance of the Understanding and
its finite aims — sensual indulgence. Hence, no solution is pre-
sented or as yet possible, and those who regard the destruction of
the Family as the solution of the collision presented, and thus
substitute one of the moments [factors] for the totality, ought not
to wonder if they find in the end that, after all, the poem has no
further unity than what it derives from the art of the bookbinder,
and that its solution is very inartistic and immoral. Nothing is
more natural than such a conclusion.' As the result of the sub-

' The only point to be rememljered in this connection by you and me is this : that in
all critical labors — this huiiible attempt not excepted — there may be observed to exist
some slif^ht analogy to the works ol the taxidermist. Not merely because the operation
in either case fills the external form of the given subject with such substance as he may
have at hand — stubble, chaff, or bran — but especially because the object and purpose of
their respective labors is nearly the same — namely, to assist the appreciation of the beau-
tiful, in Art or Nature. And that as the one would not be permitted to present you
with a specimen of a bird of Paradise with neck, wings, and tail removed, simply, per-
haps, because he found it inconvenient to fill them with his stubble, so you should refuse

Letters on Faust. 65

jective collision we had the conchision : that if man cannot know
truth he can enjoy sensual pleasure. Taking this for the principle
of our action, we entered the world of reality, and lo ! it crumbles
under our feet. We clasp the beautiful, pure, and confiding girl,
but, as all rational end is ignored, our embrace is death. Not life,
not perpetuity of the race, but death— \A».nk nothingness ; the
conclusion reads : " If man cannot know truth, then lie cannot
exist ? "

Contents : A Second Part of Faust necessary because the First Part does not exhaust
the theme ; the collision reaches society and the State ; hence society or the social or-
ganization as the system of productive industry is introduced in the second part of the
tragedy under a typical description; definition of productive industry; how the division
of labor operates to produce the largest product for the least exertion ; all avocations
necessary to supply the wants of each individual, and each avocation furnishes something
desired by all ; hence exchange or commerce is necessary ; money the means of this
exchange necessarily itself the product of labor, so that it can measure labor ; the State,
which is the rational will of the people, secures to each individual the results of his deed
in the system of productive industi-y and protects him ; he becomes a " universal indi-
vidual " by becoming a part of the great system of industry which is consolidated by the
laws of the State ; this process of mediation presupposes that man can know truth or
can come into relation with the universal by his will, and also by his intellect ; the com-
munication of one's convictions to others ; how individual opinion becomes universal
conviction ; justice (or the securing to each the result of his deeds) essential to in-
dustrial society ; results of its failure ; effect of fictitious money.

The poet's theme is not exhausted, and, therefore, the poem is
not completed. Such, mj^ dear H., was the conclusion of our last
letter. The reason assigned was that the proposition, man cannot
know truth, places the individual who entertains it as his convic-
tion in conflict with the entire content of self-conscious intelli-
gence. This content includes, according to our analysis, not
merely the objects of rational aspiration for the individual, but
also, in the sphere of realization, the family, society, and the State.
Leaving out of view for a moment that other world, the sphere
of actuality — also mentioned in a former letter — that spans the

to accept as a fair specimen the result of the labors of the other if the subject treated
bears traces of mutilation. But, above all, as any serious attempt to make you believe
that the headless and wingless specimen was complete as Nature produced it, would
only excite your derision, still more should the dogmatic assertions of the critic, though
ever so persistent, fail to mar your appreciation of a great work of art, but simply serve
as " ear-marks " bv which you discern his own quality.

XXI— 5

66 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

real world as its empyrean, it is obvious that the poem would be
but a meagre fragment if it ended witli the presentation of the
collision, either between Faust and liis conviction — that is, between
his aspiration to know and his conviction that he cannot know — or
between Faust and the family — that is, between the man who de-
nies the existence of reason, of truth, and the family — an institu-
tion of reason — the embodiment of truth. To exhaust the theme,
therefore, even as far as the world of reality is concerned, it is ob-
vious that the poet has to present Faust in collision with society,
and tinally Faust in collision with the State — as both of these in-
stitutions are but embodiments or realizations of the same intelli-
gence.

In a note to Letter IX you iind a statement of the process
of mediation involved in the famih\ This institution ])resuppose8
the existence of both Societv and the State, but the former more im-
mediately than the latter. The process itself we observe to con-
sist in the continual becoming of individuality by the continual
cancellation thereof. We traced the indivitlual up to the point
where the isolated singleness of his being broadens out into a hus-
band, a father, and the head of a family. But the jn'ocess of me-
diation does not stop here. As the head of a famih% he stands
charged by every instinct of his manhood with the protection of
each and every one of its members — not merely against danger,
but against want in any form. To accomplish this, he realizes, or,
what is the same thing, he enters into what we have called the
presupposition of the family — society. Of course, dear H., I do
not mean society from its social or emotional side, but the social
organization as the system of productive industry.

Productive Industry. — This system of the modern world, by
which is meant free industry, is an organic totality. Its final end
is the production of the means to supply the wants of that world,
and thus to guarantee its existence against physical necessity.
This reasonable end permeates the totality, and secures to each
member a rational existence or sphere of action. As an organic
totality it is automatic in its functions ; every means is an end,
and every end is a means, and thus it elaborates every means
posited by the end of its existence.

Waste, either in the form of misapplication of its exertion, or in
the form of misapplication of the means produced, negates the

Letters on Faust, G7

rationality of that exertion. Hence economy is the first law of its
activity.

But the earth presents dift'erent deg^rees of facilit}' for different
products in different localities, and different individuals possess
different decrees of aptitude to avail themselves of these facilities.
Hence economy, which demands the largest product for the least
exertion, produces the various avocations, each devoted to the pro-
duction of a special means, or a special class of means, to supply a
special want, or a special class of wants. But each individual
producer in any one of these avocations has all the wants in kind
that are to be supplied. Hence all the avocations are necessary to
supply the w\ants of each individual, and the one avocation in which
the individual is productive supplies the particular want of all, or
many, with the particular means ])roduced by that avocation. Thus
the system of wants — Nurture, Amusement, and Culture of the in-
dividual members — presupposes the system of avocations of pro-
ductive industry as a whole. But as each produces for all, and
all for eacli, exchange of products alone can bring together Means
and Want. Tliis, however, is possible only if any one of the
means, as such, can be expressed in the terms of all the rest. But
as all the means produced supply all the wants, and all the wants
demand all the means, any one is ca})able of this. They are all
means alike, and the common end furnishes the common measure
to determine the relative value of each in terms of all the rest.
What specific one of the means is to be employed in practice at
any given time — this is determined by the law of economy of the
time and the locality.

The further specialization of the function of exchange into the
various avocations of commerce, such as banking, transportation,
insurance, etc., follows from the law of existence (autonomy) or
the law of activity (economy), and do not concern us here.

It is the means of exchange, as an integral part of the system
of means produced by industry to supply the system of wants,
that requires our attention. It is such a means produced and de-
termined by and for such a rational system, supplied with a true
certificate as to the quality and quantity of the given sample ; that
is, money — the money of fact, truth, and reason. In it, as the
product of the system and its end, that system is self-determined
and not determined from without.

68 The Journal of Speculative Philomphy.

This system, as stated, is rational. It derives this content from
tlie end ot* its existence, and that is tlie maintenance of the rational
beings of whom it is composed. These beings enter as potentially
rational beings — that is, as potentially free. They choose each the
avocation the most reasonable for him. They enter this system,
not to lose this potentiality, but to develop it into a rational exist-
ence. This furnishes the essential determination of every relation
involved within the totality.

To announce these determinations and to give them reality for
the individual, to enforce them, is the function of the State. Its
will, when announced, is the law, which, thus tilled with this
rational content, is the rational will of a people, and this will, thus
imbued with this content, when enforced, is justice for the indi-
vidual. Through it, or in it, the want and the means are united
into the one end — the existence of a rational being. That is to
say, b}" it the deed of the individual and its result are assured to
him, and become the means for his existence.

It is into this system that the individual enters, and through it
the process of mediation which transforms individuality into citi-
zenship is completed ; step by step his individuality is elaborated
into nniversality until it is imbued with the rational, the universal
will of the State. As individual he becomes the head of the famil}-.
As such, the well-being of that family is his rational aim. His
individual well-being is bound up with the well-being of three,
five, ten, or more. He next enters the industrial totality. The
end of its existence is to supply the wants of him and his, no less
than the wants of every member of the totality. The result of
his exertion becomes a part of the general resources for all, and
the exertions of all become the resources for the general wants of
him and his. His individual contribution, the result of his act, is
mediated through the contributions of all, and reciprocally the
contributions of all are mediated through his. In accepting, and,
what is the same thing, guaranteeing this mediation, he is a citizen
of the State — the incorporated will of the totality imbued with
its rational end, the existence of free beings. In this the general
will, clothed with the power of the totality, exists for liim, and re-
ciprocally he for it. For him, in that it recognizes his act, the em-
bodiment of his will as its (the State's) own, as the embodiment of
its own will, as lawful, and guarantees its existence — protection.

Letters on Faxtd. 69

He for it, in accepting the general will as the content of his indi-
viduality, his caprice (rendering obedience to the laws), and in
pledging his existence (life, fortune, and sacred honor) for the
maintenance of the State. Thus, and thus only, is the individual
universal and the universal individual — the individual will has its
power in the universal, and the universal its reality in the indi-
vidual.

Note I. — The process of mediation here sketched in its main logical elements rests
upon and is the product of reason — the ability of man to know and produce truth — to
come into ideal relation with the universal. I, the individual, hit upon a thought which
swa3's my conviction, which looks absolutely true to me. I communicate it to you ; it
sways your conviction — it looks true to you. We then believe alike — have but one
conviction, although we are two wlioUy distinct individuals. We communicate the same
thought to a hundred — a thousand ; it exercises the same effect upon them with the
same result — reducing them to one mind. It is communicated to millions — to hundreds
of millions (this is not overstating the fact in regard to the thoughts of Euclid, Homer,
Shakespeare, and the like) — and the same result follows. This illustrates what I mean
by the universality of truth or the universal — the basis of conviction, of subjecting the
individual to truth, of making a many one, or a one many, without destroying the one.
Of course, the possibility of the existence of a general will, of a general purpose, rests
upon the possibility of the existence for man of this universal, that can sway and reduce
to unity the different individual convictions and opinions. Without this, the individual
will will be the bearer of its individual purpose determined by the individual opinion.
. Note II. — From what precedes, we have the following results :

1. A guarantee of justice is the necessary presupposition of the system of productive
industry — of industi'ial society.

2. A failure of justice withdi'aws the motive for rational exertion from productive
industry. Result — destruction of industry.

3. A failure of industry is : 1st. A failure of the material resources of the State. 2d.
It is the failure of the process which contains the mediation through which the indi-
vidual becomes a citizen — becomes imbued with the universal, with the truth of his
existence expressed or embodied in the State. Result 1st. Failure of the vital essence
of the State. Result 2d. A failure of the development of the potential rationality of
the individual into a reality — of his caprice into freedom — of his physical life into a
rational existence.

4. A failure of industry, as above, is a failure of the material resources of the State
(see general head III), of its revenue payable with the means of exchange. You supply
this from without. This withdraws a motive from production to supply a want (means
of exchange) inherent in the system. Result 1st. Increase of the evils you seek to
remedy — that is, decrease of production. Result 2d. Increase of the effective power of
causes that produce results 1, 2, and 3.

5. The means of exchange is a want that springs from the system of productive
industry. Outside of that system it has no existence. Result 1st. The means you
supply from without are fictitious. Result 2d. As a want that springs from the sys-
tem, it presupposes that system ; [but supplied from without, it destroys the vital
powers of that system, and hence itself its own presupposition.

70 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Contents: The family charged with the («) production, (i) nurture, (<•) amusement, (d)
and culture of the individual; society charged witli the production of the means to sup-
ply the wants of the family; the State charged with the guarantee of justice or the
return of the result of the individual act upon the individual as his own ; the criminal
and the beggar are in conflict with this or that law of the State, but not with the State
as a whole; but Faust denies tlie reality of all rational institutions ; for him the State is
destitute of authority; a State in wliich the citizens do not recognize the necessity of its
determinations is ripe for revolution ; it is an embodiment of unreason ; Faust must
enter such a State in order to manifest his conviction; /fr.s/, we must have Faust in
conflict with industrial society (paper-money scheme); and sccowf/, in conflict with the
State as a sovereignty.

Ill my last, dear II., I stated something in relation to society
as an industrial whole, and followed it up to the point where it
unites with its presupposition, the State. This we found to be
the realized rational will or the general will-of the social totality.
Into this we traced the individual from the family — charged with
his production, nurture, amusement, and culture up to the time
when he himself becomes productive — into society, charged with
producing the means ^'herewith the wants of the family are
supplied — and thus into the State, charged with the guarantee of
justice, with the guarantee of his rational existence, by returning
the result of his individual act, lost apparently in the general
resources produced by the industrial totality — to him the indi-
vidual, as his own. If the act is good, in harmony with the
general will of the State, the law of the land, he is entitled to the
result; whatever is created thereby is his. If the act is bad, in
violation of the general will, he is still entitled to it — i.e., to the
result, and the State brings it home to him.

In either case he is a citizen, and not in conflict with society or
the State as such. The criminal and the beggar are in conflict
-with this or that law of the State, but not with the State as a
whole, or with society as a whole. They are still positive quanti-
ties in eitiier, if only in the capacity of increasing the general
want, wiiich in the system before us is not negative, but the peren-
nial fountain of rational exertion.

To be in collision with these institutions, as institutions, it would
appear, therefore, that the individual must be a rebel.

But the rebel, while he denies this or that State, labors to estab-
lish a State, and thus attributes validity to the State as such

Letters on Faust. 71

Tliis, however, is quite a different position from what is occupied
by the man who denies the possibility of reason, the possibility of
truth to man. He denies the vab'dity, not of this or that State, but
of the State as such — of the entire mediation involved in the fam-
ily, in society, and the State, through which the individual becomes
a citizen, a free rational existence, and the State a reality. In his
view the State, in itself, as we have seen, the embodiment of the
rational will of a people, becomes the embodiment of the mere
arbitrary will of a people — wholly destitute of authority as against
the will of the individual, and therefore non-extant.

But the State as such is the embodiment of the rational will of
a people, the general will tilled or imbued with and controlled
by reason. All its functions are derived from this, and have for
their iinal end the realization of the determinations of this rational
will, from day to day, in the laws and regulations of the realm, in
order that justice may be a reality for the citizen.

The general will, however, can only be imbued with rational
determinations in so far as these have become developed, in tlie
consciousness of the social totality — only in so far as that totality
has become self-conscious. But in the world of reality, in time,
this can only be imperfect at any given period. Hence there is a
possibility that a given State may be largely the embodiment of
unreason, and such a State, while it would produce tiie conviction
of Faust on the one hand, would furnish an appropriate arena for
the activity dominated by that conviction on the other.

It is in such a State, and such a State alone, dear H., that we
can look for the elements that will give power to Faust to sustain
his side of the collision ; for you will observe the conviction
announced is the pure abstract negative. The rebel negates the
State against wdiich he rebels, but his power is derived from
affirming the State as such. This affirmation is the basis of asso-
ciation, of combining with others for the overthrow of the State
rebelled ao-ainst.

But if there is no truth for man, pray wliat becomes of convic-
tion ? If no conviction, what of free association, of free co-opera-
tion for the attainment of an end requiring co-operation ?

It is obvious, therefore, that the theme demands that Faust
should find within the State an environment, so to speak, in har-
mony with his conviction. But that would place the collision

73 Tfy' Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

not between Faust and the State, as it exists in the world of
reality, but between P\anst plus whatever unreason mici^ht be found
embodied in the State, on the one side, and the rational elements
of that State (for without some rational elements it could not
exist), plus the State as such, tlie actual, the ideal State, on the
other. While this collision, therefore, still belongs to the sphere
of reality, it at the same time presents the l)ridge, the transition by
which we pass over into the sphere of actuality indicated in our
analysis.

Again, the question arises. How is a collision between Faust and
society, as a whole, possible ? for that is the very essence of the
conviction of Faust : it negates the organic totality as such. Soci-
ety, it is true, is an organic totality, but the ])rinciple of its or-
ganism is implicit, incor})orated, appears nowhere in that totality
as a distinct, explicit, independent reality. This principle is jus-
tice, as we have seen, but justice is the function of the State.
Hence, in order that the collision may be real, it must assume
the form :

First, Faust in collision with the State as the guarantee
of the organic principle of the industrial totality — industrial
society.

Second, Faust in collision \vith the State as such, with the State
as a sovereisntv.

With these reflections fairly before our minds, dear H., let us
proceed to examine what the poet presents us.

Before doing so, however, permit me to call your attention to a
remark made in a former letter. By reference to the one contain-
ing the analysis of the sphere of manifestation, you will find it
stated that the conviction of Faust does not aifect immediately
the third relation which the individual sustains to the content of
self-conscious intelligence — namely, aspiration toward the true,
the sood, and the beautiful. I deem it advisable to refresh vour
memory in regard to this remark, for the reason that the absorb-
ing effect which the relation which Faust sustained to the family
during the first part of the poem was well calculated to dim, if
not to obscure, this very important element, not merely in his
character, but also in our appreciation thereof.

It is highly important, however, that we should remember that
it is there, dimmed, obscured for a time, if you will, but not eradi-

Letters on Faust. 73

cated nor eradicable. It is inherent, constitutive alike of the
character of Faust, human nature, and the poem.

XII.

Contents : The Holy German Empire ; Mephisto as court fool, the representative of
the " third estate" ; the two classes that support the throne and take for recompense
the church and State ; justice has vanished t'roiu the realm ; the results told by the
chancellor, commander-in-chief, treasurer, and steward ; the fool thinks that it is not
justice that is wanting, but money, or, at least, cunningly diverts the attention from the
true want, that of justice ; treat the symptom rather than the disease ; " The want is
money: get it."

At the conchision of our last I was about to proceed with the
examination of the poem when it occurred to me tliat w^e were in
danger of overlooking a matter of some importance, and now I
find anotlier fact that we ought to remember, and that is, that the
poet spoke and wrote in German — was, in fact, a German by birth
and nativit}'. This, however, is not so important, as the circum-
stance that the German people, even in the poet's day, had a po-
litical organization somewhat unique among the political organi-
zations of the earth.

Indeed, so early in the poem as in the scene in Auerbach's Cel-
lar we are imformed bv one Brander that it ouo;ht to be a cause
for self-congratulation, nav, of thanksgiving- to Almiirhtv God
every morning before breakfast, so to speak, that no one needs to
pay the least attention to the Euipire,

But let us step over and see. See Faust introduce himself
mider his alias Mephisto — and it may be as well for onr own be-
hoof to observe that he does not deem it advisable to lay this alias
aside throuijhout the first two scenes. Obviously on tlie alert to
understand the lay of the land before he ventures abroad, see him
introduce himself and be welcome to the highly import;int func-
tion of court-fool ! Do not smile, my friend ; it was the only
function assignable to a representative of the third estate in the
vincinity of the throne, or even in hearing distance thereof, for
long centuries of human history. Yes, even such has been the
lot of man ! Court-fool ! AVell, it was not a very exalted position,
nor yet a very authoritative rostrum from which the consciousness
of the people had to voice its mandates to itself; still, something
better than dumb silence. Indeed, important enough it would

74 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

seem to deserve notice and even answer from the very chancellor
of the realm himself. Hear him : " Two classes only have arisen in
the Emperor's ancient dominion, and they snpport worthily the
throne — the priests and the knights. Every calamity they forefend
and take as hnmble recompense the Church and the State."

Talk to us of public opinion, a third estate, or even hint at such!

" Atheist, heterodoxy, witchcraft, the very ruin of land and
people. Nature^ Spirit ! Is that language for Christian ears?
Why do we burn atheists at the stake but because such language
is highly dangerous ? Nature is sin, spirit is devil, and between
them they hatch naught but doubt and evil," sa3's he.

This State, so marvellously defended against every calamity, as
Ave are thus assured by his Excellency the Chancellor, is, never-
theless, strangel}' out of joint. Nay, he himself, this very Excel-
lency or Accidency, has but now informed his Majesty the Em-
peror, after the most elaborate compliment, " that Justice, the
thing loved, wished for, sought after, nay, demanded by all men,
has vanished from the realm. The State is one vast hurly-burly
of lawlessness."

One steals a herd of cattle, another a wife, another the sacred
vessels, the chandelier, the very cross from the altar, and publicly
boasts his deed un])nnished. Nay, the judge upon the bench
divides the spoil with the thief. " We must lind some remedy.
AVhere all are bent on mischief, and all suffer, the Majesty of the
throne itself will be in danger," thinks this wise man.

The commander-in-chief reports the army but one step removed
from open mutiny, and is of the opinion that if the State were not
owing the hired soldiers some back pay, they would take to their
heels. But as it is they are content to plunder the people whom
they are hired to protect. The treasurer reports that so many
rights and privileges have been given — frittered away — that there
is nothing left to which the State has any right. Every one
grasps and gathers for ins private coffer, and our sti-ong-box is
and remains empty.

Indeed, this has arrived at such a pass that the very cellar and
kitchen threaten to suspend performing their functions for the
royal table itself. Obviously, my friend, not a very high speci-
men of rational reality, this State of ours.

What wonder that his Majesty, after listening to these highly

Letters on Faust. 76

edifying reports as to the condition of affairs, turns to the fool
with :

" Say, fool, can't 3^011 help out these gentlemen with some addi-
tional case of misery ? "

Fool. " I ? No indeed, to see the splendor surrounding thee and
thine! What could be wanting? Confidence? Where Majesty
resistlessly commands, where power at hand destroys the inimica-
ble, where good-will, strengthened by understanding and industry
manifold, is at hand,

What could for evil be combining,

Spread darkness where such stars are shining.

Alas, your Majesty! where, into what corner, can you look in this
world but that you see some want ? One lacks this, the other
that, but here it seems the thing wanted is money."

" Of course you cannot rake it together in the street. Still
wisdom knows how to obtain what is deepest buried. In mountain
veins, beneath the foundation of ancient walls, both minted and
unminted gold is found. And do you ask who brings it into the
light of day ? I answer, The spiritual power of your man of
talent."

You will observe, my friend, that the want of justice, the thing-
loved, wished for, sought after, nay, demanded by all men, the
want which one would presume the most imperative for the exist-
ence of society, and which, once supplied in some reasonable degree,
might, peradventure, supply all the rest, this want of wants, the
very root, the seed-grain of all the rest — this want is not mentioned
by Mephisto. Nay, looked at with our eyes open, it would appear
that financial and industrial anarchy is but the result of a failure
of justice (see Letter X). Not only this, but it is the method
M'hich the industrial totality as a!i organism has of expressing that
failure. And beyond that it is the method employed by that
totality to serve notice upon those whom it may concern, that
such failure shall not be always. Was it for Mephisto, think you,
to call attention to this ?

So having finished the hysterical unreason of his Excellency the
Chancellor, who had exploded, at hearing the expression "spiritual
power of your man of talent," with a piece of two-edged sarcasm,
and having been checked by his Majesty with "' What do you

76 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

mean witli such a lent sermon ? Will it supi)ly our wants ? I
am tired of hearini; the everlasting: how and when. The want
is money — all right, get it!" — meant apparently as much or
more for the Chancellor as for Mephisto — the latter continues:
" ril get all you want ; nay, more. Although the thing is easy
enough, still it has its difficulties. It lies about in heaps, but to
set hold of it, that is the trick. Where is the man that knows it ?
Just think for a moment — think how, during the fearful days
when human inundations swept over land and people, one and the
other, in the terror of the moment, hid, buried his precious wealth.
So it was in the days of the mighty Romans, and from that time
down to this very day. All this lies still buried in the ground ;
but the ground belongs to the Emperor, by right of eminent
domain, and he shall have the treasure."

In all this, my friend, you will observe how skilfully Mephisto
succeeds in forging the issue — in substituting the symptom for the
disease, as the doctors would say. Yes, more, is already busily
preparing the poisonous anodyne, to cheat the patient, to lull him
to rest, to allay the paroxysm, the only sign of health left in the
system upon which alone any hope of recovery could be based.
In the report of the Chancellor to the Emperor the poet presents
the oriirin and source of the evil — a failure of justice. The com-
mander-in-chief elaborates its effects upon the army ; the treas-
urer upon the treasury ; and the general steward brings them
home, so to speak, to the bed and board of his Majesty. But
what wonder that a sovereign opens the very session of his cabinet
at which this state of affairs is presented, after the courtesy of a
welcome is despatched, with the half reproachful question :

"But tell, me gentlemen, what is the reason that in these bright
days, days which we had intended to have free from care, which
we had dedicated to pleasant recreation and enjoyment — why is
it, I ask, that we should sit here and worry ourselves with business,
with consultations — why is it? Still, as you think it cannot l)e
avoided, I have consented, and a session may proceed."

I say what wonder that such a sovereign should appreciate the
want that threatens his cellar, his kitchen, and his table, much
more readily than the want that merely converts his empire into
an anarchy ? Besides, the want of society, justice, as we are in-
formed, and truthfully informed, by the Chancellor, can only

Letters on Faust. 11

emanate from the sovereign liiraself, while the remedy suggested
is so easy, can in point of fact be abundantly supplied by the —
Fool.

Don't it strike you as very natural that such a sovereign should
find that (as suggested by the fool) " The want is money — get it " ?

And herewith the council stands adjourned.

XIII.

Contents : If they had the philosopher's stone, the stone would lack the philosopher ;
the fool's gospel : get money as preferable to justice; the Empire a State on the verge
of revolution, a tinder-box only needing a single spark to fire its contents ; the fool
moistens the tinder with money and wards off revolution by this means ; the fool's gos-
pel begets fool money ; the State fails to perform its essential function and provide
justice ; the consequence is violence and robbery everywhere prevalent ; productive
industry ceases and the finances become deranged as a further symptom ; Faust's agnos.
tic conviction, practically realized in Mephistopheles, the denier of all rationally ordered
existence in the form of family, society, State, and church, substitutes one of the conse-
quences of this failure of justice for the true cause and suggests that the want of money
is the only evil, and that its remedy is an issue of paper money based on the possibilities
of future production ; but the State's business is not to supply the products of industry ;
society, as the aggregate of free industrial units, should do this ; if the State does this, it
destroys the industrial freedom of the individual and deprives him of the culture essen-
tial to the development of his manhood ; if the value of the products of industry is to
be measured by a standard not furnished by industry itself (t. e., by " fiat money "), all
accurate ascertainment of true values becomes impossible ; no one can tell what the
products of his industry will bring him in exchange for the products of others ; the
arbitrary will of the State makes or unmakes the standard, and labor finds itself furnish-
ing real values for fictitious values and is demoralized ; industry relaxes and a spirit of
speculation becomes rife ; hence in Act IV, Goethe shows us the effect of the fool's
remedy to be ultimate anarchy and revolution ; but the present effect is apparently
to make all happy ; " one half the world carouses and the other half struts about in
fine clothing ; while cooking and roasting go on in the kitchens and the crowd rushes
to the bakers, the butchers, and the saloons."

In our last, dear H., we observed the surroundings into which
Faust has entered. Keeping our eyes upon this, we paid no atten-
tion to the soundings which out of abundant precaution that
gentleman takes in that scene to right and left in order to ascer-
tain the course of the channel. But when we hear him at the
close musing to himself with peculiar chuckle, "A precious lot!
how desert and well-being depend the one upon the other, that
never enters their noddles ; had they the Philosopher's stone in
the hollow of their hand, the stone would lack the Philosopher " —
we may rest assured that every point of the compass is fairly

78 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ascertaine*^ ; yes, and with so little trouble in his estimation that
it was hardly worth the precaution of equivocal speech and
action.

But you ask me, " What of you ? Have you taken your hearings,
the dimension and inventory of this wondrous tinder-box, this
marvellous collection of charred rag, preserved by the good house-
wife Destiny, for the purpose of rekindling the sacred hearth in
an emergency? Is it likel}' the fool, the man that does not be-
lieve truth obtainable from man, will supply the kindling spark —
is it likely ?" What a question ! Has he not slobbered his spittle
into it? Is he not braying it, even now, with his wand into a
mush, into a dish most disgustingly filthy and foul — is he not?
Certainly he is, my friend, and the more is the pity. But what is
that to our purpose? We did not write the poem, nor make the
world concerning which it was written ; we only desire to read it
understandingly to see it flow in logical sequence from the theme
announced. And pray what surprise is there for us in the cir-
cumstance that in a world largely destitute of truth, largely desti-
tute of even the ability to know truth — what occasion for suprise,
I ask, that in such a world the fool's gospel, " the want is mohey —
get it," should find belief ?

This, my friend, is all that the poet says here, and I for my part
can almost believe him. Of course, the sequence to this, that this
fool-gospel will have to embody itself into a reality commensurate,
that the fool-want will have to be supplied with fool-money — this
is a consequence axiomatic in character.

The point to which I intended to call your attention when you
interrupted with your irrelevent question was this: That Faust
finds himself at the Court of a State — was in point of fact the
product of a State in which the sovereignty fails to perform its
functions toward societv. The results, as indicated in a former
letter by logical deduction, are facts that present themselves.

A failure of justice exhibits the natural consequence — deranged
production ; this the further consequence of deranged finances ;
this a deranirement of the revenues of the State, and this the con-
sequences reported by the Treasurer, the General, and finally by
the Steward of the Household. Faust — for whom the State, society,
and the family have no valid existence beyond mere arbitrary
aggregates, the result of caprice, instead of tiie most sacred reali-

Letters on Faust. 79

ties, the very essence of man's rational nature — quietly substitutes
one of the consequences of the failure of justice — want of money —
a means produced by industry, as we have seen — for the cause, and
suggests as the remedy that the State proceed to supply this want.
But as the State is not exactly in this line of business — that is, can
supply nothing in the way of material means — he suggests that they
go into the business of treasui-e-digging on a grand scale, and, as
the event of such an enterprise can not be doubtful to any one
"who is worthy of entertaining unlimited confidence in the un-
limited," that they in the mean time issue paper in anticipation
of the undoubted success of the undertaking.

" To Whom it Mat Concern : "

" This note is worth one thousand crowns. As ample security
there stands pledged the untold treasure that lies buried through-
out the Emperor's dominion. Of course measures have been
adopted that the royal fortune be at once raised and applied in
liquidation."

This security the poet deems as good or better than any that
has been, or can be, offered under such circumstances, and stamps
the assertion of Faust — " The want is money — get it " — as fool-gos-
pel, and the means provided to supply that want as fool-money,
upon no other authority than this, that industrial society has not,
and cannot have, a single want properly so termed that can be
supplied from without, as its whole existence has but the simple
meaning — to supply its own wants ; while the State, as it neither
digs nor spins, as it produces nothing — although without the State,
as we have seen, nothing can be produced — has nothing to supply.

(Where do I get my authority that the poet calls this fool-gos-
gel and fool-money ? Well, it is the court-fool that is the author
of both, according to the poet ; that is not my fault.)

It was these matters, dear H., I wanted to bring to your atten-
tion when you interrupted me. Of course they are of no great
moment, still, if we want to see how the collision between Faust
and industrial society will result, under the presupposition that
Faust is correct in his conclusion that man cannot know truth, we
must pay some attention to these things. We must watph what
becomes of society when the State adopts that conclusion, and in
lieu of performing its functions to the industrial totality of guaran-

80 Ttie Journal of Speculative Phtloaophij.

teeint; to it its organic principle, justice, supplies it in lieu thereof
Avitli paper monev. Paper money to supply the place of justice !
AV^ell, what is the event? How did society thrive under this
new gospel ? Let us go and see (Act IV, scene 1.) :

Meph. " On my journey ings it did not escape my attention that
our worthy Emperor is in an awkward situation. You remember
him ? At a time when you and I amused him and filled both his
hands with false wealth, why the whole world was at his feet.
You know he came to the throne when quite young, and was
pleased to commit the egregious blunder to believe that a person
can govern an empire and enjoy life at one and the same time."

F. " Egregious error."

M. " AVell, he enjoyed life — and how? In the mean time the
State fell into anarchy, where great and small, right and left,
were at feud; brother slew or banished brother; castle was ar-
rayed against castle ; city against city ; trade against nobility ; the
bishop against chapter and congregation. "Wherever two met,
they were enemies. In the churches, death and murder ; be3'ond
the city's gates, merchant and traveller as good as lost ; for to
live meant — defend thyself. Well, that went at a high rate."

F. "Went? It hobbled, fell down, jumped up again, threw a
somersault, then tumbled along in an inextricable, hideous coil."

J/! " And no one dared to say one word against such a state of
afiiiirs, for every one wanted to be, and could be, boss. The
most insiij-nificant idiot was accounted a full stature of a man." .

" The want is money ; get it." That's the remedy.

And pray, what is the reason that every one should not be boss?
Don't he have a will ? Is not his will as good as that of any mor-
tal man born of woman ? Are we not all free and equal ? With
no truth attainable to man, to convince, to convict the individual
of the idiocy of his caprice — but what is the use of endless repe-
tition ?

This, then, is the event for society in its conHict with the con-
viction of Faust — but not just yet. This is the ultimate event,
but its immediate form, the cloak that hides that ultimate, bears
quite a different aspect. Let us see that too (Act I, scene 4. Sec-
ond Part of Faust) :

Steward (speaking). " Most serene, I never in ray wildest dreams
expected that it would be my happy lot to make report of fortune

Letters on Faust. 81

such as elates me now ! The last account is settled and receipted.
The usurer's claws are pared. I feel as one relieved from the
pains of hell. Heaven has no brighter days than this."

General. " Arrears are paid, the whole army is re-enlisted, the
soldiers feel fresli blood in their veins, and landlords and wenches
have a thriving time."

Emperor, " What now, my man ? Your breast heaves, your
brow is smooth of wrinkles ; you approach as if borne on the
wings of joy."

Treasurer. " Inquire of them ; they did it all."

Faust. " The Chancellor it behooves to explain the transaction."

Chancellor. " Ah, happy me, in my old age ; look and listen.
See here, the faithful leaf that has transformed all our woe into
weal," %

He says, exhibiting the " note " that we have seen. For it ap-
pears that the whole transaction was palmed off upon the sovereign
during a carouse — the carnival — to be noticed hereafter. For, in
the judgment of the poet, the character of the deed was not to be
believed as emanating from the cool, sober judgment of any mortal
that was ever called to govern. But the thing having been done,
and the effect being apparently so happy —

Treasurer. " Your Majesty can form no conception what good
it has done your people — how happy it has made society. Look
at your city, but yesterday decaying, slumberous as a graveyard ;
see the life in its streets, how everything rushes, everybody enjoy-
ing themselves. Your name, although long since a talisman of
good fortune, was never received with such happy greeting be-
fore."

Steward. " Besides, you could not recall them if you wanted to ;
they spread abroad with the rapidity of lightning. The money-
changers keep open house, and every note is honored with gold or
silver — of course at a discount. Then the crowd rushes to the
bakers, the butchers, the saloons. One half the world seems to
think of nothing but carousing while the other half struts the
streets in brand new toggery ; the liaberdasher measures and cuts
cloth ; the tailors sew. ' Long live the Emperor ! ' comes echo-
ing from the cellars with the fumes of cooking, roasting, and the
clatter of kitchen gear."

This is the result now as presented to his Majesty, who therefore
XXI— 6

82 The Journal of Speculative Philosojphy.

remarks, quite innocently : " As much as I am surprised at it, I
have to let the matter take its course." What else can a fool-led
sovereign do ?

{To be continued.)

SYMPNEUMATA;'
A Report of the Contents of a Work hy Lawrence Oliphanl.

BY SARA CARR UPTON.

• In a few words of preface the author introduces his book as
suggesting a basis of relative truth for the understanding of
human life.

He disclaims apology for the necessary assumptions in his
statements to follow, but regrets the difficulty which he finds in
explaining to others that such assumptions are due to the impera-
tive force with which the conceptions stood forth to his mind;
and he goes on to say that the immense conviction which here
finds voice does so crudely, because the faculties through which it
approaches the reader are incomplete.

The reader may humbly grant that his faculties for receiving
are incomplete, but this does not make it quite clear why the
writer's faculties could not have rendered many troublesome sen-
tences less involved.

The plea for indulgence for the statements with authority has
a certain reason, and courtesy will grant it, with the mental reser-
vation that later on the intellect will claim its right to perceive
clearly their logic.

We must also ask the reader to remember that the present ab-
stract of Mr. Oliphant's book suffers from the same complication
of sentences. This is necessarily so, since we have chosen to use
his own words to express his own ideas wherever possible. In
this way something is lost, indeed, but much is gained.

' Sjinpneumata, or Evolutionary Forces now active in Man. Edited by Lawrence
Oliphant. William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh and London, 1885.

Syvijpneumata. 88

Chapter I.

THE EARTHLY MALADY.

He first considers the Creation and the Fall of man.

The literal belief in the first of Genesis that the whole creation
was finished and rounded off in six of our days, and that our first
mother brought simple ruin to the human race from the act of
eating an apple that was not ripe for her, is the direct conse-
quence of the gross materiality that arose from man's fall, as Mr.
Oliphant interprets it. He does not take the first chapter of
Genesis as his text. He is far too well versed in the bibles of
the world to choose any special one, but he uses it as he does
other scripture, and wherever it supports his argument. His
theory is that the infant human race was created with the divine
vitality playing upon it, and working in its interior organism out-
ward to its surfaces.

The " fall " came from the chosen and conscious opening of the
human organization, by its own will, to influences from the lower
animal creation, and thus proceeded from outward surfaces to the
inward organism. This caused an opposition and conflict of cur-
rent in which the human body would have perished, had not its
outer casing become solid, in order by this change to preserve the
inner organism of man still permeable by the divine vitality.
Apd Genesis, iii, 21, is interpreted to mean that God made them
coats of skins of animals, or substituted the animal accretion of
skin for their fluid and luminous condition in the Garden of
Eden. A passage from the Kabbala is quoted in Chapter IV,
which says: "When Adam dwelt in the Garden of Eden he was
dressed in a celestial garment, which is a garment of heavenly
light." Thus an arrest in true human evolution occurred, the
fluidity of the human body was lost, and man's consciousness of
his inner processes became closed, while his dominant consciousness
began to reside in the outer activities of the overlying system by
which the lower creation proclaimed afiinity with him. Thus the
conflict of currents in man, the divine and the animal, always
remains. His covering of matter is swung to the vibration of the
animal world, and is reacted on by the divine-human frame
within, though the door has never been wholly closed against a
reassertion of true vitality. The formation donned by the human.

84: The Journal of Speculative PMlosophy.

frame, as a bulwark for its inner life, was such a body as might
have been the crown of a complete evolution of the lower animal
creation.

Thus the evolutionary or Darwinian doctrine is the surface
truth. The modern scientific world Unds, as it penetrates deeper
into organic mysteries, that relation between humanity and the
lower creation which represents to its imagination the totality of
truth with regard to the human organism. The apprehension
that this husk is merely an outer shell of every component atom
of the visible body, and composed of the gross elements of an ex-
ternal and soliditied brute accretion, is necessary for the true
understanding of life, and this truth contains the simple philoso-
phy of the phenomena called death. For a time the outer and
inner man grow together, but as the growth of the real man and
of the essence-forms of his organism can never pause, a moment
inevitably comes when the compression of the organ coverings,
which are composed of low matter, will cramp the tine expanding
matter of the man himself, and must be gotten rid of. Gradual
death, which men call old age, is the gradual growth of the finer
matter of the man, which, during vast ages of past history, has
been always obliged to withdraw itself from its coverings away
from the earth. Full human evolution not having been a terres-
trial possibility, death has prevailed.

But ]Mr. Oliphant foresees in the ages whose coming now be-
gins, a new phase of terrestrial existence. That part of man which
now withdraws from the body at death is fast growing in its
race history toward maturity, and will soon begin to put forth
force that w^ill subdue the animal side. The future service of
man to the globe will not cease with a visible discarding of the
corrupting fiesh, but on dissolving his covering of earth. He will
in his new phase be visible to all of his kind. And this will
occur with the natural processes of evolutionary laws which eter-
nally operate in his organism.

Chapter II.

THE DIVINE DESCENT.

Mr. Oliphant says that the century in which we live witnesses
the development in man of an acute sensitiveness for perceiving

Sympneumata. 85

the quality of the finer sensations of his own physical organism.
This fact is the result of a silent evolution ; and the present is the
end of the period, whose beginning disappears in the infinite re-
moteness of the past eras.

A return to the conditions under which the divine vitality plays
through the hnman organism is now first possible. Thus the
return of the faculty, and the power to test and perceive it, are
coincident. The immanence of God in man, so much asserted
and so little felt, becomes a physical fact ; as truly physical as any
emotion which we know — love, heroism, fear, jealousy — but acting
upon the surface with an intensity superior to that of any known
sensation. Its quality is that of sex-duality, and it touches man
with a sense of infinite purity which makes him aware that he is in
organic rapport with a copartner of these divine influxes, whose
being melts into the inner spaces of his own and completes those
forms of his which receive this life from God. It is impossible
for any human being to confound this emotional sensation with
any other. Man is now ready, without and within, for the pres-
ence of that God who comes announcing himself as Father-
Mother, Two-in-One, showing each human creature to himself as
a divine being before a divine God, in service of the world. The
moral and j)hysical experience that generates and confirms the
conviction that such are the central pivots of life's true philoso-
phy, may be gained either as a gift or by a struggle.

Chapter III.

THE INVISIBLE BATTLE.

The earth-man (the human race as it is) has evolved unevenly
as to the different parts of his nature. In the last few generations
the intensification we have spoken of in his inner growth has
specially vitalized his intellect. The secret fountain of his spirit,
the sym pneumatic influx, has fertilized the soil of his mentality.
Hence we see a growth which is one-sided, although it gives prom-
ise of a higher moral condition than has yet been known, by
bringing an increased sense of individual duty to mankind, and
has yielded greater intellectual, rational, and inventive development
than ever before realized. But because as yet many of the keen-
est thinkers close themselves against the investigation of their

86 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

moral impulses, and fail, therefore, to learn the dependence of
their mental and physical faculties upon them, the general jjrowth
still remains stunted, and the food of all true tliouj^ht and reason
is lost by the suppression of the faculties for its use. Those who
aspire to gain the fulfilment of the human evolutionary move-
ment of their time find that they must master, as a first study,
the mode of motion of the affectional forces. And, as the pre-
liminary to this study, all conflicting conditions — viz.: all previ-
ous opinions, conclusions, social prejudices, religious, philosophic,
and sceptical convictions and individual conceits, all ties of race,
friendship, family, where these are not wholly subservient to the
life efibrt for truth — must be put aside.

In the calm pause of mental expectation which follows, the
man, listening at the door of his own nature for an answer, per-
ceives a crv vibratintj; throuo-h his love-forms, claiminn; the succor
of his fellow-men. And mind must now take its place as the
machinery between the highest moral forces and the lowest physi-
cal needs of humanity. When a man has reached this point, that
he is mightily pushed from within to know what ails human
nature, and when his will is set to annihilate evil in himself, and
let the good live and grow, he becomes aware of a subtle will-
force of a distinctly personal character opposing itself to the de-
velopment of the true emotions, and seeking to impair their purjty.
To combat- this external will-effort to paralyze the will, we must
accept hypothetically that there are invasive activities which meet
the individual in the shape of exterior resistance to every really
lofty and impersonal aim in life. The opposition of these intelli-
gences of baser qualities can be overcome only by meeting them
and resisting them, for, by ignoring them, the individual remains
under their control. The verification of this hypothesis may be
taken or left, but it constantly proves itself. To successfully
oppose these currents of vice, the investigator must have less sel-
fish aims than those generally used to give strength of will and to
su]>ply the stimulus for higii endeavor, such as the personal hopes
or fears of his religion, or the self-righteousness which urges an
individual to obtain a character for ]ire-eminent virtue among his
fellows. He must be shorn of the selfish stimulants to virtue.

The daily strife in which a man now finds himself embarked
finds confirmation in the primitive teachings or early traditions,

Sympneumaia. 87

whicli record that the first influences of evil before which the race
fell and which preyed on its infancy did not form a part of its origi-
nal individuality — consciousness — but approached it from without,
as from regions beyond its own sphere of activity. No sense be-
comes more clearly developed during the strife than that the evil
in himself, which a new and high power of evolutionary growth
is enal)ling him to reject, is not a part of himself either as a man
or as a race, and that the death principle so deeply involved
throughout man's physical and spiritual frame is a foreign intru-
sion.

Chapter IY.

the testimony of the ages.

Mr. Oliphant states that while reference to records of antiquity
may be interesting as confirming the revelations to be obtained as
intuitions of the spirit b}' the now illuminated man, they are not
necessary ; nor does he think it appears that any better under-
standing of the spirit of the records would enable us to read there
the process of this evolution.

He makes an elaborate appeal to the false gods of heathendom
and to the phallic worship to prove the dual nature of God, and
then refers to Judaic literature, quoting the received version of
the Bible from Genesis, Isaiah, Ezehiel, and Ilosea, referring to
the much-disputed word Elohim, and the hidden name called by
the Jews, when spoken, Adonai. The commentaries on the Tal-
mud confirm the dual nature, and the Targimi repeatedly uses
the word Shechinta, the feminine God. The Kabbalists use a
prayer for the reunion of the Holy One and his Shechinah. In
the midst of these quotations a few words are inserted carelessly,
pointing to "possibly unconscious" references to the divine dual
personality in the New Testament. Such references abound in
Revelations. This is one of the first signs of the apparent ignor-
ing by Mr. Oliphant of the life of Christ as throwing light on the
spiritual path. This looks a little like an obliquity, for, even taken
at its lowest value, this record has equal claim to consideration
with the ones he quotes from, for the two j^lain reasons of its
more recent date, and as the last written revelation from any
Christ which is known and received. It is very important, if we
are examining evidence at all, to know what can be found in the

88 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

New Testament on this point, and also whether there is reason to
suppose that tlie prophecy of John is more " possibly unconscious "
in its references to the dual nature of God-man than the prophecy
of Isaiah or Ilosea.

Chapter Y.

the messianic presence.

In this chapter we receive the categorical revelation of what the
previous chapters have led us to, and we learn what is the kej'stone
of the arch of the new building.

To Mr. Oliphant the present world-period holds in its bosom
the regeneration of the world, waiting to reveal itself to each in-
dividual. It is not to be imposed by the genius of prophet or
leader, but it is a gift of God to the race. This sounds like the
fulfilment of the prophecy in Jeremiah, that after certain days
there is promise of a new covenant. " I will put my law in their
inward parts, and write it in their hearts, and will be their God
and they shall be my people; and they shall teach no more every
man his neighbor and every man his brother, saying, 'Know the
Lord,' for they all shall know me, from the least unto the greatest,
saitli the Lord." The age is now ripe, says Mr. Oliphant, to re-
unite man in physical and mental companionship, each with his
complementary being, from whom separation began at the fall.
This being he names " Sympneuma^'' a Greek word signitying
"breathing with " or " in conjunction with." With this being,
communication establishes itself by new developments of the
senses of sight, touch, and hearing. And through the establish-
ment of this, communication man co-operates with those beings
whose mission it is to raise theliuman race out of its miseries by
projecting into it their essence, which is an intenser quality of the
divine force than that of the human race.

The sole condition for this inheritance is mental acceptance of
the biunity of the Divine nature and the biunity of the human
nature created in His image, first as a possibility, and afterward
continuing one's education into the perception of this. The in-
tense vitality which God is now ])res3ing down upon us burns
with a fuller tire of His sex-completeness than the world could
have received before; and unless the men and women of the day

Sympneumata. 89

can acquire physical and mental perception of and participation in
the active and emotional existence of the beinp; who is their sex-
complement — their love — the avenues are closed by vt^hicli this
fact of God can alone impart itself to our consciousness.

Euskin, another seer, is constantly referrino- to the possibility
of some new vital energy developing itself under the conditions of
modern human life.

Chapter VI.

LOVE.

The acquirement of this new order of faculty — moral, rational,
and physical — requires an apprenticeship of years before the keen
perceptive consciousness of what passes in soul and body is attained.
That man is ready for the struggle who feels that no other life is
worth pursuing than one that holds out hope of a conscious union
with the life-currents of the Deity ; the power of a marriage in
soul, mind, touch, sight with the true being and companion toward
whom every instinct of man tends ; and proceeding from this
marriage the power of so intense an identification with the whole
body of humanity that he feels no other use for life can be found
than to cast it before the feet of the brother for ceaseless and or-
ganic service. As hope and encouragement to enter this path, Mr.
Oliphant tells us that living for these things has brought " many "
— and presumably the baud now surrounding him — into a new
world, where new faculties respond to new forces, where experi-
ence supersedes hope, and where the work of God goes forward
working hourly to the redemption of the planet.

He speaks of the life and death of Christ as " a bomb-shell of
penetrating particles which burst upon the world, scattering its
myriad germs of slow-ripening moralities upon no region of the
human sort so freely as upon those sensitive structures in spirit
and body by which the creature responds by sentiment or sen-
sation to currents of sex-life from God above and from the animal
life below."

From the time of the insemination into the race of these more
potent altruistic germs contained in the teaching of Christ "there
have never been wanting choicer natures in each succeeding genera-
tion to hold before it increasing purity and self-abnegation in the

90 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

sex-aftection, in spite of the vice and grossness in wliich the whole
question of passional love has wallowed." He promises that the
evolving knowledge of our time will make the mystery clear, and
that those of his band have already a keener acquaintance than
was ever afforded in any previous period of human history with
the divineness into which passion soars, and with the hell on earth
whicii is the consequence of its poisoning or destruction.

Chapter VII.

THE SUBSURFACE WORLD.

I see no way to approach the chapter called the subsurface
world b}' any usual or known methods. It may be wild nonsense,
but when a thing is asserted that wc have no means of proving or
judging, except as it is probable or improbable according to every-
day opinion, I must make my judgment according as my mind
sees immense possibilities for the solution of the problems of life,
or sees only material and actual facts of former experience. To
my mind, which calls for a meaning between the lines, -and under
the words, and below the form, I can only say that it may be. It
is not impossible, and with finer senses it might be that we could
know that there is a subsurface world, a plane of life upon which
all beings once met and held intercourse from whatever world or
condition they approached. We can conceive that in the earlier
period the earth-humanity lived in open consciousness of this plane,
which had been originally the surface plane^ and that it has re-
ceded as man has grown more on the surface plane, and has be-
come more dimly conscious of this world, so as to tinally deny it. In
this suljsurface world it ssems that, owing to the fluent nature of
forms, man could influence, and be influenced by, organisms of
others, or by the forms of external nature. The subsurface world
was the region in which his evolution was arrested, the plane from
wliich he was to act upon the world around him. From the time
of the severance of the divine man into two, where the interior,
the woman-form, which was the well-spring and repository of the
divine currents in tlieir transmission to man, ceased her work, man
— who was to have transmitted these divine currents throughout the
inferior creatures, the kingdoms of the beasts, the planet, the ele-
ments — lost his dominion and power over them, and the animal

Sympneumata. 91

nature which stands tlie nearest to man in the wonders of the or-
ganization, instead of receiving from him of the fountains of life,
became to some extent hostile, and began to impel back upon man
particles from its vitality. Man, instead of evolving in a manner
exclusively human, became human animal. The present terrestrial
man is only just becoming capable of understanding how foreign
and abnormal to the God-made man is this body of his, which he
has taken on from the animal world, and which is the coarse and
heavy husking of each organic particle of the man's true frame.
This most external framework should be properly a spirit still, and
should not be deprived of those attributes which overcome time
and space ; which attril)utes men, even in their present grossnessj
possess as regards the emotions and intellect. It seems that in
the process of evolution there must be a return to the true order,
and that terrestrial man must lay off this excrescence layer, again
become a pure divine spirit, receiving and giving forth divine
currents, and having only so much of a body as is necessary in or-
der to establish an organic connection between him and the par-
ticular world in the service of which the divine behest retains him.
Such a body is assimilated from the finer particles in the atmos-
phere of that earth, and is the ultimate efflorescence of his Grod-
human form. It is asserted that the subsurface world was already
the seat of disorders from other planets, but that it is useless and
dangei'ous for man now to turn his attention to questioning the
why and the wherefore of this, which will in time be clear to
him.

It suffices to say that though he partly exists semi-consciously
in this subsurface world, and though he is open to attack from it,
an ano;el with a flaming; sword ever guards the treasure of his di-
vine identity, and the attacks are dii'ected against the inherited
body of the animal accretions.

Chapter YIII.

the revelation of secrets.

This is the psean of the Sympneuma, the revelation of the secret
of secrets, the key to the termination of the world's distress by
revealing its joy. The sore of the world has been its love-centres,
which have sought love and have found lust and unlove, and have

92 The Journal of Speculative Philosophrj.

sought rest to find strife iind liate. Altliougli only one out of ten
can accept tliis secret and test it experimentally, the vitality is
pressing upon all, and all are undergoing the same process of
change into higher organization of spirit and mind, though they
may not understand it. This secret, which is asserted as practi-
cally attainable, though perhaps practically indescribable, is that
the clear presence and companionship of the other self presses
upon the increasing consciousness of all willing individuals. The
method of its impress is asserted to vary according to constitu-
tional variations of persons. It selects in each the faculty readiest
for acute development, training in one at first the aptitude to see
by growth of finer tissue in the nerves of vision ; in another
playing upon the hidden organs of sound until the ether motions
from its finer speech are accurately distinct ; using in others the
power of touch, to let its substance be felt; in some approaching
the surface consciousness of heart, brain, and body, by issuing
forth upon it from unimagined organs which fill the regions of
the inner man and which wake to unexpected life as they become
the highways of holy energies and joys. But in whatever way it
comes, it comes to each man as the sweet and perfect possession of
the one perfectly beloved being, the whole friend that fills the
whole of his nature, the sure joy that makes sure the right to open
to iov. Man is conscious that he meets normallv and naturallv " a
race of human persons who dwell like him in the spaces around
his planet, who are tied like him to the duties of its progression,
who have an organic relation to human life on the planet, and by
virtue of this are purely devoted to its every need ; and they are
and always have been the immediate fountains through which
men have sipped their scattered drops of liigh beliefs and trusts
and insights." Man's attitude to the world is altered. He needs
nothing for himself, desires no power but to participate in the
divine intention of the hour, needs knowledge only for the power
to serve, succor, and release, and seeks this end, which for his
own service and pleasure has become valueless, as one of a vast
fraternity.

lie has now a doul)le point of view — he is woman man, and the
processes which were only mental have become emotionally mental.
The woman has become man-woman, and around her sea of feeling
is built a compassing of strength.

Sympneumata. 93

Chapter IX.

THE CALL TO WOMAN.

The world's liistory heretofore has been mostly a history of a
male world, and when woman has taken part as actor or prompter,
it has mostly been by accident. This arises partly from her inca-
pacity and partly from an instinct in man to restrict her capabili-
ties. Man had retained /«>form, and the animal accretion was on
his orio'inal surface, and he suifered the void within. But the
woman had no form save the envelope of the Sympneuma's outer
form, and had to be torn out of the coverings of herself to be un-
naturally recovered. Both suffer in the external world, but the
woman is most out of her place. The change that is contemplated
in the planets' future life is a radical one, and must involve a
complete and organic change of the race. This change comes in
man by the reawakening of his slumbering, closed form-system, by
the inflow of the feminine vitality in the accession of the Symp-
neuma's personality. It comes to woman in the awakening of
her active powers at the embrace that steals upon her as her
Svmpneuma's form constructs itself around and in her. Through
her he is reopened to the world of fecund womanhood throughout
the universes, and through him she is opened to the potent man-
hood of the whole connected world. The woman is reborn to
herself — that self which can only know itself as being when it is
open to absorb the potencies of divine biunity and to pass them
forth to men. There is a new world being born of intense ex-
periences, fresh physical insight, of vivid sensations, of knowledge
sure, because sensational — experimental — just at the time when
the masses of the human family, and even its finer minds, are
accepting the present resources as the final ones. But this change
in man is effected solely by virtue of his organic reception of the
Sympneuma's organism within his own, .and in the woman-halves
of men by the pervasion of her system by the male Sympneuma.
Through these inmost forms in womankind the divine fertiliza-
tions of renewed humanity can alone approach. Man will no
longer crave the commerce of tlie dissevered sexes, nor will he
desire children in the present form of the race.

The Sympneuma's presence pervades and satisfies and bids the

94 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

old activities of exterior forms to make long pause, awaiting liigli
conditions. It is distinctly stated that there is no means of unit-
ing the male and female forms of men as now on the earth, exter-
nalized as halves, so as to produce a combination that will be in
the biune-human form. AVhat other consequence can follow (and
what better, perhaps) than the cessation of the race as it is ? And
in Mr. Oliphant's opinion there is no hope of a satisfying change
of circumstance among the divine children here if man has not
ripened to organic changes, and if human life continues to repro-
duce itself as at present by exercising a sex-nature akin to that of
brutes.

Chapter X.

THE RESPONSE OF WOMAN.

Woman must learn to find and hold her real position in the
natural order of the world. The Woman's Rights movements of
the age are phases and indications of her awakening, and are but
misdirected efforts to extricate herself from the old state of
things.

The masculine and feminine natures are as yet in stupid misap-
prehension or distrust. For man and woman to join hands in
perfect comradeship throughout the earth and to grow abreast
into the development of their time, requires the inflow of more
potent vitalities into the human system. Tlie Symj)neuma returns
with these vitalities to teach and train the degraded units of the
earth-humanity till their bodies learn to contain the movements of
genius and passion in brain and spirit, and till brain and spirit
learn wisdom and ardent sentiment.

Men will not fear to trust woman when their impulses spring
forth at the call of human need, nor will women fear to give their
devotion to man when they by their lives cleave the ways to the
happiness of the whole human race.

Chapter XL

INTELLECT.

The present has been the age of the Intellect which stands with
its back to the future. The science of to-day is so absorbed in

Sympneumata. 95

investigating past experiences that it would deny the right of
fresh experience to exist. The knowledge which is to satisfy
humanity will not come through the door of intellectuality, but
through the wide approach of psychical experience. Each man,
if he will know, can know that he has powers growing within his
soul at this era to matcli the powers without him, and that as the
preparation has been made with infinite grandeur in physical
machineries for a more perfect life on earth, so it has been made
not less grandly for the same purpose in the collective human in-
tellectuality and in the interiors of men for the reception of new
truths. But the leaders of the age are still those of the luminous
intellect, and not the men and women with the hidden fire which
propels mind and destiny in the mass.

The world is governed now by a tyranny of intellectuality and
science, as churches and empires have governed in their time a
race of slaves. This is, however, a preparation for a greater future,
and the collective intellect of the present race has gained capacity
and strength and keenness to judge its own experiences.

He who would keep his nature free to know all truth of experi-
ence possible for man, must learn to stand alone with his own
nature, and, while using the proofs of science, he must not lean
upon them, nor be swayed by any drift of belief or thought. He
who most isolates himself amid the surface-currents of human life
is joined most closely to his fellow-beings in the plane of their
deeper nature. The solidarity of the race is an immutable fact,
and the more each one probes himself for his nobler sentiments,
the more will the identity of his needs with those of all the rest
be revealed.

Chapter XH.

the new sociology.

All the points previously presented — the intelligent apprehen-
sion of which facilitates the pursuit of individual and universal
progress and is almost indispensable for those who would use the
forces in the world and in themselves — are but the preface to the
life. These points have been :

1. The union of the masculine and feminine forms and forces in
beings really human.

96 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

2. The free constructing, sustaining, and satisfying play through
out such beings of full God-forces.

3. The loss in ancient time upon the earth of the full hnijian
capacity for receiving the perfect force.

4. The long subsequent inactivity of the earth-race in regaining
its nature.

5. Its incidental helplessness amidst lower forces acting in and
around it.

6. Its destiny to complete the race re-education by reattainment
in each individual in some great future of its full androgynous
constitution.

7. The salient importance of the present years, because they
mark the full assimilation of the forms and forces discharged upon
the almost unconscious structures (of the race) nearly two thousand
yeare ago (by Christ).

8. The responsibility of each human being to receive by virtue
of the power within him a new quality of consciousness which will
dwarf old senses till they disappear.

9. The claim that each nature makes to hold itself free to re-
ceive in soul, spirit, heart, mind, reason, will, nerves, fluids, and
flesh all impulses that meet the consciousness in answer to pure
requests for purest life.

10. The capability now developing in men and women for per-
ceiving the companionship of the S\'mpneuma hourly and daily,
which initiates the conscious new departure of each human
being.

11. The restriction of womanly activities on earth, which begins
to vanish.

12. The past and present intellectualization which has impeded
that human growth, which should now supervene.

All these considerations are the preface to all life. He who has
made all that precedes his own by sure experience rises for the
work of life equipped with fresh vigors. Being thus ready for
service, he flnds that the nature he now owns dictates a relation-
ship'to all human beings which he cannot evade; and he finds
that his vigors for service cannot be imprisoned in creeds, modes
of thought and reasoning, or personal demands. Such a pei-son
solves — by pressure of the love that grows within, which love he is
powerless to repress — the question called " social."

Sympneumata. 97

He finds now " I am my brother's keeper" to be the sura of his
consciousness, the standard and warrant under which he puts forth
every energy and lives his earth career.

It is further prophesied tliat the duration of man's life will be
greatly extended, and that in men and women who begin to know
themselves as biune, the sense of the desire for the retirement of
the present millions from sin and misery will prevail over the
desire to continue peopling the eartli after its present fashion.

Such persons will find the instinct for reproduction to pass
away. Faithful and inseverable companionships will still exist
with increase of worth to man and woman, but often with entire
innocence of the relationship of person which would maintain in
a painful activity the currents of the decaying unisexual layers.
And a partial suspension of race reproduction may be regarded as
a possibilit}'. This is consistent witli the theory that man's semi-
animal layer is being slowly extinguished, and that he now can for-
bid the entrance of influences from the outer world, because his
inner growth can transmit to his external vigors sufficient to regu-
late accretions of terrestrial particles for his terrestrial life, instead
of, as now, having these forced upon him. Each man and woman
now married to the spirit which completes them as units of
humanity knows no longer the unrest and want that arise from
uncompleted humanity ; and the sensations of dual growth may
engender the waning of all old sense.

The outgrowth of tlie Sympneumatic frame brings man where
he may grow as pure and simple man. Human activities, having
been almost exclusively male, have been in fact /k«Z/'-human, be-
sides being mixed with brute vitality.

Woman has been purposely bound by swathing clothes to pre-
vent her growing until the resumption of her male envelopes
could prepare about her a form to hold divine growths developing
from within.

Chapter XIH.

the new faculty.

This is a long and prosy chapter, with no new setting forth, of
matter, whose chief point is that the person joined to his Symp-
neuma is, as it were, "behind the scenes," and has ndw eyes to
judge and appreciate present events and phenomena.
XXI— 7

98 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Chapter XIY.
spirixral phenomena.

The suminiiig up of this chapter is that the historic lite of our
planet resolves itself into inspiration by good spirits and obsession
by bad ones, which Mr. Oliphant calls a simpler definition than the
conflict of good and evil, light and darkness, virtue and sin, and
considers as completely accounting for all the phenomena of life.

The test by which " to tr^' tlie spirits '' is the determination to
belong to universal and not to private service.

"When the idea that a man's love for his neighbor M'as the one
object to be lived for to the exclusion of all others — worth the sacri-
fice of life — was first presented to the world — society, priestcraft,
government, and learning put the rebel to death. But the thought
has grown through the centuries, and the creed, too subtle for the
mental grasp of a world under a Roman empire, comes to the
mentality of modern men again in a higher form,

Now, there is no question whether to love his kind is good for
man, nor whether or not to live and die for truth is good.- The
proposition now is — clothed also in most confused language in
this chapter — that no man is truly living in love, or at the height
of his humanity, who is actuated by any other motive than a
universal humanitarian one for the good of the race. That human
nature throughout the world is one — not many. That, just so far
as a man or group of men acts from other motives than humanita-
rian ones, his nature or theirs is impaired.

Man can now gain the mastership of the occult, sentimental, and
transcendental through knowledge of the subsurface world by
means of his opened senses renewed through self-ordeal, self-
knowledge, and self-judgment.

He reads the whole human story as a current of increasing de-
velopment.

Chaptek XV.

THE LATENT MANHOOD.

Mr. Oliphant recognizes the principle that Browning is ever
recurring to as the root of the philosophy of life. Through evil
to good — all good gained is learned through learning to know

Sympneuraata. 99

the bad. Mr. OHphant asserts that a profound inspection of the
human problem sliows the result of an j crime to be a deeper injury
to the criminal than to society. His reasoning is that the seed of
evil sown through the criminal bears fruit in increase of knowl-
edge to prevent, cure, understand, guide, judge, and thus to love;
while to the criminal it brings an accretion of brute formation
that hinders and obstructs.

But he holds that we are entering another phase of phenome-
nal life than that which has heretofore been considered by science
and philosophy. Sympneumatic inspiration, throngh its conscious
experiences, is to be the standard by which to measure the results
of science, since these instincts are in their quality, intensity, and
vigor prophetic, and the revelation of all the mystery that has
lain since prehistoric time behind the partial phenomena of human
life. The man who accepts them projects the illumination of his
whole personal experience of emotion and reason upon the lofti-
est operations in the world of thought, as well as upon all faiths,
reasonings, and seekings after truth in physics and metaphysics.
And in respect of each oldest and newest action he ascertains the
degree of its help in preparing for the rebirth of the more real
human condition that now tinges the horizon of possibility.

Chapter XYI.

CHRIST.

The chapter called Christ treats of the advent of woman through
Christ, w^ho was the crowning individual instance of human quali-
ties which were absolutely universal, and who was constituted with
that purity which precluded him from recognizing tribe, sex, or
person as severable from the whole.

The Hebrew law began to recognize the duties and necessities
of woman as something different from a mere adjunct to male
existence, wdiich, in the unmixed Semitic estimate, she remains to
this day.

" That reading and rendering of the human spirit, its powers, its
developments, its demands, which were projected upon the mind
of this world by radiations from the illimitable wealth and un-
fathomable intensity in the nature of Christ, was the blossom that
grew forth from many generations of Hebrew suffering and

100 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

endeavor. The full genius of moral intuition^ concentrated
within a human form, had become a phenomenon possible in a race
thus consciously prepared to consummate a mii:;hty si^n of terres-
trial evolution, but, despite all the circumstances which tended to
mitigate for the immediate surrounding world, the shock of the
first open discharge throughout it, of fully externalized elements
of essential potency, it shivered the national form that had pro-
duced it, this being too tenaciously interwoven with a tribalism
that rejected modiiication."

These human qualities, as presented in Christ, were the first
absolutely universal ones. They held in solution not only the
emancipation of the oppressed, but the " attainment by woman of
faculties for the projection of long-dormant femininit}' into the
affairs of terrestrial life."

" The Hebrew nation, which, like the aloe plant, died in its
etfort of fruition, and the iron empire which advanced to strangle
the birth it was destined to cradle and transmit, were alike un-
conscious of the parts they played. Yet the germ of all that is
persistent in to-day's civilization, and what strains most vigor-
ously toward completer evolution, was discharged at that epoch
throughout the layer of the humanitary body which appears to
superficial sight as terrestrial man. A simultaneous organic change
occurred whereby the mysteries of man's interior being instituted
a quiet process of attack upon his gross external constitution, to
pierce and penetrate it. This action of the inner upon the outer
human formation is the greatest verity concerning human phe-
nomena that man of to-day can grasp."

" The little world that took upon its limited mentality the im-
pulse from the new master's mind evinced a clear perception of
what his thought implied in the external social form, and essayed
at once reorganization on the basis of interministration by men
and women, and apprehended completely the identity of woman's
spiritual aspiration and destiny with those of man. From that
time woman counted for half humanitary life throughout the re-
gion which was for several centuries charged with its development."

" Throughout long centuries of the more ancient })rogress, the
idea of virtue was a negative one, that of abstention from in-
justice and abstention from excess of inclination and disturbing
activity. The positive quality of operative human emotion did

Sympneumata. 101

not and does not act throagli tlie loftiest orientalism of precept
or example."

From the time of Christ the accession of vitality has included
the elements which still fever the social mass with their efforts
for freedom and service ; the elements of the equal rio;ht of
woman with man to growth and power; of the indissoluble in-
terdependence of man and woman ; of distinction of race charac-
teristics, and the annihilation of separate race interests ; and all
the elements of that complex type of morality, mentality, and
physique which is now rapidly establishing itself as the phenome-
non of our era.

Chapter XVII.

GOD WITH us.

"To find the deepest and truest of their instincts, and to be
true to them, is the simple duty which men and women prove
themselves for the most part incapable of performing." " Free-
dom for development and application of pure moral impulse is
now the hunger of humanity ; mutual coercion and suppression
of this impulse is its crime." " Whoever begins to measure acts
and facts of life around him by the deepest movements that trans-
pire within him, and will not allow the movements around to
impress him except as the fullest movement within gives sanction,
knows what ceaseless effort and frequent pain the course entailsj
and yet that it is the only course of individual progress."

Chapter XVIII.

FREEDOM OF THE ENSLAVED.

" The legitimate claim of each person — the claim most difficult
to exact of modern societary development — is to be himself. This
is the only basis of that perfect altruism which would retrieve so-
ciety." There are two tendencies among those who lead progress:
one to develop higher and subtler qualities painfully because of
impressions stamped on mentality from without, social prejudice,
religious formulae, rationalistic dogmatism, and all the rest of the
material which man might dominate, but which controls him ; and
the other tendency to grasp pleasure in recklessness of pure and

102 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

noble sentiment, which corrupts and def^rades, urging a limited
set of faculties to hyper-development and leaving in absolute atro-
phy the larger wealth of otiiers with Avhich they are endowed.
Yet highest growth would transcend pain, and keenest pleasure
must be free of debasement. Men must grow toward high per-
fection, and must live with joy inflowing and outflowing. AVhat-
ever in man is pure, true, human, divine, is essentially both pro-
gressive and delightful. Both forms of suflfering are signs that
man is ignorant of the great powers to which he inly grows.

Tiiat man will escape from each who will turn faithfully to the
gathering ground of all essential forces within his quivering soul.
He will And that he belongs to a new race, and that his pain and
weakness and folly come from his not knowing this.

" One claim uprears itself in holiest lawfulness, the world's cry
for redemption, and lo ! the God that meets you in the eternal
sanctuary of yourself comes but for that."

Chapter XIX.

THE WORK OF THE FREE.

Mr. Oliphant looks for the human race to be actuated and di-
rected by intense passions within them, such as have heretofore
been represented only in genius, " This age begins to produce
men who can save Man by simply being in the outward life that
divine thing which they are at the core." " These, if they leave
all else to seek initiation into the ways of their real nature, will
become subjects of certain leading experiences that will indissolu-
bly unite them by their sameness, and rejoice them by their infi-
nite variety."

''The incredible phenomena of sympneumatic consciousness
constituting the completed capacity of human creatures for sus-
taining the full impregnation of biune divineness. will change the
whole aspect of the world, and change and raise in each the dia-
l^ason to which he tunes his duties and his pleasures."

" The question of how personal satisfaction shall be possessed is
closed, and changes to the demand that his larger self, his entire
race, shall possess the capacities with him for perfectness of joy."

"It is not the business of the subjects of these potent phe-
nomena to urge to unreal, because premature, exercise the con-

Sympneumata. 103

sciousness of inner vitalization among people in whom it is de-
layed. It wonld be both dangerous and futile, and such revela-
tions make true development throughout the societary body by
very gentle pressure and percolate very slowly throughout its con-
nected organism. Man is not judge for man ; but to questioners,
men who yearn, suffer, grow faint, the sufferers that have been, may

speak heart-open, offering their release When once these

souls escaped hold full possession of passion more ardent than is
told in all romance, and begin to understand the laws of living
which it imprints upon the brain, the agreements which appear
among the identical institutions begin to create among them, how-
ever widely scattered through the earth their duties may be, a new
societary form, strictly cohesive, however wide its first attenua-
tion It is the beginning of a vast people who shall come

to save."

" The incapacity for being a stopping-place of pure life-forces
marks more than anything the resumption by man of his true
qualities of spirit and body. His resumption of the pure sense
that he is, in respect of all the powers that constitute him man,
recipient and agent, generates a spontaneous estimate of societary
phenomena, and in the complete identification of general and
personal interests the world reads as a plain book."

" The sense of rivalry in things moral and material having van-
ished, and the knowledge gained that man's errors arise from the
organized mismanagement by the whole society of the world, of
the individual life-forces which are its joint capital for action, the

mutual judgments of men must cease Each one will know

that, however elevated his little excellence may appear by compari-
son, he cannot be truly perfect while there is moral malady in any
other man ; because the currents of moral life, as in true fact of
physical, course through the whole humanitary structure, and
convey to each part something of the disturbance that may be
localized in any part."

" Men" will cease to affirm of themselves and others that they
are vicious or virtuous, for they will know, as they experience and
perceive tendency to error, that it is the sign of faculty fevered
or congested, starved or paralyzed, and the use of such perception
and experience is to induce search for the impediments to univer-
sal growth which is thus indicated."

lOi The Journal of Speculative PliiloBophy .

" A new era in the history of ministrations now opens for those
who offer and for those who take. In this era those who hold that
the inheritance of tendency, faculty, and circumstance helongs,
like all that comes from God, equally to all mankind, will ap-
proach others with apology of desire to impart the force they have
reserved, and a prayer to be relieved of that which they have no
right to retain."

" The littleness of the intellect of men is inadequate to defi-
nitely solve the many-sided problem presented at this time through-
out the earth, calling for theory and action, political and social,
and the sincere on all sides miscalculate at every step the effects
throughout humanitary men of the measures they advocate."
" Therefore, throughout the network of those who claim compan-
ionship with higher beings, and w^ho acquire through them knowl-
edge of the absolute incapacity of man's mind to devise fixed
plans for humanitary progress, there will exist no restlessness born
of the expectation of definite issue."

" They know that the full solution of the earth problem far
transcends present power to grapple with it, and, though they can
live for no other purpose than to forward possession by all men
of ideas of perfectness, they silence in themselves all clamor for
anticipation of the ways of working."

" There exists in the social world no general recognition that
men should live simply for God and men. These people, under
the inspiration of the ministering influences which surround them,
will perceive that they withdraw more and more of necessity from
every sympathy with the present methods of social life."

"Yet these children of fire, sons of the ardent genius for an im-
mense morality which the earth has long travailed for and at length
brought forth, stand and labor in isolation while there is sign in
any place that they are wanted there ; and while their work and
duty hold them at such post, their gentle sympatliies for all that
touches men and that men love, and even with men's mistakes and
follies, will hold them silent regarding the gulf that opens between
their purely universal motives and the narrower personal ones on
which perforce at present the greater number base their actions."

In these last pages Mr. Oliphant disclaims for his band — this first
growth of the new humanity — all schemings, dreamings, theorizing,
doctrinizing, and dogmatisms which he claims shrink away from

Notes and Discussions. 105

the vigorous and direct current of activity which they put forth
in the practical performance of every nearest, most obvious, and
simple duty.

This union of the theory and practice, the system and the life
lived from it, will perhaps be the proof which men may not un-
justly require from the assumptions and assertions in Mr. Oli-
phant's book, and they perhaps admit of no other proof to our
present faculties. According to his last phrase, we may look for
a new world given to man in the evolution of new faculties and
powers whose long delay has made the misery of the planet.

KOTES AKD DISCUSSIONS.

SENTENCES IN PROSE AND VERSE.

SELECTIONS BY W. E. CHANNING.

She was of a large enough nature to give gold for silver and never
count the cost. — Bethesda (a novel by Miss Halsted).

A man loves a woman just in proportion to the amount she exacts
from him. If you accept all, and do nothing, he will be absolutely de-
voted. — Ibid.

Through her he found the passion which warms ; through him she
found the reason that steadies. She no longer was tossed from this to
that, but had some things in which she could trust, some ideas by which
she could bold firm ; and his life was no longer that of an observer from
a lonely standpoint, but the intense existence of eager participation, striv-
ins: for the best. — Ihid.

This unity of life means pain as well as joy ; to disintegrate a double
spiritual life is like disintegrating a physical life, which produces agony.
She had suffered it all a thousand times in anticipation ; he, man-like, did
not know what it meant until it was upon him. — Ihid.

To fertilize an arid grief, one must strike deep, even to the waters of
truth, which underlie all lives as streams underlie all lands. — Ihid.

106 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Superficial treatment cures no disease; it but forces it onward to work
destruction on the vital organs. Iler desire to find pleasure in exterior
things, so that she might forget the hollowness beneath, took from her
interior strength. — Ibid.

Is there any art that expresses religion so well as music ? The craving,
the aspiration, the harmony, the insubstantiality, which comes so near
being pure spirituality — what more like religion ? Then, the innumerable
chords, the notes so distant, yet the same. — Ibid.

A girl's face which seemed a human type akin to that of the landscape
[on the Cornice road]. It was not lacking in strength, but showed a pre-
eminent refinement, which was full of passionate sensitiveness. — Ibid.

The features were finely cut, and the complexion of a clear pallor,
which made more forceful the long eyebrows slightly curving over large
hazel eyes, and the golden-brown hair which was drawn simply away from
a forehead capable of much serenity. In animation the changes of warm
sunshine and soft shadow which characterized the view were here also.
But in repose a sadness of expression settled upon the face, often seen in
countenances expressing at once youth and earnestness. — Ibid.

Her mental horizon reminded her of the desert she had so lately trav-
ersed ; long sable dunes sweeping away, with no boundary but the sky ;
waves of sand, changing under the wind, to break only into other tawny
waves, and, while changing, ever the same. — Ibid.

Her heart slept, as did nature around her, under the starry, purple sky.
Presently the dawn would come ; and what would the light awaken that
was now wrapped in dewy silence? It was winter now ; the plant was
there, but no bud; what fruit, then, would ripen in the summer sunlight?
—Ibid.

Within the convex mirror, which was turned to the world on every
side, there grew a personality as surely, as silently, as crystals form in the
still sea-caves. And this personality had a magnetism which no one un-
derstood, least of all, perhaps, herself. — Ibid.

It is only the aflHuence of love, falling like rain upon the just and the
unjust, which makes any one the recipient of devotion from another.
Love comes to us rather for what we should be than what we are. — Ibid.

She was finding out that it is not an infallible rule to do as one would
be done by. Some natures are diametrically opposed. — Ibid.

On either side ancient and modern villas rose, among shimmering olive-
groves, whose leaves stirred in the sunny air, and caught lights never
twice the same. — Ibid.

Notes and Discussions. 107

Hyacinths and harebells, violets and anemones, and the voluptuous
narcissi, passionate as a southern beauty, Nature's unseen incense, rising
around them, seemed to have permeated Beth ; her liquid eyes were elo-
quent of mysteries half revealed, of truths whose fragrance came to her
as the flower-scents did, — Ibid.

Over her face, as she gazed, swept the expression of many unuttered,
uncomprehended thoughts. The beauty oppressed while it exalted her.
She would have liked to be the life of the earth, the warmth in the air,
the light in the sun. — Ibid.

Such dainty fingers — feeling fingers — too ! Persons have such different
hands ! Mine, now, they are large, and not a bit pretty ; but I can feel,
can see with them, as if each finger had an eye. If I were blind, I think
I could almost tell the color of your little rose-leaf hands. — Ibid.

A slender figure, all in white, with a crimson rose against the throat ; a
head exultantly carried ; a fair face, with dark eyes shining joyously, was
what she saw. She could not help smiling as she tucked back a wilful
lock of hair. It surely was more golden than usual to-day, because it
knew he liked it so. — Ibid.

We are alone in the world together ; we are outside the limits of so-
ciety, and our only aim should be to keep our conscience free, our lives
noble. Remember, I do not think it any gift of mine that you hold my
faith. I do not give it; it is yours. — Ibid.

She leaned against the railing, and watched the seething waves, with
thoughts which were incoherent and perturbed, and restless as they. The
pristine clearness of her mind was beaten to an opaque mass by the re-
peated shocks of circumstance against emotion. It seemed to her that
the whirling, eddying, foaming track would deafen her with its conflict;
and yet she must be quick to hear both the voices within and without,
and to distinguish which edicts were the right. — Ibid.

You talk of suffering being pure waste ; I tell you it is pure gain.
You talk of self being the motive to exertion ; I tell you it is the abne-
gation of self which has wrought out all that is noble, all that is good and
useful. — Ibid.

The outline of her face and figure was clearly cut against the dark-blue
damask, while an eager ray of sunlight flowed and rested on the bronzed
gold of her hair. — Ibid.

She let her eyes follow the forms of trees and slender campanili to
the deep sky, and rest there with a yearning too impersonal for sorrow
or for pleasure. The sea affected her in the same way ; the ocean stretch-

108 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ing out to the sky, the sky curving down to the sea, seemed to her like
a great truth bending over an earnest mind, and she never wearied of such
sublime monotony. — Ibid.

The roaring tenor notes, the throbbing pain of the baritone, the earthly
despair of the bass, the organ sending its dirge-like tones through the
solemn arches, which now echoed to the joyous peal of resurrection, and
again to the subsiding hush of peace attained, to all this she responded
with a spell-bound intensity ; and as at last she bent her hcad^ on the
cushion before her, who will say that the great yearning in her heart was
not a prayer ? — Ibid.

Her attention was aroused, and this was all he wanted. Indifference
is the one thing to be dreaded when one wishes to make a friend. And,
during the long hours of resurrecting spring sunshine, while he worked,
as well as the starry nights, when he dreamed, he had allowed his fancies
to caress the thought of securing a friendship which should indemnify him
for the disappointments life had given him to bear. — Ibid.

She was in many ways as transparent as crystal to him. He saw her
innocence, her purity, with as reverential recognition as Indians would
see the limpid ball into which they believe pure hands can roll water. —
Ibid.

She would as soon suspect an apple-tree of poisoning her as a friend of
harming her. Some trees did, she knew, but hers were not of that kind.
—Ibid.

He was verifying preconceived ideas with a sense of the fitness of
thiniTS, which was indescribably keen ; and Bcthesda glided from surprise
to surprise in finding that M. d'Isten had a multitude of opinions like
hers, only more developed and posed ; and that there were a number of
points they had each reached with equal certitude by widely diverging
paths. Each hour showed how much farther back than their acquaintance
dated their mutual tendencies to each other. — Ibid.

Madame Mabelle was fairly entangled in the meshes of her silk em-
broiderv. Bethesda sat leaning her head, with its low masses of bronzed
gold, against the passionate color. She looked somewhat sad, as usual, in
repose. Her hands were crossed listlessly ; sn)all, maidenly, firm hands,
capable of all devotion, so delicate yet strong were they. — Ibid.

The glowiii<r ruby clasping the words, " Let not grass grow on the path
of friendship," seemed a direct answer to her doubts. "I wonder who it
was made for," mused the girl. ..." Perhaps for some Christian maiden,
whose lover gave her this as -a betrothal ring; that diamond might be the

Notes and Diacuninionii. 109

virgiu who was enwrapped in the folds of his lieart. Or, perhaps, the
o-em might be a tear, too — it was the symbol of a love which should last
through the circle of eternity, even though grief lay in its midst." —
Jbid.'^

Women take so much upon themselves ; they feel the weight of the
universe, of every man who likes them, upon their shoulders. They never
seem to remember that men are also reasonable beings, quite able to take
care of themselves . . . Leave each his independence of action, men as
well as women ... If we carry our own trials worthily, it is as much
as we are able to do — often more ! — Ibid.

" Thro' love to light ! Oh, wonderful the way
That leads from darkness to the perfect day !
From darkness and the dolor of the night,
To morning that comes ringing o'er the sea.
Thro' love to light ! thro' light, God ! to Thee,
Who art the light of love, the eternal light of light."

R. W. Gilder. — Ibid, [motto of last chapter].

DE. EVERARD, TRANSLATOR OF ^'HERMES TRISMEGISTUS:'

[We have received the following note from Prof. R. E. Thompson, of
the University of Pennsylvania. — The Editor.]

The translator of " Hermes Trismegistus," Dr. John Everard, the trans-
lator of "The Divine Pymander" — strictly "Poemander" — was an Eng-
lish divine of the reign of Charles I. In his earlier life he was a Calvinist
of the ordinary type, and distinguished chiefly for his zeal in preaching
against the Spanish Marriage, for which he was sent to prison, as also
" for holding conventicles." But he afterward fell in with some of the
mystical writers, was brought to change his theological perspective, and
became as zealous a preacher <»f that as he had been of Calvinism. But
he did not lose his interest in the struggle for liberty. While Laud was still
at the height of his power, Dr. Everard foretold his overthrow. "My
friends (said he), remember and mark my words; you now see the Bis-
hops high, great, and swelling, grasping all the power of both Church
and State into their hands ; but if ever you live to see a settled Parlia-
ment in England — I mean a Parliament having power in themselves, so
that the King may not (as he hitherto hath) at his pleasure break them
off, which will be ere long — you shall see the utter downfall of Bishops."
His last summons before the Court of High Commission was just after

110 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that rising of the Scotch which proved to be " the beginnintr of tlie end."
He reported of his judges : "I do observe by their countenances, their
hearts fail ; for I see very bad in their eyes." His historian says : " He
lived to see Strafford and Canterbury put under the Black Rod \_i. e.,
under arrest, in 1640], and then he was gathered to his fathers."

After his death (in 1641) appeared his "Gospel Treasures Opened, or
the Holiest of all Unvailing," edited by Rapha Harford, with the "ap-
probation " of Dr. Thomas Brooke as censor. There are three J^nglish
editions — 1653, 1659, and 1679. A Dutch translation appeared in 1688.
The first edition was reprinted by Christopher Saur, of Germantown, in
1757. In 1773 Anthony Benezet extracted from it " A Supposition of
Two Drops of Water Reasoning Together," and published it among other
mystical tracts. In 1819 a little volume of extracts from his sermons
was published in Philadelphia, along with Rapha Harford's account of
their author.

To the second and third editions of his sermons are appended transla-
tions from Johann Derek, the Anabaptist mystic ; from " Dionysius the
Areopagite " ; from Johann Tauler, and two anonymous authors of the
same school. He also translated the " Deutsche Theologie " from the
Latin version of Sebastian Castellio, but its appearance was anticipated by
the publication of John Deacin's version in 16(?). It lies in MS. in the
Library of Cambridge L^niversity, of which Dr. Everjird was a graduate.

His translation of the " Poemander of Hermes Trisniegistus" was pub-
lished in 1650, and again in 1657. An American edition appeared in
Boston in 1871, edited by Paschal Beverly Randolph, and published by
the Rosicrucian Publishing Company. The most accessible edition of
the Greek text is that published in Berlin by Fr. Nicolai, edited by Gustav
Parthey, in 1854. It is based on a careful comparison of the MSS., and
has a Latin version based on that of Marsilius Ficinus (1493). R. E. T.

THE CONCORD SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY.

The Concord Summer School will open its ninth term on Wednesday, July l.S, 1887,
at 9. .So A.M., and will continue above two weeks. The lectures in each week will be
eleven ; they will be given morninj: and evening, except Saturday evening, on the six
secular days (in the morning at 9.30 o'clock, and in the evening at 7.30), at the Hillside
Chapel, near the Orchard House.

The terms will be *5 for each full week; for all the lectures, 810. Single tickets, at
50 cents each, may be bought at the shop of H. L. Whitcomb, in Concord, after July
lUth, in packages of ten for $4.50, and of three for $1.40. Any one to whom this circular
is sent can now engage course tickets by making application, and sending 85 as a guar-
anty. For those who make this deposit, tickets will be reserved till the tenth day of

Notes and Discussions. Ill

July, and can then be obtained by payment of the balance due. They entitle the holder
to reserved seats. Visitors coming and going daily during the term may reach Concord
from Boston by the Fitchburg Railroad, or the Middlesex Central ; from Lowell, Ando-
ver, etc., by the Lowell and Framingham Railroads; from Southern Middlesex and
Worcester Counties by the same road. The Orchard House stands on the Lexington
Road, east of Concord village, adjoining the Wayside estate, formerly the residence of
Mr. Hawthorne.
Lodgings with board may be obtained at the following houses in Concord village :

Miss E. Barrett, Monument Street. Mrs. Kent, Main Street.

Mrs. O'Brien, Monument Square. Mrs. Goodnow, Main Street.

Mrs. B. F. Wheeler, Belknap Street. Mrs. How, Hubbard Street.

Lodgings without board can be obtained in the neighborhood of each of the above-
named houses. Visitors will make their own arrangements without consulting the

undersigned.

A. Bronson Alcott, Dean.

S. H. Emery, Jr., Director.

F. B. Sanborn, Secretary.

Concord, June 10, 1887.

LECTURES AT THE NINTH SESSION OF THE CONCORD
SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY.

July 13-30, 1887.

There will be two courses, morning and evening, beginning at 9.30 a. m., on Wednes-
day, July 13, 1887 — the topics as follows, and the names of lecturers subject to change
hereafter :

Twelve Morning Lectures on Aristotle.

" Aristotle's Doctrine of Reason," by Prof. W. T. Harris, of Concord, Mass.

" Aristotle's Theory of Causation," by Dr. Edmund Montgomery, of Texas.

" Aristotle and the Scholastic Philosophy," by Prof. Thomas Davidson, of Orange,
N.J.

" The Ethics of Aristotle," by Rev. Dr. A. P. Peabody, of Harvard University.

" Theory of the Infinite — Aristotle and Kant," by Prof. H. N. Gardiner, of Smith
College.

" Aristotle and the Christian Church," by Brother Azarias, of Rock Hill College, Md.

" Aristotle's Physiological Doctrines," by Fillmore Moore, M. D., of New York.

" Aristotle's Theory of the Syllogism Compared with that of Hegel," by Prof. W. T,
Harris, of Concord, Mass.

" Aristotle's Politics and Montesquieu's Esprit des Lois," by Prof. LuiGi Ferri, Uni-
versity of Rome, Italy.

" Social Science in Plato and Aristotle," by Mr. F. B. Sanborn, of Concord, Mass.

" Aristotle on Education," By F. L. Soldan, LL. D., of St. Louis.

" Friendship in Aristotle's Ethics," by Mrs. Ellen M. Mitchell, of Denver, Col.

Ten Evening Lectures on Dramatic Poetry.

"The Poetics of Aristotle in its Application to the Drama," by Prof. Thomas David-
son, of Orange, N. J.

112

The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

" Tlie Dramatic Element in the Greek Drama and the Norse Edda," by Prof. W. T.

Harris, of Concord, Mass.
" Sliakespeare's Poetics," by Rev. Dr. C. A. Bartol, of Boston.
" The Divine Nemesis in the Greek Drama and in Shakespeare," by Prof. C. C. Shack-

FORD, of Brookline, Mass.
" The Collision of Individuals with Institutions in the Greek and the English Drama,"

by Mr. Edwin D. Mkad, of Boston.
" Aristophanes and the Elizabethan Drama," by Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, of Boston.
" Marlowe and his Successors," by Mr. F. B. Sandorn, of Concord, Mass.
" Ford and Massinger," by Mrs. E. D. Cheney, of Boston.
" Schiller's Relation to Aristotle," by Dr. JrLius Goebel, of Baltimore.
" Browning's Dramatic Genius," by Rev. George Willis Cooke, of Dedham, Mass.

Four brief papers on " Ontology," in two or three sessions, will follow the above
courses.

One of these will be given by Prof. Davidson, another by Dr. Montgomery, a third by
Prof. Harris, and the fourth by some lecturer still to be announced.

THE DATES OF THE LECTURES WILL BE AS FOLLOWS:

July, 1887 :

13th, 9.30 A. M., Prof. Harris.

7.30 P. M., Prof. Davidson.
14th, 9. A. M., Dr. Montgomerj'.

7.30 p. M., Prof. Shackford.
15th, 9.30 A. M., Prof. Davidson.

7.30 P. M., Mr. Sanborn.
16th, 9.30 A. M., Rev. Dr. Peabody.
18th, 9.30 A. M., Prof. Gardiner.

7.30 p. M., Prof. Harris.
19th, 9.30 A. M., Brother Azarias.

7.30 p. M., Mrs. Howe.
20th, 9.30 A. M., Prof. Harris.

7.30 p. M., Mr. E. D. Mead.

JuiY, 1887 :

2l6t, 9.:«) A. M., Dr. Moore.

7.30 P. M., Mrs. Cheney.
22d, 9.30 A. M., Prof. Ferri.

7.30 p. M., Dr. Goebel.
23d, 9..30 A. M., Dr. Bartol.
25th, 9.30 A. M., Mr. Sanborn.

7.30 P. M., Mr. G. W. Cooke.
26th, 9.80 A. M., Mrs. E. M. Mitchell.

7.30 P. M., Prof. Davidson.
27th, 9..30 A. M., Dr. Soldan.

7.30 p. M., Dr. Montgomery.
28th, 9.;W A. M., Prof. Harris.

7.30 p. M., Prof. Harris.

These dates are subject to change, but only in one or two instances. Additional
lectures may be given on the 29th and 30th of July. With the exception of July 23d
and 28th, the morning lectures will all relate to Aristotle. The morning hour in all
cases is 9.30, and the evening hour 7.30.

June 10, 1887.

THE JOURNAL

OF.

SPECULATIYE PHILOSOPHY.

Vol. XXI.] Apkil, 1887. [No. 2.

CRITIQUE OF KANTIAN PHILOSOPHY.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF PROF. DR. KUNO FISCHER, BY W. S. HOUGH.

Chapter IV. — {Concluded.)
II. Examination of the Doctrines of Freedom and Develojyment.

' 1. Schopenhauer's " Critique of the Kantian Philosophy."

In his " Critique of the Kantian Philosophy " — which is based
upon the second edition of the chief work — Schopenhauer has
accounted the same the highest product which the history of phi-
losophy has Ijrought forth. It is related to the old metaphysics
of the nature of things (God, the world, and the soul) as the true
view of the world to the false, or as the new chemistry to alchemy.
And even the profound idealistic systems of old time — which, as
the religion of India and the Platonic philosophy, had attained
the insight that our sense-world is only conceived and phenome-
nal — are related to the Kantian doctrine as the incorrectly estab-
lished truth to that which is correctly established, or as the helio-
centric view of the world of a Pythagorean to that of Copernicus.
At the same time the Kantian philosophy wants both complete-
ness and consistency. Its two chief merits are accompanied by
two chief errors. Its greatest merit consists in the "■ distinction
of phenomenon from thing-in-itself," from which " the complete
XXI— 8

114: The Journal of Speculative PinlosopJiy.

diversity of the Real and the Ideal" and the merely conceived or
phenomenal (hence not real) beiniLr of our sense-world become ap-
parent. Its second merit consists in the " knowledge of the un-
deniable moral meaning of human conduct, as entirely diflferent
from and not dependent upon the laws of ]>henomena, nor even
explicable in accordance with them, but as something that is im-
mediately connected with the thing-in-itself."' '

The first of the two main errors of Kant, Schopenhauer finds in
the fact that he has not clearly distinguished between sensible and
abstract or reflective knowledge. This has led to irremediable
confusion, now by falsely confounding, now by falsely opposing
the tM'o sorts of knowledge. Thus Kant has denied sensible
knowledge to the understanding — as if there could be a visible
sense-world without understanding; and has treated reason, not
as the faculty of abstract or reflective knowledge by means of
judgments and conclusions, but as that of principles and moral
conduct, while, in truth, it only determines the rules according
to which prudent conduct is regulated. Moral or virtuous and
reasonable or prudent are by no means synonymous. The Machia-
vellian policy is not virtuous, but it is, indeed, clever and reason-
able, while sacrificing generosity is quite as virtuous as it is un-
wise. From the sensible knowledge of the understanding there
arises the abstract, through the faculty of reflection or thought
(reason). Hence sensible ])erceptions are related to notions, as
sensible objects to thought-objects, or as " piienomena " to " nou-
mena," but not as appearances to things-in-themselves ; for ab-
stract notions represent nothing but appearances. Kant's treat-
ment of the difference between phenomena and noumena as equiv-
alent to the difference between appearances and things-in-them-
selves, and his consequent designation of the latter as noumena,
has proved a mischievous and fatal error, growing out of that first
fundamental one."

The sec'ond main error which conflicts with the idealistic ground-
view of the "Critique of Reason " consists in the false introduc-
tion of the tliing-in-itself as the external cause of our sensations.
It is not the recognition of a tliing-in-itself to a given phenomenon

' Schopenliiiuer, " Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung," vol. i, Appendix (5th ed., 1879),
pp. 494-500.

2 Ibid., pp. 513 and 517, 563-566, 610-614.

Critique of Kantian Philomphy. 115

that is erroneous, but this method of deducing it, which, as we see,
proved so troublesome to the second edition of the "Critique" in
its " Refutation of Idealism," " No one imasrines that he knows
the ' Critique of Reason,' and has a clear notion of Kant's doc-
trine, when he has read the ' Critique ' only in the second or in
one of the following editions ; that is absolutely impossible, for
he has read only a mutilated, corrupted, and in some measure
spurious text." ^ It is equivalent to a contradiction of the ideal-
istic ground-view of the Kantian doctrine to regard the thing-in
itself, according to the law of causality, as the external cause of
our sensations. And it is equivalent to an utter misconstruction
and denial of the entire Kantian doctrine to reject the thing-in-
itself altogether, or to deny it reality — i. e., the character of origi-
nal being, as has recently been done in some of the latest periodi-
cals. Schopenhauer unjustly attempted to ascribe this view of
the Kantian system — which he was wont to call " nonsensical
tittle-tattle " — to the philosopher Fichte, who, on the contrary, had
maintained, like Schopenhauer, that the logically consistent cri-
tique of reason could never teach the external existence and caus-
ality of things-in-themselves,^ and had, like him, denied the un-
knowableness of the same, and held that the thing-in-itself is to be
immediately known in our self-consciousness, that it is so known,
and, indeed, as loill.

We have here no interest in further pursuing Schopenhauer's
criticism of the Kantian doctrine of knowledge, since that would
necessarily lead to an examination of his own doctrine, which saw
itself obliged, follov/ing its distinction between understanding and
reason, between the sensible knowledge of the one and the ab-
stract knowledge of the other, to reject entirely Kant's doctrine of
the categories of the understanding and the postulates of reason.
In the two chief points which constitute the character of the
system — namely, in the doctrine of the ideality of all phenomena
(objects) and of the reality of the thing-in-itself, which is complete-
ly independent of and different from all phenomena — Schopenhauer
is agreed with Kant, and has sought to develop his own system: —
I'he World as Will and Idea — in accordance with these principles.
In his view respecting the ground-work of the Kantian philosophy

^ Schopenhauer, " Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung," vol. i, pp. 515-517.
"^ Cf. supra, pp. 160, 161.

1 16 The Journal of Specxdative Philosophy.

we must concur; also in his view that the confusion of phenome-
na and things-in-themselves conflicts with this ground-work ; also
in his view that thin£js-in-themselves are confounded with phe-
nomena when they are recognized as things external to us, and as
the external causes of our sensations ; also in his view that in the
" Refutation of Idealism," as developed in the second edition of
the " Critique," things external to us do figure as something in-
dependent of all thought, and accordingly as things-in-themselves.
When, however, Schopenhauer holds that not merely the external
causality of things-in-themselves, but their causality in general, is
irreconcilable with the Kantian doctrine — since, according to the
latter, the notion of causality in general is inapplicable to things-in-
themselves — we can not agree with him either in that such a view
contains the contradiction claimed by him, or in that the first
edition of the " Critique " is free from this contradiction, if it were
one. That things-in-themselves are the snpersensible substratum
or hidden ground of the constitution of our reason, hence also that
of our sensations and world of sense, Kant himself declared to be
" the constant assertion of his criticism." It never occurred to
him to apply temporal or sensible causality to things-in-themselves;
their causality is the timeless or intelligible, just as their reality is
not temporal but timeless being.' If Schopenhauer will recognize
the validitv of no other than time-causalitv, that is his affair, and
belongs to the exposition and criticism of his system, with which
we are not now concerned. He censures Kant because he ascribes
causality to things-in-themselves. Why does he commend his
affirmation of their reality f It has been difficult enough for
Schopenhauer himself, and a wholly futile attempt withal, to
ascribe to the thing-in-itself (will) original being, and at the same
time to deny to it causality. After I have shown in what points
I agree with Schopenhauer concerning the difference between the
two editions of the " Critique of Reason " and the contradiction in
the Kantian doctrine of knowledge, I must express the wish that,
respecting this very question, those points shall not be overlooked
in which I differ from him.

2. The Connection between the Doctrines of Knowledge and Freedom.
The Kantian doctrine of knowledge, subject to the contradic-
tion pointed out, conflicts with the doctrine of freedom. Free

' Cf. mpra. Chap. I, Part III, Sec. 2, and Chap. II, Part II, Sec. 1.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 117

from this contradiction, it establishes the possibility of freedom,
and, indeed, it alone among all systems. For there is no doubt
that, according to this doctrine, the thing-in-itself, absolutely dis-
tinguished from all phenomena and absolutely independent of space
and time, is and can be nothing other than freedom or will. We
have already elucidated this point with such explicitness that
there are neither new grounds to be given nor single Kantian
sentences to be cited for its substantiation.' The three " Critiques "
may be taken as the autlientic documents for tlie doctrine : The
" Critique of Pure Reason " in its doctrine of intelligible and em-
pirical character, the " Critique of Practical Reason " in its doc-
trine of the reality of freedom and the primacy of will, and the
" Critique of Judgment " in its doctrine of natural adaptation and
immanent natural ends, as well as of final moral ends and the
original ground of the world. After Kant has shown with such
fulness and clearness the connection of his doctrines of knowledge
and freedom, or, what is the same thing, the identity between
thing-in-itself and will, we cannot possibly think, with Schopen-
hauer, that the matter only hovered dimly before him, like a pre-
sentiment ; and that he recognized the thing-in-itself as will, not
with the conviction of the philosopher, but as

" Ein guter Menscli in seinem dunkeln Drange
1st sich des rechten Weges wohl bewusst." °

"I therefore venture to assume," said Schopenhauer, "although it
is not to be proved, that Kant, as often as he spoke of the thing-
in-itself, always thought in the obscurest depths of his mind indis-
tinctly of will." ' But, after Schopenhauer himself has recognized
the " distinction of phenemenon from thing-in-itself" and the
"knowledge of the undeniable import of human conduct as some-
thing that is immediately connected with the thing-in-itself," as
the two greatest services of our philosopher, and has extolled
his doctrines of time and space and of intelligible and empirical
character as " the two diamonds in the crown of Kantian fame,"
we are compelled to regard the sentence just cited not only as an

' Vid. Chap. II, Part II.

2 " A good man, through obscurest aspiration,
Has still an instinct of the one true way."

Faust: Prologue. (Taylor's translation.)
^ Schopenhauer, " Die Welt als Wills und Vorstellung," vol. i, p. 599.

118 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

imperfect and less commendatory estimate of the services of Kant,
bnt as an obvious contradiction of this his own statement. Kant
knew wliat he taught when he apprehended things-in-themselves
as Ideas, tliese as ends, these as determinations of will, and the
will itself as freedom, which, altiiou^h revealed to us with imme-
diate and absolute certainty only in our own moral being, is never-
theless necessarily identical with '' that supersensible which we
are obliged to ]>osit as underlying nature as phenomenon " — i. e.,
M-ith the thing-in-itself.'

3. The Contradiction in the Doctrine of Freedom.

Between the logically consistent doctrine of knowledge of Kant
and the doctrine of freedom there is no contradiction, but the
deepest and most perfect harmony. To have discovered and ex-
pounded this harmony is the immortal service and stroke of origi-
nal thought which has made the Kantian philosophy what it is.

The doctrine of freedom demands a system of morals absolutely
free from hedonism, elevated entirely above every eudemonistic
view of life, and thus above all strife between optimism and
pessimism. Kant himself, in separating virtue from happiness,
developed such an ethics, but when in his doctrine of the sumtnum
hojiuin he united them, this high ethical ground was virtually
abandoned. After all eudemonistic aims in life had been utterly
shut out in a system of ethics based upon freedom and the purity of
will, they should not have been introduced by the doctrines of the
summum hoiutm and of the immortality of the soul. We were
already ol)liged earlier in the discussion, in order to set forth clear-
ly Kant's doctrine of immortality, and to distinguish the true con-
ception of it from the false, to point out this contradiction, in his
doctrine of freedom, and may here avoid all repetition by referring
to those remarks.*

4. The Contradiction between the Doctrines of Knowledge and Development.

That Kant had already furthered the historical-develoi^ment
view of things before the " Critique of Keason," and had made it
his working problem ; that he had established this view by means

' Cf. mprn, Ch:i\\ III, Part III, Sec. 3.

2 Vid. supra. Chap. II, Part III, Sec. 2. Cf. Schopenhauer, " Die Welt als VVille und
Vorstellung," vol. i, pp. 620-622.

Critique of Kantian Philosoj)hy. 119

of the " Critique," and had developed its principles in his treat-
ment of both nature and human civilization, or tlie whole organic,
social, and moral world — all this has been pointed out in a previ-
ous section.' AVe have also shown that, according to his doctrine,
the world-development is to be apprehended ?<& ijhenomenon^ and,
in fact, as teleologlcal phenomenon ; that in its unit}'' as well as in
its ultimate ground it is nothing other than the j^^'ogressive reve-
lation of freedom^ We therefore regarded Kant's doctrine of
development as a unification of his doctrines of knowledge and
freedom, and the world-development itself as a unification of
phenomenon and thing-in-itself, and as such a unification as nei-
ther confounds both nor negates itself by holding the unknowa-
bleness of the thing-in-itself, on the ground that, as the immanent
end of a thing, it is not to be found in the phenomenon, as the ob-
ject of our experience, by even the minutest analysis. There is,
accordingly, a point of view from which the Kantian doctrine of
development does not^ in the first place, conflict with the doctrine
of knowledge.

We must conceive the developtnent of things teleologically,
grasp it universally. We must extend its application to the en-
tire universe, but its knowableness must be limited to the moral
order of things, since all ends become known merely from the
will, and the will only from one's own practical reason. Conse-
quently, the development of things, like ends in general, remains
theoretically unknowable. Since, now, all phenomena are objects
of our experience or scientific (theoretical) knowledge, and devel-
opment is phenomenon, and yet held not to be an object of knowl-
edge, there confronts us here a contradiction between the Kantian
doctrines of knowledge and development, which effects the valid-
ity of the latter. It consists in ascribing the character of phe-
nomenon to development, and at the same time denying its scien-
tific knowableness. The Kantian philosophy teaches the unknow-
ableness of thing-in-itself and the knowableness of phenomenon :
this, its foundation-doctrine, is shattered as soon as it sees itself
obliged to recoo;nize either the knowableness of the former or the
un knowableness of the latter. To such a recognition it is brought

* Vid. supra^ Chap. Ill, Parts I and II.
« Vid. supra, Chap. Ill, Part III.

120 The Journal of Speculative Philosopfiy.

by its doctrine of development. "Without the knowledge of the
end or of the thing-in-itself which underlies the development of
things, this development is an incomprehensible, unknowable phe-
nomenon, and therefore, in strictness, no phenomenon at all. If
the immanent end of things is not apparent to us, then certainly
there appears to us no development in the nature of things.
Hence the Kantian doctrine of development finds itself in the
following dilemma : either the intelligible, knowable — i. e., phe-
nomenal — character of development must be denied, or the know-
ableness of the thing-in-itself affirmed ; and, indeed, not merely
its practical and moral knowableness, but also its theoretical and
scientific.

///. Examination of the Doctrine of Phenomena and Things-

in-thejnselves.

1. The KnowableneBS of Human Reason.

The scientific validity of the doctrine of development demands
this affirmation. Hence the Kantian doctrine of knowledge does
not admit of permanent acceptance in the form it received in the
" Critique of Keason," in accordance with which only sensuous
phenomena are objects of knowledge, and all theoretical knowl-
edge is confined to the realm of phenomena or objects of sense,
while all practical knowledge remains restricted to the realm of
freedom or of Ideas, and any further knowledge is impossible.
But the " Critique of Reason " contradicts this result itself, inas-
much as it is obliged to admit the existence of a sort of knowl-
edge which is neither practical (moral) nor has sensible things or
phenomena for its objects. This knowledge is the Critique it-
self^ so far as it discovers and establishes along the line of its in-
vestigation the conditions of experience. It professes to have de-
termined in its Transcendental (esthetic and analytic the consti-
tution or organization of human reason. This knowledge is no
practical one, for its subject is not freedom ; and the objects
of this knowledge are not phenomena, since space and time are,
as the " Critique " teaches, not phenomena any more than the
productive imagination, the pure understanding, or the pure
consciousness are phenomena. This knowledge is not experi-
ence, for its objects are precisely those conditions which pre-
cede all experience and make it possible. All knowledge which

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 121

aims in the first place only at insights, and not at conduct,
must be termed theoretical and scientific. Such a knowledge
is presented in the " Critique of Reason " ; it is neither em-
pirical nor practical, but indeed theoretical, and such as lays
claim to the character of science : it is the Doctrine of Knowl-
edge ; and that it would not be if its doctrine of knowledge were
not knowledge. It establishes the knowledge of experience by
showing liow experience originates ; and it would fail of its end
entirely if it itself were experience, for that would be tantamount
to establishing experience by experience, hence not establishing
it at all, but presupposing it, as the dogmatic philosophy had done.
Nor may one here object that Kant, then, has used the inductive
method of experimental science in establishing his doctrine of
knowledge, so that the ''Critique of Reason" itself rests on
experience. Let ns not deceive ourselves by an ambiguous
play with the word experience! In strictness, our philosopher
recognizes only that knowledge the objects of which are phe-
nomena., while, on the contrary, the " Critique of Reason " vir-
tually leads to a sort of knowledge the objects of which are not
phenomena, but are the subjective conditions of phenomenon ^^r
se. The fact of experience is one thing, its establishment another.
Whatever is established by experience is eTnpirically known ;
that, on the contrary, by which experience itself is established is
precisely, on that account, no object of empirical, but only of
transcendental knowlede-e. These two sorts of knowledge Kant
must have distinguished in the way that he did. Transcendental
knowledge has the character of theoretical, as opposed to practical,
but not that of empirical knowledge. We thus see how the
" Critique of Reason " transcends in its own insights the bounds
which it itself had set as the insurmountable limits of all theoreti-
cal knowledge.

The insight into the subjective conditions from which our phe-
nomena (objects of experience) and the knowledge of them origi-
nate, constituted Transcendental Idealism ; the insight thereby
gained, that we can have no other objects of knowledge than
sensuous phenomena, constituted Empirical Realism. We know
what necessary connection subsists between them : they are re-
lated as premise and conclusion. JMothing is therefore more
thoughtless, when judging of the critical philosophy, than to leave

122 The Journal of Speculative Philomphy.

the character of transcendental idealism, whether through iuno-
rance or misconception, entirely out of sight, and to proclaim the
Kantian doctrine empiricism, as often happens these days.

The "Critique of Reason" involves the problem of deducing
from the nature of our reason — which is revealed to us onlv
through the most penetrating self-knowledge — the conditions of
experience (" faculties of knowledge," Kant termed them), and
thus of developing the doctrine of knowledge to a veritable doctrine
of the process of knowledge. This problem remains unsolved in
the Kantian philosophy itself; but we have shown that the
" Critique of Reason " contains the data for such a solution, and
that its investigations are ordered in such a way that it shows us
the elements of the course of development of human knowledge
from perception to science and the system of the sciences.' Xow,
the doctrine of knowledge itself is scientific knowledge ; and tlie
doctrine of development founds itself upon the notion of end.,
without which no sort of development as such is intelligil)le.
Hence this notion may not be regarded merely as a moral princi-
ple for the knowledge of the moral order of things, and a maxim
of reflection for contemplating the organic Avorld; it is ?i. principle
of knowledge which is valid tor the entire knowable order of the
world, the natural as well as the moral.

2. The Knowableness of Human Natural-ends and of Blind Intelligence.

Let us examine the reason why Kant limited the knowableness
of ends to the moral, and excluded it from the natural world —
why he saw himself obliged to deny knowableness to the imma-
nent natural-end, which he had introduced into his ''Critique of
Reason " as a necessary Idea in our contemplation of the organic
world, and as the principle of teleological judgment. lie held
that ends are only so far knowable as they are consciously pos-
sessed and willed; that only will and intelligence can posit ends
and act in accordance with them ; that consequently nature or the
material world has no ends — no knowable ones ; and that therefore
the ends also, without which we are unable to comprehend the
origination and constitution of living bodies, are not forces opera-
tive in nature, not knowable objects, but mere Idea^, which we

' Vid. supra, Chap. Ill, Part II, Sec. 2. Cf. Fischer, " Gesch. d. n. Philos.," vol. iii
3d ed.), p. 619, et acq.

Critique of Kantian Pliilosophy. 123

must have, since, although in organized bodies the parts should be
understood in the liglit of the whole, we, with our discursive un-
derstanding, can only put togetlier and comprehend the whole from
the parts. We are consequently incapable of perceiving a whole
composed of parts and members ; and since we cannot know it
as the creative ground of life, we must conceive it as its end. The
whole, which we are to conceive, but cannot perceive sensibly as
object, we are obliged to think as Idea., and hence we are com-
pelled to consider living bodies teleoloijlcally . Had we an intuitive
understanding, we should not need a faculty of teleological judg-
ment. In this faculty our reason takes refuge, as it w'ere, in its
weakness, developing it out of its own primitive powers, because
it needs it to compensate, as well as may be, for its native inca-
pacity. By the way in which Kant establishes the reflective
judgment in general, and the teleological in particular, it presents
itself as a necessary ^/crwi. of development oi\\\xvci.?^xi reason, w^hicli
seeks to solve a problem, to supply a needed knowledge, and can
attain its goal with the peculiar constitution of its intellectual
faculties in no other way.'

Ends in nature, therefore, according to the Kantian teaching,
are unknowable and in effect impossible, since they require to be
posited by will and intelligence; and such an unconscious intelli-
gence, such an end-active yet blind force, contradicts the notion
of matter. Thus hylozoism, which teaches that matter is living
and energized by inherent causes, was regarded by Kant as the
death of all Philosophy of Nature. Since, now, living organized
matter exists, and we cannot conceive of it except as adapted to
ends, Kant was obliged to deduce the end- active underlying force
from the moral ground of things — i. e., from the divine will., and
thus to give his teleological view of life and of the world a theistic
basis. But the immanent natural ends, the Idea of which rules
and guides our teleological judgment, are thereby transformed
into divine purposes, and life itself, as w^ell as all natural develop-
ment, remains unexplained and inexplicable.

The unknowableness of natural ends is based by Kant upon
the impossibility of an unconscious intelligence or of a blind will.
But the reality of such a blind intelligence had already been shown

> Id., vol. iv (3cl ed.), pp. 492-498.

124 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

by Leibnitz in his doctrine of the unconscious or imperceptible
ideas {perceptions petites), a doctrine which he raised to funda-
mental importance in his theory of knowledge. And, in fact,
Kant also was obliged to recognize the knowableness of natural
ends and the unconscious activity of our intellectual faculties. He
recognized it in human nature, though he had denied it in the or-
ganic world. We further the moral ends of life by means of the
"mechanism of instincts" — as Kant terms the impulses of our
natural ends of life — without being conscious of them and willing
them. Our natural interests create that struoftile for existence,
and that increasing complexity of industrial society, from which
issue, unconsciously and without volition, the moral orders of life.
Everywhere where Kant established the necessity of the latter he
laid the greatest stress upon the reality and activity of our purely
natural and at the same time intelligible ends of life.* That we
conceive a common world of sense is a fact that our reflective con-
sciousness finds at hand, but does not create, since it is, the rather,
produced from the material of our impressions by the systematiz-
ing representative faculties of reason, and hence arises through the
non-i*eflective and unconscious activity of intellect. Kant feaw in
the productive imagination this form-giving faculty, which acts
unconsciousl}' in accordance with the laws of pure consciousness,
and constitutes the bond that unites sense and understandins:.
" Synthesis in general is merely the work of the iin agination,, a
hlind though indispensable function of the soul, without which
we should have no knowledge whatever., yet of lohich we are sel-
dom even conscious. But to bring this synthesis to notions — that
is a function which belongs to the understanding, and in the ex-
ercise of which the latter first procures for us knowledge in the
Teal sense.'"'

"When, accordingly, in our contemplation of nature, and espe-
cially organic nature, Kant ascribes only subjective validity and
necessity to the noiioti of end, it conflicts with his theistic doc-
trine, according to which the final end of things, and particularly
the origin of life, is deduced from the original ground of things,
thus recognizing an end-active power, which is by no means a

> Vid. supra, Chap. Ill, Part II, Sec. 3.

' Kant, "Kritik der reinen Yernunft." "Transcend. Analvtik.," ^ 10. Cf. Fischer,
" Gesch. d. n. Philos.," vol. iii (3d ed.), p. 870.

Critique of Kantian PMlosophy . 125

mere idea. When Kant denies the knovxibleness of inlierent
natural ends in general, it conflicts with his doctrine of the natural
ends of human llfe^ which he regarded as a completely knowable
and end-conformable mechanism of instincts, by means of which
the natural historical progress of mankind is forced to a moral
development, and its end unconsciously and without definite aim
promoted, though not of course attained. When Kant denies the
possibility of an unconscious intelligence and an unconscious activ-
ity toward an end — which is necessarily presupposed in the con-
ception of inherent natural ends — it is contradicted not only by
his doctrine of morals in the points just mentioned, but also by
his doctrine of knowledge — that is, by the " Critique of Reason "
itself in its deduction of the pure notions of the understanding,
and especially in its doctrine of the productive imagination^ as
being " a blind but indispensable function of the soul, without
which we should have no knowledge whatever."

3. The Knowableness of Life and of Beauty.

When Kant teaches that all phenomena originate from the
subjective conditions of our reason — i.e., from the material of our
own impressions and the form-giving faculties or the laws of our
thought — it is contradicted by his view of organic phenomena.
According to these conditions, there can be no objects in the
sense-world which are not composed of such parts as precede the
whole; hence Kant also teaches that all phenomena, especially
bodies, are onl}' mechanically knowable. But, now, there are cer-
tain objects with which this relation is reversed. In this case the
whole does not result from the parts, but the parts from the whole.
Every one of such objects is a whole which differentiates, articu-
lates, and develops itself. Such phenomena are living bodies.
Could we perceive a whole before its parts, and derive the latter
from the former, then also an organism would be mechanically
knowable, and hence an object of scientific knowledge in the exact
sense of the word. But that we cannot do, because such a faculty
of perception, such an intuitive understanding, is wanting in us.
We are therefore obliged to derive the constitution and parts of
an organism from the Idea of the whole, and consequently to con-
sider it teleologically.

The character, then, of living bodies consists in their being

126 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

wlioles which articiihite, orojanize, and develop themselves. Now,
let it' be carefully noted that it is not this character of the organ-
ism, but only the teleological idea of the same, which comes to the
account of our reason. What, accordingly, characterizes living
phenomena, and makes them what they are, does not permit of
being determined from the subjective conditions of our impres-
sions and forms of thought, and is not founded in the general, but
in the specific conformity to law or ty])e of the phenomena them-
selves,' If there are living things, Kant explains to us in his
"Critique of Judgment " why we must conceive of them teleologi-
cally. That there are living things, however, or, in other words,
that life appears to us in the sense-world, the " Critique of Rea-
son " and transcendental idealism do not give us to understand.
On the contrary, when we compare the M-ay in which Kant
explains phenomena with the way in which he apprehends the
character and fact ot life, it remains unexplained and inexplicable
that life, as such, appears to us in the natural world. We are
therefore obliged to conclude either that life per se does not
belong in the phenomenal Avorld, or that something appears in it,
which, the criticism of reason, cannot derive from our faculties
of knowledge, neither from sense, nor from understanding, but
which, independently of our ideas and phenomena, underlies life
and constitutes its phenomenon. Now, the fact and phenomenon
of life are undeniable. Its creative ground, since it subsists inde-
pendently of our ideas and phenomena, belongs to things-in-them-
selves, which are to be thought as Ideas and ends, and are, in
truth, loill^ the principle of the intelligible, or moral order of the
world. We are obliged to conceive this creative ground of life as
immanent natural-end — i. (?.,as unconscious intelligence and blind
will, and can now no longer hold this conception to be a mere
Idea, whicii we superadd to the phenomenon of life, since, with-
out the reality and activity of inherent natural ends — i. <?., without
blind will — the fact and j^henomenon of life would not exist at all,
and every addition from the side of our reason would be purpose-
less. That whole, which diflerentiates, articulates, and organizes
itself, is the definite end of life, or the will to live, whicli must

• Cf. Fischer, " Gesch. d. n. Philos.,'' vol. iii (3d ed.), pp. 514-518 ; vol. iv (3d ed.), pp.
403-406.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 127

assert itself by activity, and develop the necessary organs for the
fultihnent of its functiuns.

And what is true of living plienomena must also be true of the
aesthetic. That there is a state of harmon}' and freedom for our
faculties of mind in which, independent of all desire and all inter-
ests of knowledge, we give ourselves to pure contemplation and
enjoyment — that follows from the constitution of our intellectual
nature. ^Esthetic pleasure is a pure subjective state, apart from
which there could be no talk about {esthetic objects. That, how-
ever, in this state of free contemplation this object impresses us
as beautiful, another as ugly, a third as sublime, must be condi-
tioned by the peculiar sort of the phenomena, and permits as little
as the character of life of being derived from the subjective fac-
tors which are the ground of the phenomena and their general
conformity to law. There must, accordingly, be something inde-
pendent of our faculties of reason, which underlies the phenomena
themselves, makes them what they are, and is related to the given
phenomenon, as the intelligible character in us is related to the
empirical. We must add that this something becomes known to
us from the phenomena themselves, although we do not find the
same in the analysis of the given object.

4. The Knowableness of Things-ia-themselves.

This something is the thing-in-itself, the absolute un knowable-
ness of which Kant, it is true, asserted, but in the progress of his
investigations by no means adhered to. On the contrary, in the
Critiques of " Practical Reason " and " Judgment " light was thrown
upon the subject in a way which he had not foreseen in the " Cri-
tique of Pure Reason." "VVe know that he still denied in the second
edition of the latter the possibility of principles, the necessity of
which he thereupon disclosed and made the basis of his critique
of the aesthetic judgment.' This very noteworthy fact must not
be overlooked. And in criticising the Kantian philosophy we
should always remember that it by no means issued from the
" Critique of Pure Reason " as a finished system, but that, on the
contrary, it unfolded and developed itself, and reached results
which were not involved in that work, do not accord with its fun-

1 Cf. 1(1, vol. iv. (3d ed.), p. 408, et seq.

128 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

damental principles, and could not be adjusted to them by any
attempt at artificial symmetries, such as the philosopher was so
fond of applyintj. The phenomena to which we add the idea of
beauty, of sublimity, or of inner adaptation, are not comprehended
by the phenomena the origin of which the "Critique of Reason"
teaches ; they are sui generis and include more than these.

According to the " Critique of Reason," things-in-themselves
are the substratum of the nature of our reason as well as of phe-
nomena. They are, therefore, to be absolutely distinguished from
phenomena, never confounded with them, hence never with things
external to us, but always to be thought as the unknowable origi-
nal-ground of things ; that is the doctrine that runs through the
entire " Critique of Reason," and it is difficult to believe that any
one having read this work would dispute its Kantian character.
It could not have occurred to Kant to hold the thinoi;-in-it6elf to
be a mere idea, or a mere thought-thing — i. e., a cause ascribed by
us in thought to phenomena, and nothing further, as it is main-
tained that he did in numerous recent publications. Were the
thing-in-itself a mere thought-thing and nothing more, it would
as such be completely knowable, and not unknowable and inscrut-
able, as the "Critique of Reason," nevertheless, teaches with the
utmost explicitness. If the character of true actuality or reality
did not belong to things-in-themselves, as the original ground of
thinking and phenomenal being, the doctrine of their unknowa-
hleness would be not only meaningless, but absurd. IIow can
anvtluTiir which in reality does not exist at all, but is merely
thought, be seriously regarded as something unknowable? Who-
ever, then, thinks that according to the Kantian teaching there is
no such thing as the reality of things-in-themselves, must also
maintain that Kant has never spoken of their unknowableness.
But if any one actually thinks that, then he belongs to the already
numerous critics of Kant who write books on his philosophy, yet
for whom the " Critique of Pure Reason " is to this day a thing-in-
itself !

Every one who has followed the fundamental investigations in
this work up to the close of the Transcendental Analytic will have
the impression — after the section " On the Ground of the Dis-
tinction of all Objects whatsoever as Phenomena and Noumena" —
that things-in-themselves are and remain unknowable, that they

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 129

represent the insolvable mystery of the world, and that our knowl-
edge must confine itself to sensible objects and to sensible experi-
ence. This new establishment of empiricism, which carries with
it the destruction of all metaphysics, now receives the distinction
of being the chief service and real result of the Kantian criticism.
Thus the Neo-Kantians of the da}' have stopped short under this
impression, and likewise many of our natural scientists, who un-
derstand the Konigsberg philosopher less than they praise liim.
They overlook the fact that the estaMishment of empiricism is
not empiricism and cannot be empiricism ; that, on the contrary,
it consists in the investigation of the principles of all experience,
and must therefore result in a Doctrine of Principles or a '"''Meta-
physics of Phenomena^'' to have established which, Kant regarded
as the problem and performance of his doctrine of knowledge.
He otherwise would not have written his " Prolegomena to every
Future Metaphysic which may appear as Science."

When, however, we have followed the course of the "Critique
of Peason " further, and reached the close of the Transcendental
Dialectic.) the darkness which obscured the thing-in-itself begins
to disappear, although its unknowableness is now confirmed by
proofs. We are taught that, and why, we are obliged to conceive
of things-in-themselves ; that, moreover, while they are not ob-
jects of knowledge, they are nevertheless necessary Ideas., which
have for their subject the original ground of both thinking and
phenomenal being, as well as that of all possible and actual exist-
ence. We now know, furthermore, lohat is to be thought under
these original grounds or unconditional principles — viz., the soul,
the world as totality, and God. Among the world-Ideas, tran-
scendental freedom is represented to us as tlie sole one which,
while it can never be j)henomenon or object of knowledge, can
yet be the conceivable original ground of all phenomena and of
their order as natural laws. In the last place, these ideas serve
as a criterion of knowledge ; they present themselves as regulative
principles of knowledge — i.e.., as goals of experience, which, it is
true, can never be attained, but yet are to be continually striven
for, in order that our knowledge may become systematized and
may so combine in itself the highest diversity with the highest
unity, that the specific results of the several experimental sciences
shall become more and more unified and approximate a system of
XXI— 9

130 The Journal of Speculative [Philosophy.

knowledge wliieli forms a simple whole. Were such a system
attainable, all the sciences wouhl ultimately be. members of one
whole, and the order of the world would become known to ns as
a genealogical system, in which all })henomena in their various
species descend from one single primitive ground. This primitive
ground is unknowable. Hence the Ideas, since they prescribe
" the i^rinciples of homogeneity, specification, and continuity (atKn-
ity)" for the experimental s(;iences, should likewise be recognized
only as maxims of our knowledge, and not as principles of things.'
Notwithstanding, in the Doctrine of Ideas things-in-themselves
have so far emerged from the obscurity wdiich enveloped them
that they present themselves, not, it is true, as objects of knowl-
edge, but as ])rinciples regulative of knowledge.

The Doctrine of Method of pure reason takes a step farther.
It reveals to us in its "Canon" the possibility of a knowledge of
things-in-themselves, not along the path of experience and science,
but on the ground of moral laws given by immediate self-knowl-
edge or moral certitude. If there are such laws, they have an
unconditional validity — a validity independent of all experience,
exalted above all knowledge, opinion, and doubt, and of inimedi-
ate axiomatic certainty. And as certain as they themselves are,
so certain do they make to us the reality of the moral order of the
world and of those Ideas which represent its power, final end, and
original ground : these are the Ideas of Freedom, Immortality, and
Deity. Thus the " Critique of Pure Reason " leaves us with the
view of the possibility of a knowledge of things-in-themselves,
only that we are forced to take this knowledge, not as theoretical,
but as practical to regard its certainty, not as objective, but as
subjective or personal, and to designate it, not as science, but as
belief.

The " Criti(|ue of Practical Reason" realises the ])ossibility
which the Doctrine of Method of pure reason had held in j^ros-
pect. It establishes the fact of the moral law and discerns the
the reality of freedom and the moral order of the world. That
the thing-in-itself underlies our theoretical reason the " Critique
of Pure Reason " teaches ; that this thing-in-itselt is the tviU the
" Critique of Practical Reason " teaches. Under whichever title
the knowledge of the thing-in-itself is recognized, the important

> Id., vol. iii (3d ed.), pp. 514-518.

Critique of Kantian Philoaophy. 131

tiling is that it enters into the ilhiminated circle of our reason, not
only as Idea, but as reality and power ; we know what it is, and
that the history of human civilization consists in the fulfilment
of the laws of freedom and the moral ends of reason, to which our
natural ends of life are subordinate and subservient. The Kanti-
an Philosophy of the State and of Religion, together with the his-
torico-philosophical treatises which belong thereto, reveals the
world-history to us as the necessary development and manifesta-
tion of freedom.

And that not only the moral, but also the sensible or natural
order of the world, that the world-development, not only as history
of culture, but also as history of nature, is the manifestation of
will and of freedom, our philosopher taught in his " Critique of
Judgment." The will is that thing-in-itself which underlies the
constitution of our faculties of knowledge, is the cause of our in-
tellectual development, and makes it subserve the moral. The
W'ill is, that thing-in-itself which underlies phenomena and deter-
mines their empirical character in such a way that we are obliged
to judge their form.s (in the state of our free contemplation) cBsthet-
ically and their life feleologically. It thus appears that there is
something in the empirical character of things which does not
admit of being explained from our theoretical reason, nor of
being discerned in our experience or in the analysis of phenomena,
and yet which is involuntarily present, and necessary to our
thought. This something is the phenomenon of freedom and the
freedom of phenomenon, or, in one word, natural freedom, with-
out which there would be no development, no life, no beauty ;
without which, therefore, our aesthetic as well as teleoloo-ical
judgment would be without an object.

That there must be a correspondence between the thing-in-itself
which underlies our faculties of knowledge and that which under-
lies phenomena or the sense-world, Kant had already intimated in
(both editions of) his " Criti(|ue of Pure Reason." In the " Cri-
tique of Judgment" he now asserts it, explaining at the same time
in what this correspondence consists. Then for the first time cer-
tain very noteworthy sentences become intelligible, which, on a
thorough study of the "Critique of Reason," will have left upon
every penetrating reader the impression that the philosopher says
more than his doctrine of knowledge justifies. It declares it to

132 The Journal of Speculative PldJosophij.

be possible tliat one and the same \\)!\w'g-m-\X.i:^i may underlie l)Otli
objective and subjective phenomena, or, what is tlie same thing,
both matter and thought. Let us take his own words : " That
somethini!; which so affects our sense that it receives the ideas of
space, matter, form, etc. — that something, regarded as noumenon
(or, better, as transcendental object) — might well he at the same
time the subject of tlwught^ although, through the way in which
our external sense is thereby affected, we receive no perception
of ideas, will, etc., but only of space and its determinations." '
As long as soul and body were regarded as thing>-in-then)selves
it was impossible to explain their union. '' The ditiiculty which
has suggested this problem consists, as is well known, in the
presupposed dissimilarity of an object of the inner sense (soul)
and the objects of outer sense, since that depends only upon time,
these upon time and space, as the formal conditions of their per-
ception. If one thinks, however, that both sorts of objects do not
thereby distinguish themselves from one another inwardly, but
only in so far as one seems external to the other — hence that ivhich
underlies the phenomenon of matter as thing-in-itself perhaps,
ought not to he so dAssimilar — the difficulty vanishes," etc' •

If we designate the thing-in-itself which underlies our modes of
thought, or the constitution of our faculties of knowledge (theo-
retical reason), as the unknown quantity X, and the thing-initself
•which utiderlies external phenomena or the material world as the
unknown quantity 1", then the " Critique of Reason'' has already
pointed out to us in both its editions the possihility that Y =^ X.
This it was obliged to do, since the phenomena of matter are
indeed nothing other than our necessary modes of thought. And
yet, again, it might not speak of the possibility that I^= A''if
things-in-themselves really are as unknowable as it teaches.

Now, the " Critique of Practical Heason " teaches, by establish-
ing the pri7naci/ of the practical reason, that this is the thing-in-
itself which underlies and determines our theoretical reason ; it
teaches that X= loill ox freedom', mor does it state this proposition
with a " perhaps " or " it might be," but with complete certitude.

If, now, y = A", and Ar= will or freedom, then also Y, the

' Kant, " Kritik d. r. Vcrniinft " (1st ed.). " Transcd. Dialectik. Kritik dcr Zweiten
Paralogismus." Cf. Fisclier, " (iesch. d. n. Philos.," vol. iii, p. 447, 570.
* Kant, " Kritik d. r. Vernunft " ('id ed.), pp. 326, 327.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 133

supersensible substratum of the materia,! world, must cease to be
a perfectly unknown and unknowable quantity ; for y = will or
freedom. The philosopher must advance to this equation. He
does so in the Introduction to the "Critique of Judgment," the
entire theme of which rests upon the fact that the hidden ground
■ of nature or the material world is one with freedom, that will and
freedom underlie the sense-world also, that this, too, is the phe-
nomenon of will or the manifestation of freedom. If it were not
such, there would be no self-developing bodies, no phenomenon
of life, no objects of our aesthetic and teleological judgment, no
theme of the facult)' of judgment, thus also no problem as the
subject of its critique. Hence the pliilosopher says in the Intro-
duction to his " Critique" : ^'' There must, then, he a ground qf the
unity of the supersensible which lunderlies nature, loith the super-
sensihle which the notion of freedom practiccdly contains. The
notion of this ground, although it does not afford us either a
theoretical or a practical knowledge of the same, and hence has
no particular sphere, nevertheless makes possible the transition
from the mode of thought according to the principles of the one
to that according to the principles of the other." '

If we now compare the foundation of the Kantian criticism
with its completion, the " Critique of Pure Reason " with the
" Critique of Judgment, it clearly appears how the work has pro-
gressed and been transformed under the hands of the philosopher.
Neither the doctrine of phenomena nor that of things-in-them-
selves has remained the same. Phenomena now confront us with
the character of individuality and freedom, things-in-themselves
with that of unity of essence and knoM^ableness, for the corre-
spondence between the supersensible substratum of our sensuous
reason and that of the sensil)le or material world bases itself in
the end upon their identity of nature ; they are will and freedom.
And herewith the veil falls, which, as it seemed, enveloped things-
in-themselves in impenetrable obscurity. After the " Critique of
Practical Reason " had established the realit}' of freedom and the
moral order of the world, and subordinated our sensuous and theo-
retical reason to the practical, and the sensible and material world

•Kant, "Kritik der Urtheilskraft," Introduction. Vid. " Werke," vol. vii, p. 14.
Cf. Fischer, " Gesch. d. n. Philos.," vol. iv (3d ed.), pp. 397, 497. For elucidation of
the sentence quoted, cf. supra, Chap. Ill, Part III, Sec. 3.

134 T/ie Journal of Speculative PJi'ilosopliy.

to our tbeoreticiil reason, the entire order of the world was recog-
nized a3 the manifestation of thing-in-itself, as tlie phenomenon of
will — /. e.^ as tlie development and maTiifestation of freedom.

The farther the Kantian investigations advance from the doe-
trine of knowledge to the doctrine of Ideas, from this to the.
doctrines of moral freedom and the moral order of the world, from
these to the philosophic doctrine of history, and to the doctrine of
the natural freedom of phenomena (bodies) — which coincides with
the critique of aesthetic and teleological judgment — the more dis-
tinctly things-in-themselves come into view. And the more the
Kantian doctrine reveals things-in-themselves in phenomena, and
the latter win the character of phenomena of will, so much the
more unmistakably does the character of the doctrine of develop-
ment imprint itself upon the Kantian philosophy; with so much
the more distinctness does it prove itself to be, as the problem of
critical thought demands, the ])hilosophical establishment and
development of the history of ' the development of universal knowl-
edge. This is the way which the Kantian Doctrine of Ideas
points out and follows. It is therefore a very sujierfioial and
radically false conce])tion of the Kantian philosophy to understand
its doctrine of phenomena and things-in-themselves as dividing
the world for the weal of mankind into science and poetry, in the
former of which empiricism and materialism are sanctioned as the
only valid knowledge, while in the latter methphysics is saddled
upt)n Pegasns, and the Doctrine of Ideas permitted or compelled
to seek its kingdom in the land of dreams. In this way one runs
in danger, with the author of the "History of Materialism," of
confusing Kant's " Critique of Pure Reason " with Schiller's
" Partition of the Earth."

Our examination of Kant's fundamental doctrines has reached
the result that liis system received a development in the course of
the three chief critical works which the first ground-work neither
counted upon nor was adequate for. After the " second Critique"
liad made knowing reason dependent upon the law of moral free-
dom^ and the third ''Critique" had discovered in the beauty as
well as the life of phenomena the character of natural freedom,
new problems arose, which could no longer pass for insolvable on
the ground of the unknowableness of things-in-themselves. These
problems became the themes of post-Kantian philosophy.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 135

Chapter V.

THE PROBLEMS AND LINES OF DEVELOPMENT OF POST-KANTIAN

PHILOSOPHY.

I. The Ground' Prohleins of Post-Kantian Philosophy.

1. The Metaphysical Problem.

A series of heterogeneous yet historically signiiicaiit systems
have sprung in the course of a few decades from the roots of the
Kantian philosophy. This fact alone shows how manifold and
fruitful have been the influences, how deep and far-reaching the
stimulus, which the philosophic spirit received through the " Cri-
tique of Reason." Perhaps no philosophical epoch since the days
of Socrates and the Attic philosophy has been so ripe for great
and rapid advances as the epoch illuminated by Kant. New prob-
lems spring from his criticism — questions which affect the ground-
work of philosophy, and which are seized from so many and
ditferent sides, that their investigation calls forth variously opposed
points of view. And the complicated course of development
which the Kantian philosophy took, branching again and again,
as it did, finds here its explanation. We see it separate into a
number of conflicting lines of development, these divide up into
all sorts of antitheses, and these again into lesser contrasts. Thus
there arise? a great, and with the onward movement ever-increas-
ing, variety of views, systems, and schools, which on the first out-
ward ap])earance looks almost like a state of confusion and decline.
Yet there rules in these phenomena a necessary law of develop-
ment. In order to find one's way in the general course and lines of
development of post-Kantian philosophy, extending down to the
present, one must know the state of the problems which resulted
from the character and final form of the Kantian work itself.

The entire theme of the latter consisted, on the one hand, in
the doctrine of the origination of phenomena from the constitu-
tion and faculties of sensuous (=human) reason, and on the other
in the doctrine of the original ground of phenomena, or the
thing-in-itself, which underlies the knowing reason and its sense-
world. For since the knowing reason, according to Kant's fun-
damental doctrine, is of a sensuous or receptive and impression-

13G The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

able nature, it itself cannot possibly be the original ground. Since
phenomena arise from the impressions or sensations of sensuous
reason as their material, sensations cannot possibly be explained
from phenomena ; for our philosopher was not of the opinion that
the earth rested upon the great elephant, and the great elephant
upon the earth. The doctrine of the origination of phenomena
from (the material and thought-forms of) our reason is Transcen-
dental or Kantian Idealism. The doctrine of the original ground
of our knowing reason and of i)henomena we have designated as
the Kantian Realism, because the philosopher wishes to have
understood under Transcendental realism that way of thinking
which regards the things external to us (^. e., external phenomena)
as things-in-tliemselves.'

Kant carried out the idealistic establishment of his doctrine
of knowledge, but the realistic, with all the questions involved
in it, he declared to be impossible, owing to the nnknow-
ableness of the thing -in -itself. The realistic establishment
would have had to answer the question why our knowing reason
has these and not other thought-forms, why it is thus and not
otherwise constituted. But an answer to this question Kant
held it would be impossible for any one to give. Nevertheless,
he himself in so far answered it that he made the thing-in-itself
intelligible in the "Reality of Freedom " and of pure will, and
subordinated the theoretical to the practical reason. Distinguish-
ing, now, in the doctrine of knowledge, the question concerning
the sidjjeetive origin of phenomena from that concerning their
real ground, the latter may be taken as constituting the meta-
p)hysical problem, which Kant declared to be completely insolu-
ble, but which he by no means left completely unsolved. He lets
so much light fall upon it that more light must necessarily be
sought, and the complete illumination of the thing-in-itself striven
for, in distinction from all phenomena and without confounding
it with them.

To obviate all misconceptions, the reader will carefully distin-
guish, in connection with the Kantian doctrine, between empirical
realism and metaphysical realism ; that concerns phenomena, tiiis
things-in-themselves. Transcendental idealism establishes empiri-
cal realism, and is itself established by metaphysical realism.

' Vul. supra, Chap. II, Part I.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 137

2. The Problem of Knowledge.

The Kantian doctrine of knowledge consisted, in the broadest
sense, in isolating, fixing, and explaining the fundamental facts
of our rational knowledge. These facts were of both theoretical
and practical (moral) sort. The theoretical facts separated them-
selves into those of science or knowledge in the narrower sense,
and those of our necessary contemplation or judgment of things
guided by the Idea of end. The two ground-facts of scientific
and, in the exact sense, theoretical knowledge were those of
mathematical and natural science. The two necessary ways of
contemplating the adaptation of phenomena to ends were our aes-
thetic and teleological points of view, while practical knowledge
had the character — i. «., the disposition and moral worth of our
conduct for its object.

These facts of reason, unlike as they are, agree in that they all
lay claim to a necessary and universal validity, which presents
itself in the form of synthetic judgments a priori. The problem
of the philosopher was: How are these facts possible? It was,
then, a question of the establishment of their conditions or factors.
They were sought and found along the path of inductive inquiry.
As certain as these facts are, so certain are the conditions from
which they follow. And since they are facts of reason, their con-
ditions must be faculties of reason. Just as conditions precede
that which is conditioned, so these faculties must precede their
products — the facts of our knowledge and objects of knowledge,
hence also of our experience and objects of experience. They are,
therefore, hefore all experience, oV, as Kant expresses it, " a priori
(transcendental)"; that is, they are pure faculties of reason, or
such as belong to reason, not as resulting from its experiences, but
as preceding all experience, which it has yet first of all to have.

We see hoio the critical philosophy ju-oceeds. It determines
and constitutes the facts of reason ; this is its starting poi?it, and
contains the putting of the question. It analyzes these facts, and
finds by this inductive method the necessary and original faculties
of reason which produce these facts ; this is its method. It dis-
cerns wherein pure reason consists, or the content of what facul-
ties constitute it ; this forms its resxdt. Do away with any one of
the faculties discovered — as, e. g., sensibility or understanding — and
you have done away with the possibility of experience ! Hence

138 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

these facts are necessary. Add to the facts discovered another
that conflicts with them — as, e. g.^ an intuitive understanding', or a
supersensible perception — and you have done away with the fact
of human knowledge and experience ! Hence such a faculty is
impossible. This is the method of proof \\\\\c\\ Kant called the
Critical or Transcendental. By his process of induction Kant
claims to have discovered the constitution of our reason, the
laws of our thought and knowledge, with just as much logical con-
sistency and certainty as Kepler did the harmony of the cosmos
and the laws of planetary motion. Suspend Kepler's laws, and
the phenomena of planetary motion become impossible.

Human reason must combine in itself as many fundamental
faculties as there are conditions required for the fact of human
knowledge. Thus the fact of pure mathematics was established
by the fact that space and time are the two ground-forms of our
sensibility, and hence pure perceptions ; the fact of experimental
knowledge or natural science by the fact that the understanding, a
faculty essentially unlike the sensibility, forms and combines
phenomena by means of its pure irreducible notions. These no-
tions are not representative, but synthetic, and of the nature of
judgments. What they combine must be given, hence received
and of a sensuous nature. On this account, our reason is only
capable of knowing sensible objects, and not supersensible, as
things-in-themselves. There is accordingly in the arrangement
of our faculties of knowledge no intellectual perception or intui-
tive understanding, to which alone thingsin-themselves could be
given, and could be intelligible. There is no object without sub-
ject, no thought without thinking, no appearance without a being
to whom it appears. We should have no common world of sense,
no objective experience, if we were not able to connect, arrange,
and synthesize the given material of our impressions according to
the same universal laws of thought. To produce phenomena com-
mon to all, there is required "the pure consciousness" and "the
productive imagination" which operates unconsciously according
to the laws of the former. To conceive the given phenomena,
there is required " the faculties of apprehension, of reproductive
imagination, and of recognition in the notion," as Kant designates
them. Thus we see before us a series of ditferent fundamental
faculties, which, according to the computation of the " Critique,"

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 139

are necessary in order to create the facts of our knowledi^e, and
the sum-total of which constitutes the productive capital of the
theoretical reason. But this sum has only the character of a col-
lective unity.

There is still to be added the ftict oi practical knowledf^e, which
consists in the moral estimate of our dispositions and conduct. This
estimate necessarily involves the idea of an absolute command,
or of an unconditionally obligatory moral law. But a law that
prescribes the course of conduct for our disposition, and. thus con-
cerns our truest and innermost being, can only be given by our-
selves, and consequently demands the faculty of autonomy or
freedom, which consists in a completely unconditioned or pure will.
The moral law becomes apparent from the fact of our moral judg-
ment, and freedom from the fact of the moral law. The moral
law commands : " Thou shalt unconditionally will and act so and
not otherwise ! " In this we recognize the autonomy of our pure
will, or the reality of our freedom, which expresses itself in the
declaration : " Thou canst, hecause though ougbtest ! " Thus
Kant brings us to the knowledge of our freedom also by the
analysis of a fact — i. e.^ by induction — while at the same time he
expressly declares that this insight is not of an empirical char-
acter.

According to the results of the " Critique," the theoretical rea-
son falls into the antithesis of sense and understanding — the two
poles of knowledge — and the entire reason into the antitbesis of
theoretical and practical reason, or into that of the faculties of
knowledge and the pure will. To these faculties of reason there
correspond the two realms of reason — the sensible and the moral
orders of the world, or nature and freedom. There mechanical
causality rules, here teleological. Now, it is a fact that there are
phenomena which appeal to us involuntarily as adapted or as not
adapted to some end, and which we, therefore, judge as (esthetic
or teleological, according as the character of their adaptation is
referred merely to our contemplation of them, or to their own
existence. Tliere thus adds itself to the theoretical and practical
ground-faculties the reflective judgment, which takes its place
between the other two, and itself falls into the two sorts of aesthetic
and teleological judgment.

Thus there results, by the inductive method of the Kantian criti-

J 4:0 The Journal of SpeciUatlve Philosophy.

cism, by its analysis of tl)e facts of our tlieoretical and practical
knowledpje, and of our aesthetic and teleoloo^ical contemplation of
things, a series of ditferent original faculties, the collective con-
tent of which constitutes our pure reason. These faculties are
related to those facts as their ground. The question now arises:
By ichat are the faculties themselves established f For we cannot
possibly satisfy ourselves with the idea that reason is only their
sum or collective notion. Just as the connection between phe-
nomena is the work of reason, so the connection between its own
faculties must be of the nature of reason. The sum-total of these
faculties, therefore, is not merely collective, but systematic ; and
the system of our faculties of reason must have a determinal)le
common root, from which it is derived. The investigation of this
common origin, and the deduction of all the faculties which Kant
represented as primitive powers and made the substratum of the
phenomenal world, from the nature of reason itself, is the ground-
problem which presented itself after the close of the Critical phi-
losophy, as proceeding from its results, and as determining the
direction of the investigations that followed.

//. The Lines of Development of Post-Kantian Philosophy.

1. The New Establishment of the Doctrine of Knowledge.

The question, therefore, in the development of the doctrine of
knowledge and in the solution of its problem is one of a new es-
tablishment of the faculties of knowledge. What Kant found by
the inductive method is now to be developed by the deductive.
The possibility of such a deduction depends upon the knowledge
of a principle underlying our faculties of knowledge, and hence
the constitution of reason in general. Kant had discovered the
laws of our thought and of the process of our knowledge by the
observation and analysis of the facts of knowledge just as Kepler
did the laws of planetary motion by the observation and computa-
tion of its phenomena. After Kepler had discovered these laws
inductively, Newton appeared and deduced them from one funda-
mental force and one fundamental law. And similarly as Newton
is related to Kepler in the establishment of the laws of motion of
the celestial bodies, the post-Kantian philosopliy is related to Kant
in the establishment of the laws of thought of our reason. But

Critique of Kantian PMlosopliy . 141

tliis comparison is intended to have no fnrther application than
subserves the apprehension of the jyrohleni^ and is used simply to
em])hasize the deductive character of the latter.

Kant himself had hinted at this deductive development, not
only by the deductive or synthetic mode of exposition which he
followed in his chief work, but also by the arrangement of the
faculties of reason themselves. These he not merely co-ordinated,
but sought persistently to systematize. The productive imagina-
tion was to him the uniting bond between sense and understand-
ing. That these faculties had a common origin was possible, but
this origin was unknowable. The practical reason he regarded as
the superior faculty, the theoretical as subordinated to it and de-
pendent upon it, the reflective judgment as the uniting bond of
both. Thus he had himself already given a system of the faculties
of reason, which wanted, to be really such, only the character of
unity and a foundation-principle.

This unity the philosopher declared to be unknowable, and
hence a thing-in-itself. Should it become known, then the solu-
tion of the problem of knowledge would also be the solution of the
metaphysical problem. It thus appears why the post-Kantian
philosophy takes the metaphysical direction — in that it seeks to
establish the doctrine of knowledge deductively — and, indeed, by
attaching itself immediately to the Kantian doctrine. It shapes
itself in its progressive forms of development into a knowledge of
the thing-in-itself ; and it is easy to foresee that in this progress
the question concerning things-in-themselves and their knowable-
ness will be the theme of pre-eminent and decisive importance.
"We will add still a second prefatory remark on this point. If the
thing-in-itself passes for unhnoioahle in the current academic sense
of the Kantian doctrine, following the statements of the " Critique
of Reason," then the doctrine of its knowableness becomes at once
the doctrine of its nothingness^ and the post-Kantian philosophy
soon enters a stadium where it beconies necessary to dispense with
things-in-themselves altogether. There thus arises with the ad-
vance of post-Kantian philosophy the important and penetrating
question whether the denial or affirmation of the reality of things-
in-themselves must go hand in hand with the knowledge of them.
An atfirmative answer virtually declares for the true realism pre-
sented by a right understanding of the Kantian doctrine, in oppo-

142 TJie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

sition to traiiiiceiuleiital idealism, which has no basis. Thus origi-
nates the conflict between Realism and Idealism in tlio post-Kantian
metaphysics — a conflict that extends down to our own day.

2. The Threefold Antithesis: Fries, Herbart, Schopenhauer.

The immediate problem, then, which the post-Kantian philoso-
phy seiz?> npon is the establislimcnt of a new doctrine of knowl-
edge troin one single principle of reason. This movement has
three characteristic features : as doctrine of principles, it is meta-
physical ; as doctrine of unity, it is monistic^ or, in current histori-
cal terms, System of Identity ; and, since its principle is the think-
ing knowing reason itself, it is idealistic. Every one of these
characteristic developments called forth an opjiosing development,
which likewise appealed to the Kantian doctrine, and sought to
justify itself by claiming the right interpretation and criticisui of
Kant. There thus arises in the principal directions taken by post-
Kantian philosophy a threefold antithesis, each standpoint l)ei ng
a special interpretation and criticism of the Kantian doctrine.
The question with each is : What is the truth, what the deflciencies
and errors of the Critical philosophy ; what the permanent, what
the perishable in the work of Kant?

The tirst antithesis is the most far-reaching. It aftirms the
necessit}' of a new establishment of the doctrine of knowledge, but
rejects the metaphysical, monistic, and idealistic {a priori) line of
development, as leading to a solution of the problem, and demands
the observation of our iimer life — i. e., empirical and psychological
investigation as the only means of determining the system of our
faculties of reason. The true critique of reason could be nothing
other than *■' subjective anthropology '' ; '' theory of the inner life" ;
"natural doctrine of the human mind." Accordingly, not meta-
phvsics, but '"''Philosophical Anthropolo(jy'''' appears as the iunda-
mental discipline; it is along this line that the criticism of reason
and the doctrine of knowledge is to be newly established. The
representative of this standpoint is Fries (1773-1848), who found-
ed a school, and has had a lasting influence. His principal works
are : " System of Philosophy as Exact Science" (1804) ; " Knowl-
edge, Belief, and rresentiment" (1805); an.l " New Critique of
Eeason " (1807). The latter is the chief work. Post-Kantian
philosophy separates itself into the metaphysical and the anthro-

Critiqiie of Kantian Philosophy. 143

pological movements. What else can tlie knowledge of hiiman
reason, hence the critique of reason, seek- to be than subjective
or philosophical anthropology? So say Fries and his followers.
How can anthropology seek to be the fundamental philosophical
discipline when it itself, like all experimental sciences whatso-
ever, must needs be established ? So answer their opponents.

The second antithesis has its origin and application vvithin post-
Kantian metaphysics. It accepts the metaphysical establishment
of the doctrine of knowledge, but utterly rejects the monistic and
idealistic features of the movement. It opposes to monism (Sys-
tem of Identity) the plurnlity of principles, and to idealism, a real-
ism which fathoms and discerns that which truly is (= thing-in-
itself), as something absolutely independent of all thought. Kant
had rightly grasped things-in-themselves as the supersensible sub-
strate of all phenomena and ideas, and as completely independent
of them; and this their character must be scrupulously retained^
and the know^ledge of them m.ade a matter of earnest pursuit.
Every monistic and idealistic metapliysic rests upon the uncritical
and radically false presupposition that one and the same subject
has different faculties or powers — i. e., upon the contradictory no-
tion that one is many. Kant himself was under this constant
presupposition, since he regarded liuman reason as of such a na-
ture that it had and united in itself many and essentially different
powers. His criticism of reason was in this respect — and not alone
in this — not critical enough. And this constitutes its fundamen-
tal error. It needs, therefore, not only to be completed, but to be
reconstructed and built anew from the foundation up ; for it
worked with notions that are full of contradictions, and hence
neither qualified for knowledge nor for testing and establishing
knowledge. Such contradictory notions are: thing with its at-
tributes and changes, causality, matter, ego. Accordingly, it must
be the first and fundamental problem of philosophy to investigate
and rectify our categories of knowledge. This reconstruction and
rectification is the theme of a new metapliysic, which opposes
itself to all monism and idealism, and, by the removal of the con-
tradictions that fill our natural thinking and constitute its evil,,
prepares the way for a knowledge of true being, in order, from
the point of view of such knowledge, to explain the origin of phe-
nomena and ideas.

lii The Journal of Speculative Phllosopky.

The tounder of this standpoint is llerhart (1776-1841). The
first foiHuhition-stone was laid by the work " Chief Points of
Meta})liysics '' (1808). A synopsis of the whole system was iriven
in the " Introduction to Philosophy " (1813). The principal work
containing the completed system is the " General Metaphysics"
(1829). In the preface to this work Ilerbart says, in concluding :
*' Kant maintained that ' our notion of an object may contain
what and however much you will, we must nevertheless go out-
side of it in order to predicate existence of it.' This fact, now,
is that to which the present work everywhere points; and on this
account the author is a Kantian^ if only from the year 1828, and
not from the days of categories and the ' Critique of Judgment,'
as the attentive reader will soon discover. It is not necessary to
say more in advance. But let one arm himself with patience, for
the chaotic state of previous metaphysics must first be shown ;
and it can only be gradually broui>;ht to order." '

The third antithesis has its origin and application within the
monistic metaphysics. It affirms the metaphysical and monistic
knowledge of thing-in-itself as one original being underlying all
phenomena, and hence all knowledge; but it rejects every ideal-
istic conception of this original being. In consequence, it identi-
fies original being (tiiing-in-itself) with thinking knowing reason,
transforms it into an abstraction, and hence confounds it with
ideas and phenomena. It thus demands its realistic and individu-
alistic apprehension in opposition to the idealistic and abstract.
The more abstract original being is thought, or the more it is
universalized and designated with sucli names as " Absolute Iden-
tity," " Absolute Reason," "the Absolute," etc., the more exas-
perated the representative of this opposition to idealism becomes,
who, nevertheless, is himself an offspring of the family of Identi-
ty-philosopliers. The All-One cannot possibh' be the universal ;
that is original, this derived, always derived, and so much the
more, the more universal it is. Reason forms its notions by ab-
.stracting them from ideas, which themselves are abstracted from
sensible perce})tions, which latter are produced from the material
of our sense-impressions and the perception-forms of our intel-
lect — space, time, and causality. But these are functions of the

' Joh. Fr. Herbart, " AUgemeine Metapliysik," Preface, p. xxviii.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 145

brain wliich as sncli presuppose tlie bodily organism and its stages
of development. ]^otliin<>:, therefore, is more absurd tiian that
conception of the All-One which turns tlie matter nprjide down,
and seeks to have recognized as the Original the absolute First —
what, in truth, constitutes one of the last links in the chain of de-
rived and dependent phenomena. Since now original being can-
not be anvthinor universal, it must be soujjht in the essence of
individuality. Since it does not admit of being derived or of be-
ing known mediately, it is only to be discerned immediately— i^. e.y
in ourselves, in our innermost being. Now, the essence of our
self-consciousness is effort or volition — the will for this definite
life-manifestation, this particular existence, this individuality,
this character. It is the will, not as consisting, so to say, in con-
sciousness, but as impelling the consciousness on to a certain
stage of its bodily manifestation and organization, and hence
is the unconscious or blind will. But the very same principle
which constitutes the essence or innermost being of our mani-
festation is the essence or being of all phenomena. Hence the
All-One, the original being, or tliing-in-itself, is will. The world
and the realm of things in all their gradations is its phenomenon.
That it is so, is perfectly evident. Why and how the will ap-
pears and objectifies itself in the phenomenal world, remains in-
scrutable.

The founder of this standpoint is Schopenhauer (1788-1860).
He derives his doctrine immediately from the Kantian doctrine,
and claims to be the only philosopher who has thought out the
latter with logical consistency, and completed it. As metaphysi-
cian, he is opposed to Fries ; as transcendental idealist, to Ilerbart ;
as realist and individualist, to the idealists of the System of Iden-
tity. He was fond of calling Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel " the
three great sophists," in comparison with whom he himself appeared
as the philosopher in the pre-eminent sense. In his first work —
"On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason '*
(1813) — he established his point of view ; and in his chief work
—"The World as Will and Idea" (1819)— he carried it out
to its logical results. Schopenhauer lived to see late in life his.
growing fame — a fame which has survived him, and still survives
to-day.

" XXI— 10

146 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

III. The Course of Development of Post-Kantian Philosophy.

1. Metaphysical Idealism.

The threefold antithesis which we have delineated necessarily
presupposes that the thesis to which it is opposed is not only
firmly adhered to, but wrought out into such comprehensive and
powerful forms that they represent the actual dominating course
of development of post-Kantian ])hilosophy. However different
the opponents of the thesis and their lines of work may be, they
all have one common object of attack ; they reject in a body meta-
physical idealism — /. ^., that movement which makes Critical or
Transcendental idealism into metaphysics, or, what is the same
thing, which seeks for the original ground of phenomena within
knowing reason. This is utterly false, says Fries, since critical
idealism is not metaphysical, but anthropological, and the knowl-
edge of our transcendental faculties not transcendental ia priori)^
but empirical. From this erroneous conception, which confounds
psychology and metaphysics, object of knowledge and mode of
knowledge, by regarding knowledge of the transcendental as tran-
scendental knowledge, there results " the unfounded assumption
of the transcendental," " the Kantian prejudice,'- which dominates
the entire metaphysical idealism. This development is utterly
false, says also Herbart, since the object of metaphysics is not the
knowing reason, but real being j)^^ *^j independent of all think-
ing and knowing. This development is utterly false, says also
Schopenhauer, since the knowing reason is the subjective origin
of phenomena, but by no means their original ground.

Nevertheless, metaphysical idealism or the idealistic System of
Identity was the first and most direct development that resulted
from the Kantian criticism. Kant himself had not only indicated
this develoi)ment, but fixed its course. He had given that sig-
nificant hint, that sensibilitv and understandiuir, these two essen-
tially difterent theoretical faculties, may, perhaps, have a common,
but to us unknown, root ; he had made theoretical reason depend-
ent upon the practical, and mediated both by the reflective judg-
ment;^ he had designated the unification of intelligible and em-
pirical character as the theme of the cosmological ground-problem,
and the unification of thought and external perception in the

' Cf. fnijn-a. Chap. V, Part II, Bee. 1.

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 147

same subject, as tliat of the psychological ground-problem. Ever}'-
where in the Kantian criticism the inquiry is raised concerning
the principle and unity of onr faculties of reason. And since this
unity passes for unknowable, it is identified with the thing-in-
itself, and hence with the subject of a metaphysical problem
which the philosopher declared to be insolvable. The attempt to
solve this problem from the nature of reason is of necessit}' the
next step in advance.

2. The Threefold Advance : Reinhold, Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel.

The problem is, to solve a series of antitheses contained in our
reason. The deeper and more comprehensive these opposing fac-
ulties are, the deeper and more comprehensive is the unity or com-
mon root from which they spring. Consequently metaphysical
idealism passes through a series of stadia of development, and
increases or deepens and broadens with every step its grasp of the
unitv of reason. And since what we have here to discover is the
origination of our faculties of reason from one primitive ground,
the constant theme (which was already formulated in the " Cri-
tique of Reason ") of metaphysical idealism is the doctrine of the
development of reason.

Within the sphere of the knowing or theoretical faculties of
reason there lies the antithesis between sensibility and understand-
ing; within the sphere of all the faculties of reason, the antithesis
between theoretical and practical reason, or between knowledge
and will ; within the sphere of the whole world of reason, the
antithesis between nature and freedom, or 'between the sensible
and moral orders of the world.

The first question, which comprehends least, is concerned with
the unity or common root of our theoretical faculties. It is shown,
as a solution, how sense and understanding spring from one and
the same faculty — that of representation. This attempt was made
by Reinhold (1758-1823) in his "Elementarphilosophie" (1789).

The second question, more penetrating and far-reaching, has to
do with all the faculties of reason, the theoretical and the prac-
tical. In answer, it is shown how the collective faculties of reason
spring from the pure self-consciousness (ego) — the essence of
which is the will — in accordance with the necessary law of devel-
opment of the mind, which, whatever it is and does, it must also

148 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

perceive and know. This highly important and decisive advance
was made by Fichte (1702-1814) in his " "NVissenschaftslehre '*
ITOlr-'yO), the fundamental theme of which is nothing other than
the doctrine of the development of mind.

The third and most comprehensive question deals with the
unity of the entire rational world, with the common root of the
sensible and moral orders of the world, or of nature and freedom.
The antithesis of nature and spirit is to be solved by the absolute
principle of unity, wliichis now designated as " the absolute iden-
tity or reason." This movement calls itself i)y preference " System
of Identity," and iindsits chief representatives in Schelling {lllo-
1854) and Hegel (1770-1831). The development of reason in the
world, or the ratioyiality of the world-development^ is the doctrine
in which they both agree before their standi)oints separate. The
principal works of the former, so far as they concern this theme,
fall within the years 1797-1807 ; the two foundation-works of the
latter, in the years 1807-'16. These, as all other developments
of post-Kantian philosophy, it is not here intended to character-
ize further than to hint at their main features.

The chief problem of this monistic and idealistic metaphysics
lies in the solution of the antithesis, or in the knowledge of the
unity, of nature and spirit. This antithesis must be solved first
within the sphere of human nature, then within the sphere of the
universe. In the nature of man, sense is in conflict with reason;
and human life itself, limited and finite, as it is, appears in opposi-
tion to the divine. The unity of the sensible and intelligible na-
tures of man consists in aesthetic freedom., ^wiS. develops itself in
Beauty and Art. The unity of the divitie and human life, as it
is felt and experienced in the human mind, consists in religious
feeling and devout resignation. The aesthetic aspect of Identity
finds its representative in Schiller (1759-1805), the religious in
Schleiermacher (1768-1834).

In the universe, or in the natui'e of things as totality, the an-
tithesis to be solved is likewise twofold : the more restricted one
between the natural and intellectual worlds, the deeper and all-
comprehensive one between tlie universe and God. The solution
of the first is attained by the notion of natural-rational develop-
ment, which Schelliiig grasped on the side of Philosophy of Nature
and yEsthetics, Hegel on the side of Logic and Theology. The

Critique of Kantian Philosophy. 149

solution of the second is effected by a tlieistieally conceived doc-
irine of development of God^ opposing itself to pantheism ; that
is, by a tlieosophy, the theme of which is the world in God, or
the freedom and necessity of divine revelation. This standpoint
von Baader (lYGS-lSil) soufrht to carry out mystically; Schel-
ling, in his later doctrine — which claims the character of positive
philosophy — " historically " and as Philosophy of Religion ; Krause
{1781-1832) ration alistically and outologically.

The ground-problem was the re-establishment of the principles
discovered by Kant respecting knowledge and freedom, or the
natural and moral orders of the world. The first question dealt
with the method of establishing these principles : Was it metaphysi-
cal or anthropological ? Within the metaphysical development
there arose the question of the unity or plurality of principles, of
their reality or ideality. Within the metaphysical System of
Identity there arose the problem respecting the character of the
All-One, respecting its reality or ideality : Was it reason or will ?
Universal will or individual will ? God or blind will ? Was God
in the world, or the world in God ?

3. The Order of Post-Kantian Systems.

With the logical order of post-Kantian systems the historical is
also given ; the first is veritied by its agreement with the second.
The first development of the Critical philosophy' must necessarily
have been the metaphysical and idealistic movement; it must have
developed in Reinhuld, Fichte, and Schelling the standpoints of the
"Elementarphilosophie" and the " Wissenschaftslehre," the "Phi-
losophy of Nature" and the "System of Identity," before Fries
could oppose to them his "Anthropological Critique." The history
of these standpoints falls within the years 1789-1800. Fries's "New
Critique of Reason " appeared in 1807. The monistic and ideal-
istic metaphysics must have reached its culminating point in
Schelling and Hegel before Herbart could appear and oppose all
monism and idealism with his new metaphysics. Hegel's " Phe-
nomenology " appeared in 1807, his " Logic" in 1812-16. Iler-
bart's " Main Points of Metaphysics" followed in 1808, his " Intro-
duction to Philosophy" in 1813. Li the same year appeared
Schopenhauer's first work. When the latter published his prin-
cipal work (1819), Hegel had already made known the works

150 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

whicli lav the foundation of his system, and had bejrnn his infln-
ential activity as professor in Berlin. Toward no one of his
opponents did Schopenhauer show more hostility, since (apart
from other grounds of enmity) he saw in Hegel the culmination
of that perverted develo[)ment — the philosophy of identity — "non-
sense," he called it.

In the short period of a generation (1790-1820) post-Kantian
philosophy fixed and wrought out its leading principles, lines of
development, and antitheses. One fact in this connection is very
noteworthy and significant. The new philosophy rests in the first
place entirely ui)on the authorit}' of Kant, and seeks still in the
stadium of the " Wissenschaftslehre " to be nothing other than the
well-understood Kantian doctrine. With Schelling, however, it
begins to affect superiority, and it soon becomes fashionable to
talk of "old Kant" as of past greatness. Then, on the other
hand, as opposed to the threefold idealistic movement, there
arises the threefold antithesis, the representatives of which, each in
his own way, point back to Kant. Fries wants to be a Kantian
without sharing the errors which resulted in "the Kantian as-
sumption" of the idealists who preceded him. Herbart wants to
fulfil the demands of the Kantian criticism by applying them to
the Kantian doctrine itself, and calls hiniself a Kantian from the
year 1828. Schopenhauer honors the founder of the Kantian
philosophy as his teacher and master, as the greatest of all think-
ers, and himself claims to be the one genuine Kantian among all
the rest who has thought out the work of the master to its end,
and solved the problem. Thus the Kantian doctrine exercises a
controlling power over the subsequent systems which describe, as
it were, their orbits about it, the centre of motion, and gravitate
again from aphelion back to perihelion. The present bears wit-
ness that in our age the writings of no ])hilosopher are so zeal-
ously studied as fountains oiliving \.r\\\\\ as the works of Kant.

Letters on Faust. 151

LETTERS ON FAUST.

BY H. C. BROCKMEYER.

XIY.

Contents : Those made suddenly rich demand amusements prepared for them ;
Goethe's view of art ; art is the product of the " sense of truth," the self-envelop-
ment of eternal reason ; how can there be art for the man who denies both truth and
reason ? In this new sphere, Faust comes into conflict, not with aspiration (as in the
First Part), nor with civil society (as in the paper-money scenes), but with the actu-
alization of reason in tlie form of art; the understanding (Mephistopheles) cannot
produce the beautiful, but can suggest the key which will lead to its discovery ; the
three unities of space, time, and action which should govern the drama ; Don Quixote,
as the typical example of aspiration, seeking for the beautiful in the realm of the pro-
saic understanding.

In our last, dear H., we traced the collision between Faust and
Industrial Society to its conclusion, leaving the latter, before that
conclusion was quite apparent to it, in a very blissful state — " one
half carousing and the other half strutting the streets in brand new
toggery."

Now, the last tune when you and I witnessed this play upon
the boards, some twenty years ago — I mean the time when we
saw it brought out, and don't wish to be understood to intimate
that it has been withdrawn already — you remember that we ob-
served some other accompaniments, contemporaneous as it were,
such as grand spectacular plays of the " Black Crook " spe-
cies, " Aladdin's Lamp," and the like. These of course were not
accidental, but were intended by the poet; and while he trusts
the managers to select each accordinoj to the audience which he
serves, still he (the poet) is bound in the discharge of his duty to
indicate the class of themes appropriate to the main action, hence
Faust remarks :

" You did not think, old fellow, to what lengths your arts
would carry us. First we made him rich, now we have to amuse
him." Of course : well, that is the task before us.

But before we go and see — I mean you and I, dear H. — to see
how that is done, permit me to transcribe a verse from the poet, a
verse not contained in this poem, as possibly bearing on the sub-
ject in hand :

" As all the multiplicity of forms in nature reveal but one

152 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

God, so in the wide realm of art there is but one eternal artificer.
This is the Sense of Truth, which decks itself with what is beau-
tiful only, and in serene confidence awaits the cloudless clearness
of the bri(j;htest day."

Art, then, in the poet's view of the question, is the product of
the Sense of Truth, the ability of truth in man ; without this
there would be no art worthy of the name. It is this ability for
truth, this reason which is the artificer, who decks himself — he or
it decks him or itself ; he or it is the content, and he or it is the
chooser ; for he or it decks itself with what is beautiful only.

With this fairly before our minds, we have to see what a man,
Faust, will make of this province of human endeavor ; he who
does not believe that man possesses the capacity to know truth is
destitute of this artificer of art.

Here, at the threshold, where we enter into a new sphere of
the theme, accordinaj to our analysis, and which is introduced by
the poet in this remarkal)ly unostentatious manner, it may not be
amiss to call your attention to one of the peculiarities of that
sphere — and that is, that it constitutes the immediate rational
content of the man, Faust, himself. In placiniij himself in col-
lision with that content, his every step will be instantly revealed
in its true character — an object of pity or derision ; and this gives
an entirely new aspect to the poem, so far as it develops this ])art
of the theme. In the former spheres the collisions move either
in the individual, where the honest, heart-rendin<^ aspirations of
the man for what is true, good, and beautiful, redeem the des-
peration of his conclusion, or in the world of realit}-, where the
lights are at best reflected from imperfect mediums ; but here the
focal radiance cannot be avoided.

AV^ell, we have to see what a man who does not believe man-
kind capable of truth will make of art — for that is the more spe-
cific task imposed — as we are informed by the steward who ad-
dresses Mephisto M'ith "You still owe us that ghost scene ; bet-
ter get at it at once ; his Majesty is getting impatient."

Chamh. " Yes, but now, even now, he asked for it ; your delay,
I ho]:)e, is not intended to annoy the all-gracious man ? "

Mepli. " Why, gentlemen, my companion is absent on that very
business, and he knows how to go about it. Locked up in the
strictest privacy, he labors with great diligence ; for you see the

Letters on Faust. 153

task requires extraordinary industry. I assure you, whoever un-
dertakes to dig for that treasure " (treasure being the theme of
the day, running in everybody's head), " the beautiful, requires
the very highest art — the art-magic of the sages — my clever gen-
tlemen ; the thing is not so easy."

The demand, however, is not very extraordinary or exorbitant.
It is merely the ghost of Helen and Paris — the ghost of the beauti-
ful, not the beautiful itself. But even the ghost of that is danger-
ous to meddle with for some people — but we must not anticipate.

The demand of the occasion, the demand of the audience, made
rich in the way we have seen, is to see Helen and Paris, the pat-
tern samples or saints of man and woman of such an audience, in
clear and definite forms; for no one has the slightest misgivings
but that, his demand being complied with, he will see it^ the beau-
tiful, in very deed. No one has the slightest misgivings as to
that, least of all Faust himself. Certain as he is of this, just so
certain is he that the human understanding is perfectly able to
supply this demand ; and hence, when he comes to interrogate it,
he is annoyed to a degree, when he is met with all sorts of quirks,
turns, and evasions, nay, is told that the heathens dwell in their
own hell, over which the modern understanding has no authority,
has not as yet surveyed entirely," much less reduced to possession,
as if that was an answer !

He knows, is perfectly certain, that with the mutterings of a
few magic formulas the whole thing is done. " Well, yes, there
is a means." "What is it? Spit it out, man." " But I don't
like to reveal the sublime arcana." " Out with it, I tell you."
*' The first thing you have to do is to abstract from all content
presented to you by your own world. Take this key." " What,
that insignificant — " " First lay hold of it ; first understand it be-
fore you treat it with derision." " Why, sure enough ! it does
grow in my hand — becomes luminous." " Does it ? You begin to
see what you have when you have your hand tin a thing like
that! AVell, this key will guide you to the luminous tripod, the
luminous triad, the three unities of time, space, and action. That
tripod which you touch with the key, it follows you as an humble
servant. You arise (in the world) without efibrt of your own,
good luck elevates you, and before any one so much as notices
your absence you are back. Once in possession of this tripod,

154 The Journal of Speculative Pldlosophy.

you call Tip liero or heroine from tlie ancient iiiglit at pleasure.
Thenceforth, with magical manipulation, gods are made to order
from any foy; or mist that has the least smell of Derfiime about it,"
say of meadow-hay or the like.

'" What next ? »

"Let the endeavor of your whole being be downward ; sink.'*
Degrade yourself into an ape of former ages. That is all.

" I wonder whether that key will prove a blessing to him. In-
deed, I feel some curiosity whether he will get back at all or not."

Postscript. — But there is no telling ; you see, dear H., in a
question of this kind there is no telling how far the intense de-
sire, the aspiration of a man, will carry him ; what cuffs, sarcasms^
and sneers he will be able to endure from his own understandings
even. If we examine the ever-memorable example left of record
for us by history, the only one that deserves to be mentioned in
this connection, we see how the ardent desire, the all-absorbing
passions or passion of the man, was to do, what ? Nothing but to
rid the world of those monsters of iniquity, injustice, and cruel
wrong which, according to common report, were prowling about
oppressing innocence and virtue. It was, therefore, the beautiful
in deed, the admirable in act, which he, Don Quixote, sought to
achieve. Now, the desire of Faust to produce the beautiful is not
a whit less pure and ardent than ever was the inclination of the
knight of La Mancha to do a beautiful deed, and may therefore
lead to adventures not less deservino; our admiration. This, how-

Cj 7

ever, is only possible on condition that, as in the one case, our
admiration is largely of ourselves, of our immense superiority in
being able to distinguish between a common windmill of our
neighborhood and a terrible giant from abroad, so in the other
case we exercise a discrimination, if not equal, at least approxi-
mating that degree of excellence. Be that as it may, however,
there is obviously no telling what this man's passion may lead to.

XY.

Contents : Mephistopheles vents his sarcasm ; pive3 Faust advice to ape the classic
forms in order to produce the beautiful — in short, to produce the ghost of the beautiful
by abstract methods ; Faust is not disgusted, but rather enamored with the forms of
art ; his love becomes jealousy ; he sinks into a dream of the beautiful, and becomes
oblivious of the present in wliich he lives ; he must leave the court and return to the
university, the proper place for such theoretical activities ; the difficulty of solving hia

Letters on Faust. 155

problem lies in the fact that his love is not for the universal (for there is no universal
for him, according to his conviction), Init for the sole possession of Helen ; Wagner's
Homunculus can see Faust's dream, although Mephistopheles cannot ; the reproductive
imagination will help on the way to the productive imagination, which is what Faust
needs for the attainment of the beautiful ; Homunculus, a kinsman of the Will-o'-the-
wisp, on the Brocken ; he is the aspiration to come into being.

Our last, dear H., exhibits the quirks and turns, the evasions
and soj^hisms, the arts, in a word, employed by the understanding,
when interrogated in regard to the production of the beautiful.
They ended with sarcasm, and a final brutal home-thrust of down-
right impudence. Of course, to a man of sense, of right good horse-
or-mule-sense — for a mule is far the superior to the horse when it
comes to a question of sense of that kind — there is nothing more
absurd in nature than this childish hankering alter such unreal
things as the beautiful of any kind or shape whatsoever. In the
eye of such sense the entire proclivity of human nature in this
direction is hio-hlv ludicrous under any circumstances, but when
it detects that proclivity, fondling an object unworthy of the name,
its indignation can hardly observe the bounds of common civility,,
and runs the risk of making itself ridiculous.

" I wonder whether that key will prove a blessing to him." It
ouo-ht to cure his foolishness, no doubt — he reallv ought to have
no more attacks of that kind. " I really feel some curiosity
whether he will come back." Well, if this hankering after the
beautiful were a mere matter of conviction, you see, Mr. Mephisto,
there is no doubt but that you would have cured it long ago, and
there would be no question of a relapse. But as it happens not
to be, your curiosity in that respect is, to say the least, not very
creditable to your own good sense ; for you see he does come back,
and that, too, with desire sharpened to hot hunger, notwithstand-
ing your key — hot hunger sharpened to such an edge that we shall
see wonders. Just listen, and look.

Faust. " Have I still eyes " (perhaps !) ? " Is not this Beauty's
fountain that pours a stream, bank-full, into my inmost sense ?
My fearful journey brings most blessed gain. How idle was all
the world, how blank ! And now, what is it now, since my sacred
priesthood ? Now it is as if placed on a new foundation, perma-
ment, worthy of my heart's desire. Let the breath of life vanish
the instant I forsake thee. The beautiful form which at one time
ravished me with bliss when I beheld its magic scintillation was

156 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

but a picture of foam compared to this beauty ! Thou art she at
whose feet I bring as tribute the inspiration of every power, the
essence of every passion to thee, affection, love, worship, mad-
ness."

Hot liunger sharpened, or, perhaps, dulled to such an edge that
it turns to jealousy.

J^aust. " Beware you ! You impudent fool ! You dare ! Hold
on ! Stop that ! " He vociferates at Paris, when the latter, in-
nocently enough one would suppose, plays his ancient role, now
8ome thousands of years old.

Faust. " What, am I here for nothing ; have I not this key here
in my hand ; can I not hurl 3'ou, impudent rascal, back into noth-
ingness by simple abstraction ?" Perhaps you had better try the
experiment, and see what becomes of the object of your aspiration,
your Eelen. Perhaps you had better submit (we meant to sa}')
those objects, supplied by this method, to the glittering .eyes of
the understanding, and see whether the result will not be exceed-
ingly disastrous. What is Hecuba to you ?

Well, dear H,, here we are; Faust, with his aspirations set ablaze
by the means we have seen, the ghost of the beautiful conjured
up from the past in accordance M'ith the magic formulas con-
tained in those strange cook-books {^'■Ars Foetica^'' and the like)
is knocked senseless as regards mundane affairs, aspirations and
all — at least so far as any present outlook is concerned, as to an
object for that aspiration — his exalted vocation as high-priest at
the altar of the beautiful, having resulted in that way, in conse-
quence apparently of that little experiment which we suggested,
but which was so bitterly deprecated by ]\[ephisto — we have noth-
ing left but the latter gentleman. For it is always well to re-
member that while Faust is himself and J\[e])histo, Mcphisto is
only himself, and not himself and Faust. Under this view of the
situation we have nothing left at present but Mephisto, without
mundane affairs, and Faust unconscious, dreaming as it would
appear subsequently — but practically dead to all but his dream —
80 completely has the infatuation to produce the beautiful taken
hold of the man.

Saddled with this dream, therefore, we have to sacrifice our
position at C'ourt — a loss we well understand (" That is the profit!
loading one's self with fools"), but, burdened as we are, we must

Letters on Faust. 157

back to our old home, the university, the place of investigation,
the place for dreams — the Court is not for that.

Meph. " Rest there, of all the nnfortunates the most. Seduced
into inextricable intricacies of love — paralyzed by Helen, how is
he to recover his senses?" That is the question— very intricate
indeed !

For you see this is not a case of simple love, although such
have been known, or related, as presenting a good many diffi-
culties. But a case of love for the beautiful, of a very peculiar
kind, not of that species which rushes out with hat off to the
street-corners and market-places, to the crowd, whooping and call-
ing aloud, "Come, come, one and all; come, enjoy, love, worship
M'ith me ; bathe with me in this radiance divine ; make my joy com-
plete by sharing it; make it universal, eternal!" — not that kind
of love, dear H., but that other kind, " the man must have the
woman, or what in thunder is the book about?" That is the in-
tricacy of the case, love of the beautiful that we can appropriate
to our individual purpose — individual, understand, our exclusive
and undivided purpose, to the purpose of our individuality. In-
tricate enough, but soluble here if anywhere. Here where our
vocation, the worthy Doctor Wagner, has not been idle during our
absence, is even now so absorbed in the solution of the most sub-
lime problem, that the poor man naturally of the most delicate
complexion in the world, looks like a very charcoal-burner, has
not had, or taken time, so to speak, to even wash his face for
months past. Sure enough, the worthy man, the very key-stone
of the arch that sustains the learned world, has hit upon, has pro-
duced, or is in the act of producing, something worthy of that
world, and not entirely foreign to the purpose in hand. Of course,
it is a mere speck, a mere homunculus, but it is, or at least it
strives to be, something human — would become so, in fact, and
will s])are no endeavor in that direction. It seeks to be the begin-
ning of something human, and can actually see the dreatn of Faust,
a thing wholly oblivious to your man of sense — to Mephisto.

Meph. " What wonders you relate, the more insignificant, the
greater visionary. I see nothing." Homunculus can in point of
fact sneer back at the old man himself:

Horn. " Oh, you with the double hood of priest and knight
over your eyes from infancy, what can you see, you of the north ? "

158 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

" The question liere is, as you yourself have stated it, How is
Faust to recover his senses ? If you have means for this end, use
them ; if not, leave the matter to me. The aspiration toward the
beautiful is a matter of fact, an element of human nature, for I,
even I, who, as you observe, am still in my bottle, still corked up,
I can and do already, in this my rudimentary state, as you may
say, feel, appreciate, that aspiration. If you have not learned
that fact, you had better wrap that rag of reproductive imagina-
tion about the Knight (angels of mercy defend us!) and follow
me" — " Here set him down. As his foot touches this ground, con-
sciousness returns." For he seeks it in the realm of fiction. Poor
man !

Faust. " Where is Helen ? "

Horn. " Couldn't say ; but like enough to be found here or
hereabouts with proper inquiry," And is that all ? As re-
marked, it is not much, but still it is, as far as it goes or des-
perately strives to be, human. This little light as is usual in
such cases, a light that is before it ought to be — rather prema-
ture — sadly over-estimated as to the extent of horizon it illum-
ines, can be of no real service to reveal the one thing looked
for, the one thing needful. "Couldn't say," but perhaps "here
or hereabouts" — and the like. Examined at close range, we see
that we have met the bright little man or his relative in reduced
circumstances — his first cousin, but we are not up in genealogy —
before in no less elevated a region than the Brocken itself, where
he performed duty as torch-bearer and general escort, as we remem-
ber, through the desolate empty places of those regions. There
as species of pimp, in literary guise — manufacturer of the beauti-
ful (of the kind where the man gets the woman) for the honored
public of that empty locality of barren lust — in reduced circum-
stances, and therefore cuffed about by the boss of the household !

Meph. "Keep the road, in the devil's name; I say keep the
road, don't be zigzagging about in that contradictory hobgobling
gate of yours — do you hear? or 1 bloAv that flicker — that will-'o-
the-wisp light of yours out — out into utter darkness."

But here, as Ilomunculus, not in reduced circumstances, al-
though plainly enough seen by the understanding armed with
proper instruments of observation, for you see this peculiar phial is
quite transparent, by virtue of these instruments — still, while the

Letters on Faust. 159

phial is transparent to Mepliisto, its contents are not. The Homiin-
culus, as aspiration to become, with his marvellous propensity in
that way, viewed as aspiration in general, is by no means unfa-
miliar with the aspiration toioard (which in this case might be
rendered for) the beautitul, especially when manifested in the
female form, hence he is perfectly familiar with the dream of
Faust — a thing not seen by Mephisto, and hardly credible to him
who surmises, on being informed of the diagnosis of the case, that
a remedy might perhaps be found on the Brocken itself (not a
wild guess either), but he is willing to treat the matter with a sus-
pension of judgment, for the thing has its peculiarities — the be-
coming.

Homunculus, howevei', is not merely familiar with the dream,
but with the wondrous faith that he entertains in regard to the
value of congenial surroundings; he hits upon a remedy by which
to restore Faust to his senses. But beyond this their paths sepa-
rate, and they meet no more (and there is no conceivable reason
that they should) — the one to discover if he can how wisely to
become (not to be confounded with how to become wise), the
other to discover if he can the beautiful in the realm of fiction — to
look for the self-embodied True in the realm of tlie untrue. And
what of Mephisto '\ Well, he has his own thoughts. To him this
much is certain : that in order to produce the beautiful we must
know all the conditions under which it is produced, and he will
see to it that no more failures shall occur on that score.

XYI.

Contents : The last words of Homunculus ; his destination ; Wagner's problem not
yet solved ; how to breed a poet ; can the understanding produce a poem ? Faust in
Greece ; he finds no one who has seen the beautiful except Chiron ; in the classical
Walpurgis Night he is to find, not the beautiful, but all of its conditions, commencing
with Chaos and his daughters, or the formless opposite of the beautiful ; any form is
superior to no form ; Greek art the standard of the beautiful ; all modern art an imita-
tion of it ; hence the importance of discovering all the conditions of its production ; the
Trojan War the beginning of the consciousness of the manifestation of the beautiful,
because the Greek then sacrifices himself for its recovery ; deduction of the elements of
the problem : jealousy of Faust, explosion, unconsciousness, necessity of resort to the
Brocken of the classic world, return to consciousness, nature Struggling to become beau-
tiful in the shape of sphinx, griffin, etc., the family relation with Helen as the germ of
institutional life ; the Greek myths of Helen involve three things : Helen must be an
individual, and yet must become universal and still retain her individuality ; her wooers

IGO The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

must surrender life, fortune, and honor in the defence of the successful wooer ; thus
the family is made sacred, renunciation of individual passion secured ; the aspiration is
no lonfTcr commensurate with the object, for aspiration is national and should have a
national object ; this it finds in the Trojan nation; (irecce proves its universality by
destroying its opponent ; the act of Helen, as proceeding from brute lust, appertains to
the realm of Chaos, of ancient night, devoid of rational instituticms, and symbolized by
Phorkyas ; the content of tlie act of Helen is individual aspiration for the beautiful,
and this is a simple dujjlicate of the aspiration of Faust.

Whatever the success of Faust, there is no doubt but that his
escort, whose services became of value only as we have observed,
dear II., in our last letter, by reason of the peculiar intricacy of
this love affair that we are investigating — there is no doul)t, I say,
that he, the escorter to this delightful region, will fall in with
something in his line.

Horn. " Tiie air is wondrous soft here, and the perfnme most
delicious."

Proteus. "I should say so, you lovely little rogue ! " " On fixr-
ther toward the point of this little tongue of land it becomes still
more delightful, and the redolent air more inexpressible ....
Come ! See !"....

. . . Horn. " Threefold remarkable spirit, stop." . . . '^ What
I reveal to you in this soft emulgence is all-inspiringly beautiful."
That is the last word of Homnnculus.

Proteus. " It is in this vital emulgence where your light be-
comes musical " — becomes rhythmic, so to speak,

Nereus. " What mystery is about to reveal itself? Around the
sliell, around the feet of Galatea, it flames, now strong, now lovely
now sweetly, as if touched by the heart-throbs of love."

Thales. '' It is llomunculus enticed by Proteus. You seethe
symptoms of imperious longing, hear the heaving." (Here there
is a misprint in my book, dear H. — a Dr for St — so that Stoeh-
nens has been printed Droehnens. Of course I cannot proceed in
so delicate a matter until I have an opportunity to examine the
original manuscript, and know that I am right. If the passage
referred to anything in the world of reality, it might not be of any
great moment, but here one cannot be too careful.)

This, then, is the last of llomunculus. He most assuredly is
in a fair way to become, whetlier wisely or not. If the chorus in
the next act of the poem may be believed, it would apj)ear that
this sublime problem, on which we saw the learned Di-. Wagner

Letters on Faust. 161

sit liatchiiii^ — the problem of how to produce genius to order in
the human species l)y careful breeding, by wisely guiding the be-
coming — was not solved at that tinie.

It sings : " Alas ! born to ail that is desirable in life, parents of
exalted rank, far-reaching power, a piercing eye to see the world,
a heart attuned to sympathy with every human emotion, the ado-
ration of the best of women, and an utterance most melodious;
with all this, lost, lost to himself in the very bloom of youth ! "

Not solved at that time, even under these circumstances, and so
we may fairly dismiss that subject.

But how, my friend, how about the other, that cognate prob-
lem — at bottom one with this ? Suppose we agree with the book
that, at that time, man, or the understanding of man, was not as
yet able to produce the Poet to order. There was no reason in
this, was there? that it might not produce the work of the poet,
the beautiful. Suppose it should succeed in this; why then Na-
ture, as we say, may keep her Poet in her pocket. The problem
is solved from the other end — the demand supplied.

But where is Faust?

Faust. " Here I am, as it were by a miracle, here in Greece ! "
— the wind knocked out of him again almost by the mere thought
of this fact — " I felt instantly the ground on which I stood " —
likely. " How I, the sleeper, was permeated by a spirit." No
doubt of that. " I stand a very Antgeus." " See what a remark-
able collection ! Now let me investigate this labyrinth of divers
colored flames earnestly."

That is the thing to do, no doubt of that.

But beyond the detection of here and there a good outline in
the colossal abortions of Sphinxes, Griffins, and the like — tiie
memories associated with them in his reading, and the exclama-
tion, " IIow colossal the forms, how grand the memories ! " — all
of which Mephisto attributes to the very natural cause that when
one is on the track of his sweetheart he is usually in an apprecia-
tive mood, we hear nothing from him outside of his dream which
he brought along with him, until he is thrown into ecstatic hys-
terics by the circumstance that he finds himself seated upon the
identical spot once occupied by Helen — upon old Chiron's back.
This hysteric ecstasy itself, however, is of short duration, as the
whole thing runs itself into the ground — that is, into the foot
XXI— 11

162 Th^ Journal of Speculative PhilosojyJiij.

of Olympus; for tlie oi)ject wliicli Faust had in view, there-
fore, beyond tliat " seat," tliis seems a very unpromising locality.
Not one of the assembled, Chiron excepted, even as much as
claims a passing acquaintance with the beautiful. Some of them
have heard of somebody, who was neighbor to somebody, who,
etc., but, as far as a sight of the object itself, not even through a
telescope.

But what of that ? We did not come here, says Mephisto, to
find the beautiful. We came to hunt up the conditions under
which it is produced and producible. Not merely the conditions
in a loose, general way, but, distinctly, all the conditions — that is
the reading of the text.

Commencing with Chaos, then ? As immediate background,
undoubtedly. But his daughters — they have some form, they are
already beauties as compared to Chaos, and therefore not to be
neglected. They are indeed the starting-point, if we do not want
t,o fool ourselves again in this matter, and they are, or ought to be,
here.

Observe, dear H., with what diligence he investigates, under
such inauspicious circumstances, too, until he finds his object.
See how he analyzes it, and, finally, with what diplomatic skill
and perfect disregard of personal appearance he possesses himself
of a veritable sample of these fundamental beginnings of all forms,
the very first-born of Chaos. With these, the beginnings, the
very principles of all forms in his possession, let your beauty pre-
sent itself. That is —

But here a question puts itself of the very highest importance
to our undertaking, and which, furnished as we are, can be ])Ost-
poned no longer. It is this, dear 11. : If the unreality of the prod-
ucts of art of a given period is attributable to a superficial imi-
tation, and this to a superficial knowledge of the imitated, and
the latter is the Greek Ideal, as embodied in Helen, then you
observe that it becomes of the highest importance to determine,
if we desire to know all the conditions that we are in quest of, at
what period in the develo]iment of this idea it is to be regarded
by us as perfect — as standing revealed to the consciousness of
Greece in all its divine splendor. Public rumor, you observe,
merely reports that Helen stands for the beautiful, but does not
determine this question for us with any degree of accuracy, and

Letters on Faust. 163

unless it is so determined, why, we might make a serious mistake.
Was it before or after the Trojan War? If manifestation is an
essential element, then it could only be after that event. For
then, and tiien only, was it manifiested, lit up, as it were, by the
world-torch of burning II ion— proclaimed through all time in the
wailing accents of helpless infancy, and the groans of more help-
less old age — this is the sacritice that man lays upon the altar of
the Eternal.

This, dear H., is not the solution of that little problem ; it is
only the statement. Let us now look at it at a little closer range,
in order to see how we get to the next act.

The intricacy of the problem is as follows :

1. AVe have the natural aspiration toward the beautiful, which
is not contined to Faust, not even to man, but which is general, or
nearly so, throughout animated nature.

But this aspiration manifests itself in conjunction with the
sexual phenomena of procreation only, and in these phenomena
we attribute to it the function of selection, of individualization, of
exclusiveness, and hence jealousy.

2. It is this jealousy that produces the catastrophe in the scene
between Faust and the Ghost of Paris and Helen, where the aspi-
ration of the former demands an object exclusive for itself.

Then the explosion is caused which reduces him to unconscious-
ness — that is, degrades him to a level with every living thing in
nature that mates, be it bird of the air or animal of the field.

3. In this condition the understanding is powerless to reach
him, and the circumstance that the objects are mere spectres ren-
ders the case so much more desperate.

4. The only remedy in this case, therefore, lies in the cause of
the phenomenon, and must be developed thence.

5. But the cause of the phenomenon is the potentiality in ani-
mated nature, which in its first distinct organized existence is the
spermatozoa — in man the Ilomunculus.

6. It is under the guidance, therefore, of Ilomunculus that
Faust is borne, in a condition wholly unconscious, wholly inhu-
man as man is under such guidance, to the classical Brocken, to
the equivocal elements of ancient culture. To the world created
by the aspiration toward the beautiful, as it expresses itself in
nature.

164r The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

7. The moment lie touches this o;r<)nn(l, consciousness returns,
for he is at home amidst a world created by his own as])iration, or
a world exj>ressive of that aspiration in the forms of Gritiins,
Sphinxes, Sirens, Fauns — in a word, of nature struggling to be-
come beautiful — to become human.

8. But, while that may be the meaning of this equivocal world,
that world may also mean all human nature struggling to become
bestial, as such phenomena too frequently do in the modern
world. Hence, instead of seeing the purification of the object of
aspiration, and through it of the aspiration itself, he declares espe-
cially and with vehemence that he does not want to be cured,
would regard himself infamous if he did (" as infamous as all the
rest''), and sees in these forms the possibility of obtaining an ob-
ject for his aspiration as it is, as nature made it.

9. In this he succeeds when he discovers that point where self-
conscious intelligence begins its process of mediation through
which the object of the aspiration is purified, not merely from all
animal elements, but, from its individual elements, into universal-
ity — through the institutional life created bv that intelligence.
This process is represented in the Greek Mythus of Helert, and
involves the following elements:

1. The object is individual.

2. It is to become universal.

3. And retain its individuality.

1. Helen must be an individual woman, for thus alone is she
an object for the natural aspiration for the beautiful.

2. This individuality can show its universality only by the
power which it exercises over all men. To be the object for one,
a few or many, is not sufficient. Universality means all.

All the young men of Greece are wooers.

3. Wooing, however good, as far as it goes, furnishes no demon-
stration of the universality in question. This can be supplied
only by an absolute surrender of the individuality of each wooer
— of his life, fortune, and sacred honor — to the object. All agree
that whoever wins the object of their common aspiration shall
command the life and fortune of each individual for the defence
of his hearth.

4. The purification of the aspiration is thiis complete; that is,
in a formal way. The sacredness of the family is established by

Letters on Faust. 165

formal compact signed, sealed, and delivered bj' all in the pres-
ence of all Greece.

5, To achieve tliis, however, each individual wooer had to re-
nounce the individual woman ; the universality of the object could
only be established by this solemn renunciation. So long as the
individual wooer demanded this individual beauty, come what
may, he could not sign that compact. In lieu of it, of the indi-
viduality of the object, they have established for each the sacred-
ness of the family as the home, the embodiment of the beautiful.
A creation of intelligence in lieu of a product of nature.

6. But the immediate object, Helen, remains as nature made it.
It is no party to the compact ; and the family, even in its formal
state, consists of two individuals, both of whom must be purified —
must surrender their caprice in order to be united into one (see
Letters III and IX, notes).

I. The object, therefore, is no longer commensurate with the
aspiration, nor the aspiration with the object (for we must remem-
ber that both are either). The latter is individual ; it as aspira-
tion seeks an object commensurate with its individuality. This it
finds, not in Greece, for Greece has signed that compact, but be-
yond where there are still men — men that are willing to kill and
be killed for the individual object, the woman they want.

8. But this act on the part of the object arouses the formal com-
pact, the foi-mal family into an armed reality, that, in the event,
demonstrates its own universality^ by tiie destruction of the individ-
ual object of the aspiration of Helen — Paris and all his adherents.

9. The content of this victory, the family, of course, terminates
the equivocal realm into which Faust was guided by his aspira-
tion, and places the act of Helen in the form of Phorkyas, as the
land-mark, as the everlasting monument of demarkation between
its own world and that realm of Chaos, of brute lust, of ancient
night, utterly devoid of any institution of rational intelligence —
Phorkyas, " in whose creation no God was concerned."

10. The content of this act is, as we have seen, the individual
aspiration toward the beautiful, the same as manifested through-
out animated nature — a simple duplicate of the aspiration of
Paust, the man who denies the existence of truth to men.

II. It is this act which in the shape of Phorkyas throws Helen
into the arms of . . . ; but let us go and see.

166 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

XYII.

Contentx : The reception of Helen by Lvnceus and Faust ; the nature of their relation ;
not universal, but particular ; the spectre of the hearth ; Eujjhorion's fate predestined ;
the understanding, with all the conditions in its hand, produces only the external gar-
ments of beauty, and has even to dispute its title " with demons tugging at the cor-
ners."

Lynceus. " Let ine kneel, let me look, let me die, let me live !
Lost! lost ! Dedicated body and soul to this God-given woman !
Intently awaiting the glories of morn, with eyes on the East, the
Sun arises miraculously in the South ; attracts the eye to tliat side ;
instead of hills and dells, the wide expanse of earth and sky. Her
to see ! Her, the only one ! Gifted witli eyesight like the lynx,
lo I I strain every nerve, bewildered as in a dream. How could
I locate myself ? The pinnacle ! the tower ! the gate ! Fogs
sway and vanish before my eyes — such a goddess stands revealed !
Absorbed are heart and eyes, and this beauty as it dazzles dazes
me entirely; I forget my duties as warder — clean forget the won-
der-horn. You may threaten, may destroy me; beauty assuages
every passion.""

This, mark you, from the man with extraordinary eyesight.
Nay, in a few moments he comes rushing back with —

" You see me back, O Queen ! Me, the man of unbounded
wealth, begs, oh, begs one look from thee ! He gazes on thee, and
feels poor as a beggar, and rich as a prince."

After describing his store of wealth, whence, and how ac-
quired —

"All this I held fast my own, but now, rather loosely, it be-
comes thine. T believed it of highest value, but now see that it is
naught. All my wealth is vanished, cut down, and withered like
grass. Oh, give it back its value with one cheerful look." Do!

Pray imagine the feelings of the poor man when he is told by
Faust —

" Take away your burden edaciously acquired. Quick ! Not
exactly censured, but neither worthy of reward. AVhatever the
castle contains belongs to her, of course. To bring piecemeal
offerings of special objects is superfluous. Go ! Heap treasure
upon the top of treasure ; erect the sublime picture of unheard-of
splendor. Let the arched dome shine like a new heaven. Ar-

Letters on Faust. 167

range a paradise of lifeless life. In advance of her step, let the
embroidered carpet unroll on carpet; her feet be met by velvet
floor, her eye by splendors endured only by the gods."

How is that, dear H.?

Lynceus. " What the master orders is easily done. Mere play,
in fact, for the servant to perform."

After such a reception we are prepared to look around and ask
with the leader of the chorus :

" Who could blame our Queen if she should grant the Lord of
the Castle some friendly attention ? Kemember, too, that we are
prisoners, all of us, as we have been more than once since the
awe-inspiring downfall of Ilion, and the labyrinthine journey
thence,"

No, indeed, no one ought to blame the queen — no one but a
brute would. But you really were prisoners then — you were
treated as such by the persons in charge? You, the handmaids,
the immediate handmaids of beauty? And you really think that
the circumstance that you all. Queen and handmaids, are prisoners
now, ought to be considered in judging the conduct of your Queen
in the case supposed ?

Well, your experience in such matters entitles your opinion to a
good deal of weight, no doubt, and when you tell us further :

" Women accustomed to the love of men (man in the plural)
are no choosers, but judges they are ; and, as occasion serves,
grant their favors impartially to golden-locked shepherd or to
black-bristled Faun alike." It only shows the extent of your ex-
perience. Nay, if we recall the greeting which your Qaeen re-
ceived, but now, as it were, at the hearth and home of her husband
Menelaus, we should be less than human if we did not agree with
you. We remember your own surprise, even as you called out to
your friends :

" Come, leave now the pleasure-strewn path of song, and direct
your eyes to the palace portal. What do I see, sisters? is it not
the Queen who returns to us with strangely agitated step ? " (on
a run, so to speak). " What is it, exalted Queen ? what could
happen to thee of exciting nature in the halls of thine own house?
You cannot hide it, for in spite of you I read upon j'our brow a
noble anger debating with surprise." (Not to say terror.)

Helena. " Common dread does not become the daughter of Zeus.

168 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

The frivolous hand of timorous fear does not touch her. But terror
sprung from tlie lap of primeval night, in the beginning of things,
and which even now many-formed heaves itself into the light of
day, up out of the Mountain's cavernous throat of fire, shakes the
courage even of hero. The inhabitants of Styx have to-day so
fearfully marked for me the entrance into this house that I gladly
leave, like a guest dismissed, the oft-frequented, longed-for portal.
But no. I have retreated hither into the light of day, and who-
ever you may be, ye powers, farther you drive me not. I will
think of purifications. Then cleansed, the glowing hearth may
welcome the wife as well as the husband."

No ! No ! Panthalis — Mrs. or Miss — no one can blame your
Queen for granting those little friendly attentions. A lady whose
own hearth has no other w^elcome to oft'er, a lady who cannot ap-
proach that hearth without purification ; M'ho, in fact, approaches
that hearth with reflections such as these:

" I have journeyed hither over the sea in the same ship with
my husband, who now sends me in advance to his City ; but what
his intentions are I am unable to fathom. AVhether I come as
wife, as Queen, or as a sacrifice for the bitter grief I caused the
prince, and the endless woes of the Greeks, captured I am.
Whether a prisoner, I know not. For the Eternals determined
fame and fortunes doubtful for me as the questionable companions
of my beauteous form, and they now stand at my side with a low-
ering, threatening presence. For in the Hollow Ship my husband
scarcely looked at me, and never spoke one friendly word — sat by
my side as if intent on mischief.

" When you have done inspecting," said he, "everything, in its
order, then take as many tripods as you may deem necessary, and
such vessels as he who officiates at the sacrifice desires at hand
while performing the sacred rite — the kettles and the pans, not
less the shallow plate; the high jars be filled with purest water
from the sacred spring; in addition, see prepared some dry wood
readily kindled into flame; and, finally, see that a well-ground
knife may not be wanting. Thus he spoke, but not a syllable did
he utter indicating what living thing he intends to butcher in
honor of the Olympians. It looks suspicious.

" Let it be as it may. Whatever may be my lot, it behooves
me to ascend without delay into the palace. . . . My feet do not

Letters on Faust. 169

bear me with buoyancy up the high steps, which in childhood's
glee I danced merrily to the top."

I say a Queen in her situation is not to be blamed in the little
affair under consideration. Blame the lady ? No.

But what about Mr. Lynceus ? The man of that marvellous
collection of wealth, of learning, of no end of bright things brought
together by edacious labor from far and near. How about him ?
Is this the use to which the result of all his unheard-of toil is to
be put ? Are these bright things to be placed at the disposal of a
beauty who, according to her own story, entertains grave donbts
whether her husband will not or ought not to cut her throat for
the infamous scandal brought to his bed ? A beauty whose won-
derful charms could not win one, no? not one friendly word dur-
ing the long and devious voyage from the man who sits beside her
in the hollow ship. The beauty, who, brought face to face with
the sacred hearth, whose gentle glow erst melted the wife and the
husband into one being of holy joy, of fatherhood and Mother-
hood — sees what ? Her Deed, First-born of Chaos, Hideous
damnation of primeval night starting up from the ashes there,
waving her back from the threshold. It is her deed, and not a
fiction-monger's lie. For Penelope at Ithaca is even now weaving
the garment for the monster to exhibit it in all its nakedness. It
is her deed of desecration which drives her from the family hearth
approached with so heavy a heart, with so languid a step. Ob-
serve that deed. Although past endurance, in the sight of that
hearth, see with what fatal spell it controls the terror-stricken
slave and her crew! — that crew, meanwhile, more blind than
their mistress, heaping execrations upon itself. " Speak but your
name, and the riddle is solved." For the Phorkyads are the first-
born of Chaos; born before the ancient night of impenetrable
darkness, of simple brute lust, had yielded place to organized in-
stitutions of intelligence. " No God was concerned in their cre-
ation." And it may, therefore, admit of serious question whether
the degree of perfection attributed to them by sacred poesy — one
eye and one tooth for the three — is not above the truth when
measured by rigorous fact,

I say, what about this man who claims to have eyes to see ?

Alas ! dear H,, it is only for bright glittering things, for gew-
gaws. But for the prayer which he addresses to what he believes

170 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

to be the beautiful — " Oh, give it, the trumpery, back its value
with one cheerful look " — which evinces sotue sincerity, and also
some appreciation of the outer relation of tilings, he would inevi-
tably sink beneath the contempt of all mankind — his jewels being
such a load.

And, now, what about the Lord of the Castle, the Knight so
deeply interested in these questions, or their purport ? Well, my
dear 11., you must look for yourself; how am I even to hint at
any one feature of the ecstasy that now thrills his wliole being —
quivers, so to speak, the verv spurs at his heels into music, when
I could not even do justice to the effect of that ever-memorable
" seat " in the last scene ? Be pleased to recall the air, the genu-
flexions, the grimaces, etc., with which he otticiated before us at
the altar of Beauty — a beauty of the kind made of any mist or
fog with the least scent of perfume about it ; the kind that is
wholly dumb — inside blank and outside fog. Then recall the
effect of that "seat,'' and then endeavor to picture to yourself the
looks, the attitudes, the feelings, the shiverings of the man when
he comes into the actual presence of the beauty — the beauty of
the kind where the man gets the woman.

Do this if you can ; but I repeat my advice, go ajid see for your-
self — not just now, however, for you see he is busy teaching this
unclean — (I may say that, for she herself stated that she would
think out some way of purifying herself, in order that she might
approach the family hearth, when she adopted the other alterna-
tive of remaining as she was and letting the hearth go) — I mean
to say that the Knight is teaching this unclean beauty how to
rhyme. You might disturb him ; take this glimpse into the inside
there.

J^aust. " I scarcely breathe ; I quiver; Speech is dumb ; it is a
dream ; time and place have vanished."

\ ou observe. And so we have arrived whence we started for
insight, for content — wholly dumb, mere pantomime ; the very
same pantomime we had before, with this difference, that for
Faust it is not the other fellow that has the woman. But for us
it is ; and so we are whence we started, with hands, hearts, and
souls empty.

Of course, that sublime picture of unheard-of splendor — that
paradise of lifeless life, made up of the Learnings and Earnings

Letters on Faust. 171

of the Ages — that is something;. But you will observe that with-
out a cheerful smile of beauty — a beauty that is itself content, and
can employ such things — they are mere trumpery, the very ex-
treme outer of form ; and for this content we have the object as
presented by nature. (See Letter XVI.)

The ofi'spring of the liaison between the natural aspiration to-
ward the l)eautiful and its object, as presented by rumor, with the
understanding as go-between is extremely precocious, as is not
unusual with offspring born out of wedlock, but, as is also not
unusual, entirely too smart to live long. So after romping his
little hour with the handmaids of beauty, who, as handmaids of
beauty of that kind, are not averse to such and kindred recreation,
he incontinently breaks his neck at the feet of his parents, to the
relief almost of the latter; for no appeal of theirs, however touch-
ing or tender, has the slightest effect upon the youngster, bent on
courting his fate with reckless daring.

Helen. "Scarcely called into life, scarcely given to the bright
sun of day, thou yearnest from the dizzy heights beyond — beyond
into space filled with agony and woe. Are, then, we naught to
thee ; is the golden bond a dream ? " Nothing more ; not even
that under the circumstances. That is all one to him ; and so —

Helen. " The tie of love is severed, and with it the tie of life.
Deploring both, I bid thee a painful fare-the-well ! " Of course,
the tie of love and life is one and the same thing with beauty of
this species.

Meph. " Hold fast the only thing that remains to thee — the
garment! Don't let go of it; there are demons tugging at the
corners to drag it down below. Hold to it ! It is not the God-
dess herself — still it is divine. Avail yourself of the high, the
estimable favor, and ascend. It bears you swiftly, high above the
commonplaces through the ether as long as you can sustain your-
self." And no longer.

" We meet asain far — far from here."

The curtain drops, says the Poet; " Phorkyas in the side-scene
straightens up, until she assumes giant proportion ; pushes veil
and mask aside, and exhibits herself as Mephisto, in order, by way
of epilogue, to comment upon the ])iece, if deemed necessary."

Not necessary, thank you ! the face is all-sufficient.

You will observe, dear H., that the understanding with all the

172 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

conditions at command, from Phorkvas up to Helen, from the
first-born of Chaos, the first rudiments of form, up to the highest
example of beaut}' known to rumor — lacking the artificer, the
Sense of Truth, achieves with all its marvellous skill nothing but
the outer drapery, the external garnr.ents of beautv, and even this
only with a disputed title, " with demons tugging at the corners."

XVIII.

Contents : We have now seen what is the quality of art that the understanding can
produce to satisfy the shoddy public thirsting for amusement during its leisure ; the
fourth act now opens ; Faust bids adieu to clouds, and arrives at facts ; there is an
ocean of the unknown surrounding this realm of fact ; a noble army of scientific toilers
make inroads on it ; want of organization in tlie toilers renders nugatory their work ;
to organize them shall be Faust's life-endeavor ; meanwhile the Emperor, with his fool-
gospel, has so managed as to let his State fall into anarchy, and revolution is in prog-
ress ; Faust and the Understanding prop the throne, and a victory is gained for the
Emperor, Faust, and Anarchy; with justice present, every want is protected in its
rational exertion ; with justice absent, every want is a yawning chasm that seeks to engulf
the State ; Faust's labors, guided by Mephistopheles, tend to make anarch} perpetual ;
" court festivals " the only business left for the State ; the Arclibishop asks for a large
endowment for church purposes, and gets it ; " the want is money — get it " ; but the
Archbishop is not satisfieil ; he demands the share of the realm which has been a!ssigned
to Faust ; it is the land still covered by the waves — the land of unknown truth covered
by the ocean of ignorance, which science is to lay bare, and add to the terra Jiriaa ; the
Church wishes to control the conclusions of science, and have power of revision ; the
Emperor, however, does not grant this last request.

These, then, dear H., are the outlines of the themes we referred
to in Letter XIV as appropriate to the main action, and from
which managers may select without risk of serious mistake or in-
congruity so long as the main play is upon the board. The latter
will now claim our attention. For society which we left so happy,
" one half carousing, and the other half strutting the streets in
brand new toggery '' — in order to look after its amusements, to
see that nothing might be wanting for its proper relaxation during
the leisure moments of such exhausting occupation — is about to be
informed of the full blessing which it is to enjoy from that new
gospel mentioned in Letter XIII, "The want is money — get it."
Let us observe the progress of the play.

" The scene is the very pinnacle of a jagged mountain range of
naked rock. A cloud apjiroaches, leans upon the edge where there
is a small level spot, opens, and Faust emerges,"

Letters on Faust. 173

And bids good-bj to clouds forever, haviiio; arrived on solid
naked tact at last. Nay, the very ideal of naked fact, as we see.

For a moment he contemplates the illusions of the past, as they
glide by in the shape of a cloud, that but now supported him, otf
toward the East. He still sees some outlines of beauty which,
however, soon vanish, and the whole is piled up in a broad stra-
tum along the horizon, resembling a glacier — mirroring with a
sterile glitter the aims once so high to him in the days that are
no more.

Another illusion, a slight mist takes the form of his tirst love —
does not dissolve, but, gently gliding, ascends upward into the blue
ether, and draws after it the better part of his inner self.

While thus occupied a " seven-league boot " heaves in sight.
Another of the same kind follows, Mephisto alights. The boots
march on in a great hurry.

Mephisto. " That's what I call making progress to some pur-
pose ! But, say, what in the world has got into yon, to halt in
the midst of these monstrosities, among these cliffs and yawning
chasms ? Of course to me the scene is quite familiar, although
not exactly in this locality ; for, in point of fact, this used to be
the floor of hell."

Faust. '' You're never wanting in foolish yarns. It is high
time j'ou were spinning one of that kind."

At which Mephisto proceeds in bitter earnest to rehearse the
volcanic theory of geology. Assigns, however, as ultimate cause
the banishment of the devils into the deepest depths, " where,
being crowded together in a limited space without proper ventila-
tion, the foul air generated produces coughing and sneezing ; a
blowing off at both ends, in fact, by all the devils at once." This
results in a volume of gas of such magnitude and power as to
burst the crust of the earth wide open, and produce the phenomena
we see.

In fact, we are in the midst of a discussion of problems in phys-
ical science, so called, and modern progress. Of course the illu-
sions of the past we have found to be illusions in very deed, but
here in this sphere of naked fact, here the understanding is mas-
ter, and here something may be achieved of memorable import.

Observe that ocean of ignorance and doubt, on the one hand,
and this noble army of toilers making inroads upon that ocean.

174 The Journal of Speculative PhUosophy.

upon the unknown, on the other. Observe, also, how this mass of
toilers is without organization, each working after his own plan,
and the result as a whole is but too often a fluctuating, aimless
strife ; now victory, now defeat, leaving a large margin of debata-
ble ground, which in my judgment might be reclaimed if a central
institution were established that could pronounce authoritatively
this is truth and this is error.

This is possible, and to accomplish this shall be the sole aim of
what remains of life. If there is aught of ability in you, apply it
in this direction.

Meph. " Nothing so easy as that. Hear you those drums in
the distance ? "

Faust. " What, war again ? the prudent man dislikes to hear it."

Meph. "War or peace is all one to him who knows how to draw
profit from either. You are on the alert for the opportunity ; it
comes, and there you have it."

Faust. " Please keep such wise saws to yourself. Explain what
you mean in plain terms."

Meph. " On my journeying about it did not escape my atten-
tion that our worthy Emperor is in an awkward situation.' You
remember him. At the time when you and I amused him, and
tilled both his hands full with false wealth, why the whole world
was at his feet. ... In the mean time the State fell into anarchy,
where great and small, right and left, were at feud ; brothers slew
or banished brother, castle was arrayed against castle, city against
city, trade against nobility ; the bishop against chapter and con-
gregation. Wherever two met, they were enemies ; in the churches,
death and murder ; beyond the city's gate, merchant and traveller
as good as lost. For to live meant 'defend thyself!' well; that
went at a high rate."

Faust. "Went? It hobbled, fell down, jumped up again,
threw a somersault, then tumbled along in a hideous, inextricable
coil."

Meph. "And no one dared to say one word against such a state
of aflairs ; for every one wanted to be, and could be, boss. Tiie
most insigniflcant idiot was accounted the full stature of a man.
Thus thinycs went on, from bad to worse, until utterly unendura-
ble ; the better classes arose in arms and said, ' He is master who
can give us peace. The Emperor can not, will not do it ; let us

Letters on Faust. 175

elect a new one who can revive the State, protect the citizen, and
secure justice and peace to all.'"

Faust. " That sounds very priest-like."

Meph. "So it was the priests; they stirred up the rumpus; as
it increased to a rebellion they sanctified the cause; and our Em-
peror, whom we made so happy, marches hither to tigiit perhaps
his last battle."

Faust. " I'm sorry for him ; he was such a good, open-hearted
fellow."

Meph. " Come, let us take a look at the situation ; as long as
there is life there is hope. If we can rescue him out of this pre-
dicament, only this once, it will be as good as a thousand times.
Who knows how the dice may fall ; and if he has luck, why he will
not lack dominion."

("They climb over an intervening mountain, and examine the
position of the army in the valley beyond.")

Meph. " The position I see is well selected. We join, and vic-
tory is assured."

Faust. " What can we add — deception, blind delusion, empty
show ? "

Meph. " Stratagem ! to win battles ! Keep your eye upon the
high purpose you have in view. If we succeed in preserving the
realm and throne for the Emperor, you kneel down and receive
that unlimited domain you mention."

Don't you see, if there is virtue in our scientific attainments
here is the place to show it, and show it to some purpose. If they
can prop the throne against the just demands of the best in the land
— against the Church itself, its ancient pillar — pray who controls
in the future \ Best in the land ? let them go hang themselves !

To ti'ace the course of the battle we have no call ; suffice it to
say, that the event is victory for throne, Faust, and anarchy.

From this, then, dear H., we may form some estimate of the
significance of justice to man, of its presence or its absence, and of
the fool-gospel that replaces it, or seeks to replace it upon the
boards of the State, where this play is being performed. With
justice present every want is sacred, a fountain of rational exer-
tion, a blessing to the State. With justice absent every want is a
yawning chasm that seeks to engulf that State, as a body defunct,
deserted by the rational end, the vital spirit of its existence.

176 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

To thwart tliis beneficent result, to make- anarchy perpetual,
this, then, accordinr; to the poet, is the deep damnation which the
conviction of Faust brings upon the State, where it is adopted as
the gui<iinii:; truth. What boots it, that society as the industrial
totality of the State is " in financial stress," as the phrase goes —
the "rag-spectre" of fool-money, as Mephisto calls it, will stop its
inarticulate muttering, its clamor for justice, for a season.

What boots it, that the season past, the best in the land arise in
arms to achieve sovereignty for justice and peace? Faust is there
armed with his conviction and modern arts to do battle for
anarchy.

The course of the battle we had no call to follow, nor is it neces-
sary to our purpose to examine the marvellous organization which
the State receives in consequence. An organization in which, as
the Emperor expresses it, "the only thing to be considered — un-
avoidably the only thing to treat of — are court festivals." But
these im])ortant matters adjusted, and the gentlemen concerned
having withdrawn, the Archbishop remains and addresses his
Majesty in a very pathetic strain.

Let us listen :

" The Chancellor has withdrawn, the Bishop still remains,
chained to thy presence by a sincere desire to utter a word of
earnest warning. His fatherly heart throbs with anxious care for
thee."

"What is it that can cloud this happy hour? Say on."

"Alas! with what bitter pain do I find thy exalted, thy sacred
person at this moment in league with Satan ! 'Tis true, apparently
secnre upon the throne; but, alas! in defiance of Almighty God
and his vicar, his Holiness the Pope ! When the latter learns the
event he is sure to judge, to demolish thy sinful power with his
holy thunderbolt. For all too well he still remembers how you
on the very day of your coronation freed that magician. How
the first my of mercy from your diadem saved that execrable head
to the everlasting scandal of Christendom ! Consider, oh, con-
sider ! Strike vour breast in contrition. Dedicate a modest mite
of thy undeserved good fortune to holy Mother Church. That
broad plateau where your tent was pitched when you entered into
that unholy alliance with the evil spirits, where you lent a will-
ing ear to the prince of liars — that I advise you to dedicate to

Letters on Faust. 177

sacred uses. With hill and dense forest as far as thev extend;
next tlie unduhitiiig* phiin bayond, green with perpetual pastur-
ajre ; with the clear lake aboundino; in fish : then the innumerable
streamlets that brawl down into the vale; then the broad valley
itself, with its meadows, tields, and downs. Thus you express
contrition, and thus may hope for pardon."

ETnperor. " I feel so mucii alarmed at the fearful deed. Go,
tix the limit of the grant yourself."

It is not necessary, dear IL, to see them. Sufficient that the
good man has to return to the presence once or twice in order that
he may be certain that he has secured enough. " TJje want is
money, or money's worth — get it." For this is the Bishop, not the
Church — only its servant. And yet such is the nature of things
that even the Holy of Holies can be polluted by such servants —
not merely polluted, but even worse — perverted.

The last time — the second or tln'rd — the good man returns, he
remarks, as something that had well nigh escaped his memory :

" Pardon, your Majesty, I understand the shore of the realm
has been assigned to that bad man. Of course he will be excom-
municated unless it, too, is made tributary to the Church."

Emperor. " Why, there is nothing there as yet ; everything is
still covered by the broad ocean."

Bishop. "A vested right, and patient waiting will bring fru-
ition."

It is not what is achieved, that which you can see, that you have
secured to us. That bit of high ground, your ro3'al self, is hap-
pily already tributary. But it is the endeavor for the future
which we demand. Shall the readino-s of the understanding; of
man in the book of JNature, as he calls it, be corrected by the
readings found by the Church in Holy Writ, or the latter by the
former ? Shall the readings of modern science be corrected by
the readings of the Bible, or the readings of the Bible by modern
cience? — that is the question, your Majesty. You, as recompense
for services rendered, during the recent un[)leasantness, have pri-
vately — although publicly you attributed your success to quite
different agencies — you have privately granted facilities for an
organized effort to make inroads upon what your Majesty is
pleased to regard as covered by ignorance and doubt — in a word,
upon the unknown. Such an institution is likely to give more
XXI— 12

178 The Journal of Speculative Philowphy.

antliorit^y, more permanence to the aeliievements in tliis direction
tlian the flnctuating, confused, and not unfreqiiently conflictinf^
efforts of isolated private endeavor. Recent events are well calcu-
lated to call our attention to the danger that may emanate from
such a quarter unless it is made tril)utary to the Church — unlei^s
the Church, in fact, correct its results. Free, secular inquir}', or
inquiry under the patronage of the State, is a very dangerous
thinn; to our sunremacv.

But his Majej^ty, fool-led as he is, refuses to interfere — recent
events, the Church sanctioning the rebellion, not calculated to pre-
sent very urgent motives in that direction ; and so the next act.

XTX.

Contents : The collision of Faust with the Church ; the " open country," where every-
thing is on a small scale; the symbolism; church edifice on a height; shores of time;
ocean of the infinite ; sea-marsli of superstition made habitable land l)y science ; Faust
in his garden vexed at tlie ringing of the chapel bell ; he desires the shade of the lin-
dens and the outlook from their heights ; Mephistopheles with his fleet not well re-
ceived ; the chapel is burned, and with it the lindens which P'aust ha 1 intended to use
as a look-out place from whence to survey his labors as a whole ; the four gray women
who had been banished from the soil by the Church, now set free, try to find lodgment in
the breast of Faust, who sought a look-out on the linden heights, and burned the chapel ;
now his deed comes back on him, and destroys his sight ; he seeks a logical survey of
his labors as a consistent whole : this is an internal and not an external point of view ;
a poisonous marsh of metaphysics lies over there nigh the mountain of Truth, and must
be drained ; this marsh of metaphysics appears to his inner eye only, for the otiter eye
is blind ; it is the same marsh that was described in the first scene of the First Part of
this drama; Faust was mired in it when he pledged his soul to Mephistopheles; the
poem has returned to the beginning; the demons are summoned to secure the soul of
Faust, who died on reaching his happiest moment ; a note on the significance of the
Church (the linden heights); the word "congregation" (as translation of (iernian
Oemeinde) ; a common heart, common means, and common will united in one ; it medi-
ates or establishes, and preserves the family, society, and the State; it is the pure cloud-
less vision of the rational universal, of the birth of the Eternal into time, that the
Church reveals ; it receives the soul on its entrance to this life, and at the end does
reverence to the body for its services ; this mediation spans life from eternity to eter-
nity ; the wanderer attributes this to Baucis : " Jenes grausam Abenteuers, Losung war
euch anvertraut."

At the conclusion of our last, dear II., we observed that there
was a little business left in an unfinished state between the most
reverend Archbishop and his Majesty. Not that it could be called
unfinished either, but rather left in that condition in which bn?i-

Letters on Faust. il\)

ness of that nature is wont to be left by parties of that character —
to finish itself as bsst it may. But, as we mentioned, the most Rev-
erend Gentleman is not the Church. He, you will observe, is but
an humble disciple of the Conrt-foi)l — of the prophet who first
proclaimed to the world the gospel which the most or least Rever-
end is now pro(ilaimina; to a questionable Majesty of that world.
The collision, therefore, which he mentions as possible between
Faiist and the Church is not one that is probable, for the reason
that it is not true. There is no real collision between the Eagle
and the Osprej. The mere scream of the prince of the air an-
nouncing his royal pleasure to be that he will have the prey of
his timorous slave, is all-sufficient to settle the question as to who
shall feast and who shall fast. That, my dear H., you observe is
a mere question of prey. But the collision between the conviction
of Faust and the good — the Church, as the sacred asylum of the
good — is one that means " to he or not to Je," for one or the other.
Not therefore between the prophet and his disciple; not between
the Prophet and his Church that treats for dominions and princi-
palities, but between Faust and that Church whose dominion is
nut of this world — between Faust and the Good — not measured
nor measurable either in square or cubic inches, either by curved
or straight lines, eitiier by curvilinear or rectilinear figures, or
what is outlined or enclosed by them.

1 mention these matters here lest the unobtrusiveness of the
subject should lead to oversights ; hei"e, where we come to —

Act V. — An oj)en country, where everything is on a very small
scale — every object designated by diminutives ; the old mother
is Muettarchen ; the garden is a — Gaertchen ; the house is a
hut; the Church is a chapel— Kirchlein ; the bell a — Gloeckchen ;
— everything except the grove of lindens, which stands in tlie
very pride of age, apparently. This is quite fortunate; for it is
by them that a stranger, a wanderer, otlierwise nameless — a name-
less wanderer in those parts — recognizes this as the very spot
where vears affone he was cast ashore by the contendiuic elements
— the storm-swept waves — then a mere youth. Yes, there stands
the hut that gave him shelter in his then desperate condition.
The hut of a couple of devout old people, whose kindly attention
proved so hel[)ful to the castaway upon those otherwise desolate
shores. He dare hardly believe that they are yet alive, still en-

180 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

joying tlie supreme blessino; of doiuf; f^ood ; for they were old even
then. Still, lie cannot re?:ist to knock, to ascertain. And —

Baucis (very old). "Hist, dear stranger" — (orijrinal diminu-
tive — " softly, softly ! Rest, please let the husband rest. 'Tis long
sleep undisturbed that alone gives old age strength for its remain-
ing task."

Wand. '* Tell me, mother, is it joii, you in very deed, and can I
pour my gratitude in your bosom — my heart's blessing — for the
help that you and your husband brought me? Are you Baucis,
who with such assiduous care revived life's flickering breath ?"
[Philemofi enters.'] " And you, Philemon, who with brawny arm
rescued all my havings from the deep ? To you, to the quick
flame of your lire, to the silver voice of your bell, the solution of
that fearful adventure was intrusted. And now let me step for-
ward ; let me look into that infinite whence you received me!
Let me kneel; let me pray, for my heart it is so full."

You observe, dear H., everything is on the very smallest scale
— on the humblest terms. Church edifice, a hut ; congregation,
three ; priests, none ; worshippers, one. For the good old people
cannot be called worshippers in the ordinary sense, as their life
has long since lost all duality — is but a living worship — oneness
with the infinite. What else occupies their attention — these mar-
vellous changes, improvements, etc., that have taken place of late
in their vicinity, when viewed from that bit of high ground of
theirs — are but part and portion of the same. And they are so
wonderful to the good old people. For, you observe, these im-
provements have been made under their immediate observation,
and that quite recently ; that is, during the time when the arm of
Philemon began to fail by reason of old age — no longer helpful as
formerly to the unfortunate castaways upon these shores of time.
See how happily these have now been wedded to the sea. See
that broad expanse of sea-marsh, formerly so unblessed, how it
smiles beneath the evening sun, a very paradise of habitable land.
The ocean — sense-picture of the infinite, of the unknown, and the
like — tlie ocean is still visible, of course, but away, away over
yonder, on the very verge of the horizon. So much have these
cunning masters gained upon it. To all of which the worshipper
says not one word.

In fact, it would appear that the wrapt expression on his face

Letters on Faust. 181

is attributable to some other einotitm than mere curiosity in regard
to the question how much that infinite of extent has become less
by the conqnests achieved upon its borders ; and so good Phile-
mon suggests :

"Let us step in and watch the rays of the departing day. Let
us ring the bell, kneel, and pray with serene trust in the God of
our Fathers."

And as that evening air, so balmy, begins to throb and pulsate
with the aspirations of the worshippers toward the empyrean, sup-
pose you and I follow its undulations to where they produce the
next scene.

Faust. " Tiiat infernal ringing of the bells! It goes through
me like a malicious shot. Before me my empire is unlimited ;
behind me, I am annoyed by the remembrance that my grand
possession is defective. The space where those lindens stand, the
rusty structure — the rotten little chapel — are not mine. And if I
desire to take a little rest there, the thought that the shade is not
mine annoys me — is a thorn to the eye, a thorn to the foot. Oh,
that I were a thousand miles from here ! "

While reflecting thus upon the grandeur of his empire in the
future before him, and that little insignificant obstruction — shall
we call it — when he looks back, where he would like to rest a little
now and then — what strange fancies man is subject to ! just as if the
unlimited possessions already his did not furnish room enough to
sit down, as if an awning, a ten-by-ten Hy-tent, would not furnish
shade, if that were an object ! — Mephisto returns from a voyage
wnth a fleet of not less than twenty sail, all heavily laden with
wealth gathered from far and near. With twenty sail he returns,
althouo;h he started with but two, and is surprised to be received
in a manner unappreciative to a degree. He remarks :

" You receive the intelligence of your exalted good fortune with
a gloomy eye and a wrinkled brow ! Your wisdom is crowned
with success. The land is wedded to the sea. The ocean receives
the ship for its distant voyage cheerfully from the shore. You
may say, and say truthfully, that from here — here from your pal-
ace — your hand grasps the whole world. From this very spot the
enterprise commenced. Here stood the first shanty. A small
ditch we scratched along where now the rudder paints its track
with foam. Your high conception, the industry of those about

182 'Vhe Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

yon, and directed by you, \vroii<;lit the sea a conquest to the land.
Here— "

Faust. "That infernal '•here!'' — tliat is precisely what annoys
me. To thee, a man of.sense, I ina^' say it. If I could (>;et rid of
the ' there,' that limits the ' here,' the ' there,' that little chapel up
yonder, with its fragrant linden shade! Every sound of its bell
reminds me of the ' there ' — the over yonder ! "

Meph. " Well, of course, it is a supreme nuisance; who denies
that i AVliere is the ear of modern cnltnre but is annoyed with
the tingle-taniJfle noise. The evcrlastino; bim-bom-bim clouds every
happy hour of life; intrudes itself into every vocation, between
the cradle and the i^rave, as if between bim and bom life were an
empty hem-hem-hum."

'Faust. " Go, then, and rid me of the affair. Yon know the
pleasant homesteail that I hav^e had my eye upon for the super-
annuated couple ? "

Meph. " Of course ; and I really sec no trouble in the matter.
We simply pick them up with their traps, carry them a piece, and
set them down ; and, before you can say ' Jack Robinson,' they
are on their feet a<i;ain. The new home, with its modern con-
veniences, soon reconciles them, and amply compensates for the
little inconvenience — the little compulsion under<>;one."

It is as simple as snappin»r one's linger. Well, the 'there' is
removed. The noise of its him-hom-him no longer disturbs our
deduction -induction, induction -deduction. It is true the rid-
dance was not effected in so simple, almost innocent, a way as was
anticipated. Turned out to be a little tragical, if we can believe
Mr. Lijnceus — the iellow whom we met at the castle, where he
made that stupendous offering at the shrine of beauty. "Alas ! "
he says, "the good old people, always so careful about their fire,
are they to be choked to death in the smoke of their own house?"

No, not in the half-innocent way has the riddance been effected ;
and we have lost the fragrant shade of those ancient lindens, too,
where we had intended to do some scaffolding — uf) among those
strong limbs, shaken of many a storm — throw across some scant-
ling of timber from branch to branch, for our feet to rest on, for
standing room, whence to gain a view of our labors as a whole.
Faust, observing the phenomenon from his balcony, remarks: "I
sympathize with the feeling of my warder, and iu my heart regret

Letters on Faust. 183

the inipatioiit act myself; still, the lindens are gone up in smoke,
or are charred into uiisightly, half-burned stumps ; what is the use
of sighing? And, in point of fact, a scaffold — a look-out — is soon
erected from which to gratify the eye with a view into the unlimit-
able — with a glance into the infinite."
The easiest thing in the w^orld !

On nearer view, after being informed of the occurrence in full :
" The stai*s hide their gaze and sheen ; the fire sinks, burns low ;
a breath of uncanny air fans it into life anew, wafts fumes and
smoke up to me. What is that hovering there, approaching shad-
ow-like \

It is now midnight.

Enter four women in gray (not that they have been burned
out, and are seeking temporary shelter, although there is no tell-
ing what spectres may have been banished into those old church
edifices, that seek the open air on the very first opportunity).

Of the four. Care alone finds an entrance into the palace of
Faust, and that through the key-hole. In conversation with her
he remarks :

Faust. "As for mvself, I have rushed through life like a whirl-
wind; at first in a grand style, but now more leisurely, with more
circumspection. I am well enough acquainted with this world,
and beyond that our sight is balked. A fool he who looks in that
direction, and fables his like beyond the clouds. Here let him
stand firm, and have his eyes about him. This world is not dumb
for a man of parts ! What business has he philandering about in
eternity ?

What he can know can be appropriated. Thus let him pursue
the even tenor of his life. If spirits spook about, never mind
them. Let him find good and evil fortune in striving forward —
he, unsatisfied, at every step."

There is for you, old Granny Care; you can follow your sisters
— Want, Guilt, and Misery — or go hang yourselves all in one batch !
Onr confession of faith does not reco<2;nize you or the like of you."

" You s])ectre8 from the infernal, it is thus you treat the human
race ! Indifferent days, even, you till with woe. Demons I
know it is hard to get quit of ; the close-drawn spirit tie cannot be
severed. But, as for thy sneaking power, O Care ! however great,
I will never acknowledge it." It finds no place in our creed.

184 The Journal of Speculdtive Philosophy.

I nder no circumstance I And yet the desire, the anxiety to
possess yourself of that linden-<;rove, with that bit of liigh sjround
on which it stood, in order to obtain a spot, a place to stand on —
a standpoint, so to speak, from -which the results of yonr lab;irs
should present themselves to the view of the observer, as a whole
— the anxiety, the care for this, has brought you this visitor. It
is but your own act wafted back to yon in the form of sweltering
fumes and smoke, as of bnrning, quivering human flesh, by that
uncanny breath of air — your own act, that was to obtain for yon
a point of view, that blots out the external organs of view, your
eyes, forever. It was your a<!t that burned that rusty, rotten little
chapel, where those ladies in gray lay in banishment under the
spell of a power that can blot out an act ; it was your act, you
observe, that set them free, to bring home this act to your own
breast, now its only lodging-place. It was this same care, it was
this same visitor, that blinded you to the nature of that act; and
thus, althougii you may think that your creed, well built on, well
reduced to practice, will furnish a dwelling, a life-shelter, proof
Rorainst these ladies in o-rav, vuu see there is no telling but what
they may enter, though it were a ]>alace, through the very key-
hole — that small 0|>ening, you observe, left to operate the lock^
the contrivance intended to fasten, to secure all — at that very
point.

But the external view, or the possibility^ of such a view, was not
the thing sought ; it was the thing typiiied by that view ; the
logical relations that transmute the isolated results of our laboi's
into a self-consistent whole, on the one side, and the good as tinal
end of these labors that transfigures them into its own eternal
image, on the other; it was this that was the object sought. For
the attainment of this, the typified, the external eye is of no con-
sequence, and its loss no hindrance. Instead of the good swept
away by the rash act — although we did not intend to destroy, we
only meant that it was not the hii!;hest ofood — onlv meant to substi-
tute " Fruit" in its stead, and leave the antiquated to die a natural
death; still, that is past and gone, and we now have oftr good.
And althougii under existing circumstances, the condition of our
eyes, it tnay be more than questionable whether we shall ever see
"Fruit" make a whole of anything, yet that scaffolding, that
look-out :

Letters on Faust. 185

" Althouo;!! tlie nio^lit seeins to penetrate deeper and deeper,
within there is a bhaze of liffht. What I have thoudit out I hasten
to accomplish, and in such matters the master's word alone has
weisrht — that we still can build — but what is that? While ex-
amining the ground for this very thing, behold ! see over yonder,
where these our dominions are bounded b}' the ancient high-
land of Truth. There, over on the verge of the horizon ? What
is that fuming with mist and fog, with miasma, dire and deadly ?
Another ' there ! ' — a poisonous marsh of metai)hysics ! threaten-
ening death and destruction — ruin, blank ruin, to all our achieve-
ments. It must, it shall be drained : all hands to work ! You,
foreman, get men ; hire, coax, press, reward — money is no object."
Indeed !

"That once drained, and — " Alas! yes, Mr. Faust, that once
drained ! The "here" freed from the "there," from the yonder;
the "now" from the not "now." But, as your eyes are now
shut, and this poisonous swamp dawns on your inner eye only, do
you not recognize the locality ? Do you not see that it was here,
in this very marsh, we iirst heard of you as being lost, where you
met that very foreman of yours, whom you now address, and who
answers you in this remarkable manner ?

Meph. " Hither, hither ! You, all of you. You, you loafing
rapscallions, yon rag-tag misbegotten abortions — patched together
out of dry bones, sinews, and muscles — hither, I say, from your
dissecting-tables, your anatomical museums; hither with your im-
plements ! "

Do you not see that we have got back to the very beginning, and
therefore to the end ?

Note 1 to Letter XIX. — Of all words, so far as I know, this is
the most unsatisfactory — " cono-reo-ation " — a mere mechanical out-
side aggregation ; a many together at hap-hazard. Yet the thing
to be designated is the beino; too^ether in the highest union — the
only true being possible for man on earth. The family has a com-
mon heart; society, common means; the State a common will;
but the congregation alone a common heart, common means, and
will. In it the whole man — the man as man — realizes his oneness
with all through all. In it he is whole — holy. It is here, and
here alone, where all the former mediations are mediated ; their

186 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

finite sides, ami consequent collisions, resolved. Hence it is the
abvsm, the oblivion of all that is finite — the realized universal, the
eternal on earth. The family has love; society, means; the State,
justice; l)Ut the con<^re<j;ation has love, charity, and mercy. It,
and it alone, can and does control those unblessed spectres, as
Faust calls them — Want (in tlie sense of misery). Care, and Guilt.
Understand, however : the congregation in this sense only medi-
ates the mediations of the family, society, and tiie State. It neither
does nor can mediate aught else. It does not supersede these
mediations; it presupposes them ; and without them it has no func-
tion — is not, and cannot be. But with them it is the pure, cloud-
less universal*; the perennial fountain of infinite courage to the
State, of ceaseless industry and frugality to society, of constant
conjugal love and parental affection to tiie family.

It reveals the true end of these institutions — the true end, the
birth of the rational, the universal, the eternal into time. The
birth of the rational, of which the family, society, and the State
are but the processes of mediation through which it arrives from
potentiality to reality, and from individuality to universality ; of
which the beautiful is but the form, the good the character, and
the truth the purp, cloudless vision. In this vision which the con-
gregation reveals to itself, it lives, moves, and has its being; in it
the last vestige of individuality imbued with the universal through
the former mediations is transfigured into absolute adequacy to its
content — into absolute beauty, goodness, and truth.

In this attitude it receives the castaway, the eternal born into
time; and at the end renders back the elements dismissed from
their unwilling service with reverence due that service, and with
a renewed demonstration at its feet of its own eternal supremacy
over time.

It is to this mediation, which spans life, not from its beginning
to the end, but from before its inception to beyond its duration, to
which life is but a passing incident; it is to this that the nameless
wanderer refers, as luiving been " intrusted with the s^olution of that
fearful adventure" called life.

XX.

CoiUcnh : The liapi)ie.st, lii^hest moment of P'aust'3 life is that in which he hears the
" cheerful rattling of spades " actually digging his grave ; the marginal arabesques in

Letters on Faust. 187

which Goethe has fiaiued his poem; (1) Mephisto and liis world, (2) Ancient Greece,
(3) Christianity, (4) top of the frame the Queen of Heaven, motherhood ; all in the
" cloudless clearness of the brightest day " ; summary of the collisions of the poem.

At the conclusion of our last letter, clear H., we observed how
tiie sightless Faust discovered that marshy fen — that foul cess-
pool, as he calls it, meandering along the foot of that highland
over 3'onder ; cutting off his achievement from communication,
except by contrivances more or less precarious, with that ancient
knoll, that outlying border of the world, habitable before his ac-
quisitions were made. We also saw with what zeal, with what
promptnes?, he proceeded at once, after discovery made, to drain
or make arrangements to drain the no less unsightly than actu-
ally dangerous mephitic locality. In the midst of this, the crown-
ing effort of his life, in his own estimation, an event happens
which for a time diverts the resources of man and material on
hand into a different channel. For when he, blind now, gropes
his way along the door-post of his palace out into the open air,
and calls out :

"Ha! what cheerful music there is in the rattling of those
spades!" — those spades are actually digging his grave. Yes; by
the hands of those "rapscallions, patched together out of dry
bones, ligaments, and muscles," who reported so promptly for
duty.

Lemurs. " Here at hand ; and is it true we are to make a great
acquisition ? We heard a rumor to that effect. Have brought
sharpened stakes and chains to fix metes and bounds. But why
we w^ere called in, that we have forgotten." ^y the very hands
of these, by whom, under the guidance of Mephisto, that task was
to be performed — that cesspool threatening to poison, to ruin all,
was to be drained— this task is performed. Your grave is dug.

Under this misapprehension of fact he enjoys the happiest,
the highest moment of life — its end ; and the poem shades off
into marginal arabesques. For the picture is not merely com-
pleted, but such is the care of the artist that he himself, with his
own hand, frames it, and hangs it in its proper place in the gal-
lery of time. The lower third of the marginal circle we see occu-
pied by Mephisto and his world ; the right ascending third by
the Christian world of aspiration ; and the left by the world of
aspiration of ancient Greec3, as we observed in the sphere of the

188 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

beaiititul. Where these two meet at the apex, the artist places
the Christian ideal of the beautiful — the Queen of Heaven, mother-
hood. To her right, Cfretchen, the unfortunate but forgiven bride ;
to her left, Helena, the ever-blooming bride of Greece. The pict-
ure thus framed he suspends from that marvellously carved peg
(carved not by him, but brushed off) which he found in the pict-
ure-gallery mentioned — the conception of the highest^ — with a
cord of his own twisting, and supports it with the three brackets
— in the centre the poet, to the right the theatre manager, and to
the left the jolly companion. The liglit indicated is, " The cloud-
less clearness of the brightest day,"

Thus, my friend, we have seen the theme develop itself:
FIRST. — Into the collision within the individual, Faust, be-
tween his conviction that truth is not attainable for man, and
his aspiration toward the true — his aspirations toward the True,
and its embodiment in the good and the beautiful. The result of
this collision is, the birth and development of Mephisto, as the
trusted and only trustworthy guide through the labyrinth of life
for man.

SECOND. — Itito the collision with the real world, or institu-
tional world of man :

1. With the lamily : result, negation, destruction.

2. With society : result, industrial collapse.

3. With the State: result, anarchy made perpetual.
TIIIKD. — Into the collision with the actual world, or the ideal

world of man :

1. AVith art: result, form without content.

2. With religion : result, destruction of the congregation.

3. With philosophy : result, physical science, so called, with its
eyes, the good, the final end, put out, and with a pestilential
swamp of metaphysics separating it from self-conscious intelli-
gence, undrained.

This js the Idea that created the poem called " Goethe's Faust."

Psychological Theory. 189

PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORY.

BY H. N. DAY.

The very timely work of Professor Bowne, "Introduction to
Psjchologicjil Tiieory," ' invites a careful survey of the condi-
tions in the present staple of scientific prow;ress favorable to a re-
construction of mental science. This work ])rofesses to be but
an introduction. It is not a tlieory itself ; it is not the formal
presentation of any tlieory of mind, or of any theory of the science
of mind. It has for its aim simply " an understanding of prin-
ciples." The design of the present article is not at all a critical
review of the bot)k. Neither its merits, except simply to recognize
the fact that they are great, nor its defects, if any, or whatever
they may l)e, will command our attention. Our sole interest is
in the subject-matter itself of the book — psychological theory.
We shall use the book mainly as a leader and a help. Accepting
it as an exposition more or less accurate and full of the preva-
lent views in this field of knowledge, we avail ourselves of its
susfo-estions in an endeavor toward attainino- a still more advanced
theory of psychological science.

We understand by the phrase psychological theory simply and
exactly a view, a survey of the science or doctrine of the human
mind. It imports that survey which one would ])ropose to him-
self to take, in order to the readiest and most accurate construc-
tion, in thought or in formal ex[)osition, of a science of mind. It
denotes a theory, not as determined from the point of view from
which the matter of the science is studied, as, for example, from
psychology rather than from })hysiology, but from the subject-
matter itself — a theory of psychology. It denotes accordingly not
a theory of the mind immediately and dii'ectly, but a theory of
a science or doctrine of the mind. If it be asked what are the
materials out of which such a theory should be formed, the answer
is at hand. It would be constructed out of the accumulated ob-
servations and ratiocinations of the past, gathered, arranged, and
used by the most advanced skill in the investigation and ascer-

' "Introduction to Psychological Theory." By Borden P. Bowne, Professor of Phi-
losophy in Boston University. New York : Harper & Brothers, 1887.

190 The Journal of Speculative Philofiophy.

tainment of knowledsie. In other words, all attained \\<A\\. and
knowledfje in tlie studies of the mind itself, and of all related sub-
jects of knowledfije — as employed by the most perfect instrumen-
talities of science-construction — will be the constituents of the
theory. As psychological science is ever advancing, never in fact
more rapidly than at ])resent, it is plain that psychological theoriz-
ing must ever be advancing, and the best and fullest psychological
theitry of to-day cannot be expected to hold its rank in the de-
velopments and growths of tomorrow. AVith all this M'e must
snj)pose a limitation to this psychological theorizing which shall
hold good for all practical uses. A psychological theory may,
supposably at least, to-day, in the present advanced stage of the
science, so far embrace the great determining features of the
science of mind as to forbid the expectation of any considerable
improvement for a long time to come — possibly for all time. The
day may not be distant when the science of the mind, having its
great boundary-lines fixed and its significant divisions for the uses
of the science itself established, the progress of the science may
be confined to the perfecting of the details and the determining of
the relations between the parts themselves of the science and be
tween it as a whole and other co-ordinate sciences.

The particulars embraced in the theory will be: the specific
end proposed in the construction of the science ; the subject-mat
ter of the science as to its essential character and its co-ordina-
tions; its sources and channels of light and evidence; its method
of procedure under the proposed specific end ; its tests and vali
dations ; its relations to co-ordinated sciences.

I. The End in Psychological Science.

It is obvious that there may be manifold ends of which any
one may legitimately be pursued in the construction of a science
of mind. The particular end chosen must of course govern
throuiihout, determinino; more or less the selection, the arranj^e-
ment, and the use of the materials, and thus shaping and charac-
terizing the construction. One of these ends manitiestly may be
simply science itself — knowledge for its own sake. Other more
generic ends supposable are those of practical ability or artistic skill.
More subordinate ends might be the science of some particular de-
partment of mental study, as, for example, of theology or ethics;

Psychological Theory. 191

or some special use in the orderinf^ of conduct or pnictice, as in
teacliinjr or in medicine, or in artistic interpretation and creation.
The present discnasion v;ill confine itself to that specific theory or
survey of the work in constructing the science which regards it as
proceeding throughout under the guidance and control of the first-
named of these ends — viz, : to give the fullest and most perfect
knowledge of the mind for the sake of that knowledo;e itself.
This kind of theory keeps in view science or knowledge and its
interests alone as governing. Tt will be characterized as employing
the proper methods of proper knowledge, observing tiie principles
of thought, and employing the processes of thought as scientifically
established, in all its work.

II. The Subject- Matter of Psychological Science.

A theory of psychological science, availing itself, as it should,
of all the light and knowledge that human thought has already
attained, must assume something as known in regard to the nature
and general characteristics of that of which it treats ; it must
answer to itself, more or less definitely, the question. What is the
human spirit, or soul, or mind? The construction of the science
can hardly move a step until this question is answered ; and the
entire development of the science must proceed under the sway
of this initial and dominant thought. It is by no means to be
required that universal assent should have been reached. There
is no one, even of the most advanced sciences, which can show an
unqualified agreement in the minds of all men as to the precise
nature of its subject-matter. Nor is it indeed requisite, in order
to the general validity of the science, that all the questions that it
is possil)le to I'aise as to the nature of its subject-matter should
have been resolved. Very possibly the solutions might not ma-
terially change the character of the develoj^ed science. But on
psychological doctrine can reasonably expect general a(!ceptance,
or can promise to itself to be of much service in any way which
does not assure itself to some extent of the nature of that of which
it treats. A science of the mind must recognize the mind, either
as a reality or as merely a phantasm ; as substance or as only
a mode ; as a distinct entity, or only as an indistinguishable part
of a universal whole ; and as a spiritual or a material entity.
Professor Bowne's theory distinctly adopts the former of these

102 The Journal of ISpeculative Philosophy.

several alternative views. " We have a loo;ical right,'' he sajs,
" to assume the reality of the mind." And in the same chapter,
on "The Subject of tlie Mental Life," he eflFectively meets and
confutes the claims of that materialistic speculation which "re-
jects the I'eality of the mental subject." " In spontaneous tliought
and consciousness the mental subject is given as active and
abiding."

P^ychol()gical theory is justified in assuming still further, as
settled beyond any formidable controversy in regard to essential
attributes of the mind, that its real and abiding activity is di-
versely functional. Of well-nigh universal acceptance is the doc-
trine that the mental life manifests itself in the threefold ways
or modes of feeling, knowing, and willing, just as the bodily life
manifests itself in the several ways of respiration, nutrition, and
locomotion. The questioning here will only take some such spe-
cific forms as these : Are these three functional forms of mental
activity the comprehensive and complementary forms? Do they
constitute the most im])()rtant order of specific functional activi-
ties if some other order be conceivable? What is the exact or-
ganic relationship between these specific functions respectively
with one another and the mind itself? It is within the bounds
of reason to afKrm, leaving minor questionings, that the threefold
functional activity of the human mind in knowing, feeling, will-
ing, is so fundamental and so conditional to any worthy science of
mind, and at the same time so generally accepted, that any deserv-
ing psychological theory should distinctly and formally nuike it a
very corner-stone of its scientific system. Introspection observes
this threefold diversity; the actions of men reveal it; language
recognizes it, universal experience affirms it. It is safer also to
affirm that every act and affection of the human mind is reducible
to one or the other, or to a combination of these functional mani-
festations. Unlike, perhaps, the alleged th reef old ness of bodily
functions, the threefold form of specific mental activity can, at the
present stage of the science, be postulated without fear of any
reasonable opposition. Mr. Bowne's " Introdnction " is far from
putting forth in form this demand ; it recognizes the truth here
and there in a passing way, and perhaps in more decisive implica-
tion in its method, particularly by devoting separate chapters to
the Thought-Factor, the Feelings, and the Will, but it gives no

Psychological Theory. 193

inthiuition of his iniikin<>; it fundamental and determinative in
scientific construction. But the considerations that enforce this
radical treatment of the minor threefold functional activity in a
science of mind are overpower! ng-. As intimated, tlie universal
consciousness of man has recognized it, and expressed itself in lan-
o-uao-e, art, social life, everywhere. Mental science in its earliest
days recognized it, botli subjectively as by Aristotle, who enumer-
ates expressly the a3sthetie, noetic, imaginative, and the orectic,
as the four forms of mental activity, easily reducible to the three
we have named, and also objectively, in its enunciation of the
true, the beautiful, and the good, as demonstrably the three com-
prehensive objects respectively of a corresponding functional men-
tal activity. And down through its progress the science has moved
on toward a more distinct recognition of the trutli and a more
complete harmonizing with it and reduction under it of specific
phenomena which were at first seemingly in some aspects irrecon-
cilable with it.

There are, however, certain mental phenomena which, it must
be allowed, psychological science has for the most part hitherto
found it difficult to bring under this enumeration of specific men-
tal functions. They are what have been vaguely denominated the
representative states of mind as distinguished from the so-called
presentative acts and affections. These representative states are
particularly exemplified in memory and imagination, with their
diverse modifications in the mental life. For the most part these
phenomena have been treated as belonging to the cognitive class.
They have been also presented as distinct and unrelated phe-
nomena. Psychologists have, indeed, been greatly puzzled where
to place them and how to treat them. In fact, as Mr. Bowne re-
marks, " there is no consistent term i nologj' " accepted by them,
showing that the whole matter still lies to their vision in the deep
darkness. That the mind is retentive of the acts and affections
which it experiences is the fundanjental fact, and this fact proba-
bly all will admit. Memory, as retentive, is accordingly nothing
else than the abiding mind itself, as it has come to be by virtue
of its original nature and the modifications of this nature in its
history and growth. The mind lives on, holds on, and all its past
abides in it — all its affection?, all its specific activities. Its life
goes on thus shaped, putting forth iresh activities or receiving
XXI— 13

19-1- The Journal of Speculative Ptdlosoplnj.

fresh im]ircssioiis from within and from without. It is this form
of the mind, thus determined by its past, as it presents itself at
this present moment as the dividing point in its onward life, in
its specific determinations, that constitutes the object of what is
reo;arded in an act of projier memory. So we have the fact that
memorv, as retentive, is simply mind as retentive. This is the
accepted basic fact. But all modifications of the mental life are
included — states of feeling and of willing, as of knowing. This
basic retentive memory embraces all. Now, with the more or less
distinct recognition of this fundamental truth of memory, psycliolo-
gists lay hold on different features or modifications in their expli-
cations, and easily glide into conflictive opinions. This retentive
memory, as object, thus is taken up and presented to conscious-
ness, and this conscious act, this consciousness of the actual pres-
ent mental condition, determined, of course, necessarily by its past,
is accepted as making up the whole of memory. Tlie retentiveness
of mind is thus thrown into the backgronnd, while consciousness
being regarded as a knowing power or state, memory comes to be
subordinated to the cognitive function. The evil reisiilting from
this way of sinking out of view this most significant fact of mind
— its retention of all its experience — is incalculable. With this
great basic truth before us, that the entire mental life, as the out-
irrowth and bodv of all its past, ever lies before the eve of con-
sciousness as a familiar landscape before the outer bodil}' eye,
psychological science easily disposes of those vexatious questions
about " latent modifications of consciousness," " subconscious
states," " the association of ideas," " mental reproduction." The
whole field of the mind's history, with its infinitude of particular
objects, is before the eye of consciousness, and there exists among
their manifold and ever-varving deo-rees of conti<i;uitv and conse-
fpient sugge^tiveness ; but the eye itself, although subject to the
conditions of the finite and the dependent, is, after all, the supreme
determining factor as to what objects shall engage its vision. The
great governing principles of mental reproduction are chiefly to
be sought in the active life of the mind, only in a very subordi-
nate degree in the objects of mental activity. The treatment of
the memory, also, as a special subordinate cognitive function in
this way, is vague and defective. Other experiences than those
of proper knowledge are shut out fi-om the scope of memory ; and

Psychological Theory. \\)b

the meiTiory itself is left unrelated to con?cioiisnes9, as also to the
mental lite 2;enerally. In truth, the tiekl of memory can not be
resrarded otherwise than as identical with the field of conscious-
ness — the term memory oidy more explicitly suojgesting the rela-
tion to the past as outcome and product.

Neither is the ima_i*;i nation to be regarded as a specific fnnction
of the intelligence. The science has hardly yet accepted in its ful-
ness the doctrine, which bears the unmistakable signs and promise
of coming prevalence, that the imagination is the active as the sen-
sibility is the passive side of what has l)een styled the mental fnnc-
tion of Form, co-ordinate with the other two functions of the men-
tal life — the Intelliorence and the Will. The mind certainly inter-
acts with other realities, and can also make itself in any specific
act an effective object to itself — can, in a true sense, interact with
itself. That characteristic of the mind which qualifies it for this
interaction, that element of its nature, through which it imparts
and receives, moves and is moved, can not be regarded as a sub-
ordinate function. It must be accepted as one of these great
fnnctions of the mental life. The sensibility conceived as passive
or capacity answers exactly to the imagination conceived as active
or faculty— ^/o/'m* formata to forma formans. Accordingly, in
mental apprehension we apprehend not the essence of the object,
not the brass or the silver of the ring, to use the fine illustration
of Aristotle, but only the form, the image, engraven on the ring.

Still further, any worthy theory of psychological science must
of necessity recognize, beside those more essential elements of the
mental life which is the subject-matter of the science, the deter-
mining relations of the mind to other realities. The human mind,
as one and individual, exists and lives in correlation with other
realities, interacting, as we have seen, with them. It is thus a
part of the universe of reality. The scientific exposition of it
must, therefore, proceed under the full control of those great laws
of thought which respect the relations of a i)art as part, both to
the whole of which it is a part, and also to the other parts, for
these laws prescribe the fundamental conditions of all true knowl-
edge of things. The necessity of this defining process in the sci-
ence cannot, for want of space, be illustrated here further than as
it respects the relation of the mind to exterior realities interacting
with it through the bodily sense. We are prompted to remark

196 Tlie Journal of Speculative PJillosopkij,

ill }>:i>sii)i^, however, that the interaction, iniinediate and direct,
between the liunian mind and otiier minds, between it and tlie
divine mind, is a subject which is pressing itself with ever-increas-
ing urirency on the consideration of psychological science. Sensa-
tion is accepted as tlie border-land in most of the interaction of
the mind with outer things, and the ditticulty arises as to the exact
location and direction of the dividing-line, on the one side of
which is the reality of the mind itself, and on the other side of
which are the outer things with which it interacts. A recent
speculation with considerable pretension has taken to itself the
denomination of a " Phvsioloo;ical Psvcholoo:v." It starts with
tlie generally accepted teaching that the mental life begins with
sensation, and proceeds to expound the phenomena of its subse-
quent develoi)ment and experience in the terms of physiology. A
psychology, so far as may be determined from a physiological
point of view, may be a most valuable and trustworthy depart-
ment of human knowledge, for all things and all sciences alike
are co-ordinated and reciprocally determine one another. A psy-
chology that is itself wholly determined by physiological laws is
quite another thing. To identify the psychical with the physical
— "^^X^l ^^'ith <f)uac<; — the soul with nervous organism — is the
legitimate tendency, if not the designed intent, of this kind of
speculation. Psychological theory must take sides here. The
soul is spiritual or it is material, until the uses of language make
the terms matter and spirit identical ; a materialistic psychology
is a contradiction in terms, and science cannot build itself on a
fundamental contradiction. The only alternative would be to
reconstruct language, and, consequently, to reconstruct human
consciousness. Psychology is not and, until language and con-
sciousness change, cannot be mere physiology. The spirit of man
is more than sensible organism. It has its life, for the present at
least, conditioned more or less by the body as its medium of inter-
action with other realities, but it is itself separable from this con-
ditioning body. In fact, the scientist who would trace all mental
exnerience to cells and tibres finds himself obliu^ed to restrict his
explication of mental phenomena to those which are recognized
as taking place in the brain or nervous organism as the medium of
interaction between the mind and outer things. lie can lind for
all those acts and atfections of the human soul, which are confined

Psycliolofjical Theory. 197

to itself and are not in interaction witli outer tliin2;s, no terms
other than those which pure spiritualistic science lias framed, and
precisely because he cannot trace these experiences into the nerv-
ous organism. In truth, the body is most correjtly viewed as sim-
ple medium of communication between the mind and outer reali-
ties, for the mind's communion with itself, the brain has no fitness
or function. The mind knows that it has thoughts and aspira-
tions which lie outside of all nervous affection, however true it is
that the bodily life is for the present at least bound up with that
of the soul in general sympathy, and that many specific phenome-
na of the mind lie in the realm of determining interaction be-
tween mind and body. Mr. Bowne's " Introduction " is most com-
mendably emphatic in separating psychological science from all
physiological speculation. " Our complete ignorance of what takes
place in the nerves is no psychological loss. For practical pur-
poses, we should be no wiser if we had the profoundest insight
into the action of the external stimulus ; and psychologically, also,
we should be no better off if we knew all about the form of the
nervous action in any special experience and the place of its loca-
tion." The boundary-line of psychology lies in the mind side of
the interaction between body and mind. The science lies wholly
on that side. It has nothing to do with extra-mental facts and
conditions in themselves, but only as they may serve to identify
and define the mental affection or the mental energy, or perhaps
illustrate their nature by general analysis. The bodily life has
its owMi phenomena and its own laws; the mental life has its also ;
to bring them together into the same science is confusing, mislead-
ing, pernicious to each science.

Psychological theory, in fine, is warranted in the present stage
of knowledge to define its subject-matter as that real and, conse-
quently, active nature the essence of which is intelligence^ as en-
dowed with a self-directive trend, which appears in a complexity
of instincts, propensities, desires, and is under the general govern-
ance of the w'lll^ and as interacting with other realities, as also
with itself in imparting and receiving impression, putting itself
forth, in the former case, actively in the imagination, and yielding
itself, in the latter case, receptively in the sensibility, these two
constituting the two sides — active and passive — of the comprehen-
sive /"wnc^/o^ of form. The mental activity, accordingly, as tri-

198 The Journal of Speoalaiive Philosophy.

I'mictional, involves a corresponding tlireefuldness of object, the
intelliiijence or inner essence interacting with the true, the will
with the good — summumhonum — and the sensibility and imagina-
tion with the beautiful or the perfect in form.

III. TJte Sources of Liyht in Psycholoyical Science.

Psychology, as lias been shown, has to do with a real as its sub-
ject-matter, conse(juently with facts. But the real tacts are known
only as they are revealed. The inquiry for the sources of light
in psychological science, accordingly, is simpl}^ the inquiry for
the revelations of mind ; where and how does the mind reveal
or manifest itself, and where can we find these manifestations?
Tiie answer at once is: We iind them, in ])art at least, in our-
selves, in our own experience, in our own feelings and thoughts
and determinations. And this we undoubtingly say is the primal,
chief, perhaps, conditioning source of light in the study of mind.
But there are other minds besides our own, and these manifest
theniselves so that tiiey can be observed in the study of mind.
Tliere are, in fact, mariifestations of mind everywhere in human
life — individual and social. In language, conspicuously, the mind
of man as a thought-function manifests itself as it determines and
shaj)3f out in the manifold forms of articulated sound the sj)ecific
forms of its own living activity. Language is essentially but an
aggregate of word-forms as the embodiments of thouirht-fbrms. In
science generally, also, we have the manifestations of mind char-
acteristically in its cognitive activity. In art, too, we have the
manifestations of mind conspicuously through its function of form
— the creative imagination addressing the aisthetic susceptibility
or receptive sense. In morals and religion the mind reveals itself
in the self-directive function acting on the instinctive trend of
mental life — the orectic nature. In some the mental nature, or,
as we should ])erhaps here style it, the rational nature, manifests
itself everywhere in more or les* specific forms throughout the
))ersonal and social life and history of man.

We possess in our day an immeasurable amount of evidence
gathered from all those sources of light from which a psychologi-
cal theory should take its start, availing itself of all these results
of the labors of the greatest minds and the accumulations of the
vastest thought devoted to any hunu^ne pursuit in the centuries of

Psychological Theory. 199

tlie past. It is time, one would think, that psycholoi^ical theory
sliould set forth a clear and authoritative determination of the
nature and scope and validity of perhaps each of their several
sources of lii>-ht to the science, but especially of that confessedly
primal, chief, yes, conditional source or channel, as furnished us
in introspection, recognized under the denomination of the con-
sciousness. Yet just here we meet much diversity of view with
much very inconclusive discussion. In popular discourse the use
of the term conscloiisness is, for the most part, unambiguous, giv-
ing but small opening for mistake, except, perhaps, that the term
is confusedly applied sometimes to mind as conscious subject, and
sometimes to mind as object of which we are conscious. But in
science the term, like other terms of the same order, has divers
allowable uses, both simple and metaphorical, and we have in
consequence a diversity of theories. Mr. Bowne has, with his
characteristic dialectic skill, exposed much of the misconception
that has corrupted the science of mind from this source ; but he
fails to give entire satisfaction. Indeed, after laborious etibrt he
is at last constrained to make the humiliating confession that
" consciousness can be neither defined nor deduced." The best
he can do is to describe it in varying phrase as " the specific feat-
ure or condition of all mental states"; as "that element which
constitutes them mental states"; "that element which makes an
act of knowing knowing, an act of feeling feeling, and an act of
M-illing willing" ; "an implication of the other faculties"; "an
essential property of mental processes." There is hero, assuredly,
little of definition and little of clear and profitable explication.
The more prevalent definition of consciousness, "as the knowl-
edge the soul has of its own acts and states," he rejects on the
ground that "it limits consciousness to knowing." This, he says,
is " an arbitrary limitation of consciousness to one phase of know-
ing." But, as he himself maintains that consciousness respects
only mental states, his only objection falls away entirely before
his better teaching. Since there are two " phases" of knowledge
determined as to object — one in which the object is the ego itself,
or its states and acts, the other that in which the object is the
non-ego — consciousness, no one doubts, is but " one phase of know-
ing " — that phase which has mental facts as its object.

Consciousness is not, indeed, so far as a knowing faculty, a sepa-

200 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy,

rate facult.v in addition to tlie other faculties of knowing, feeling,
willing, Sncli a supposition is as absurd as needless. Nor is it,
in scientific exactness, "a liglit," in which we see ourselves; nor
yet " a condition" of mental life; nor a mere " imjilication " in
this life ; for all these utterances are meaningless but as confession*
of isfnorance. It is impossible to imas^ine anything essential in
consciousness other than tliis simple intros])ection, internal per-
ception, or, in a more precise nomenclature as used in English
literature, intuition. Unless taken as a well-nigh insignificant tru-
ism, the formal statement seems strange and utterly inadmissible
that " tiie general form under wliich consciousness exists is that
of the antithesis of subject and object — that is, the object of which
we are conscious must be distinguished from self as its subject,
and objectified to itself eitlier as its state or act or as a quality of
external things." It is no part of consciousness to distinguish
more than it is of simple perception. Distinguishing comes in
after perception ; it is a subsequent stage in the process of a full
knowledge. Consciousness is simple apprehension of its object;,
the mind or self is the subject, and the mind or self in its acts or
affections is the object. This object may have a manifoldness of
content; consciousness takes it in as one undivided concrete.
Distinguishinij: and iuda-ino- come in only after this conscious ap-
prehension. The several elements which make up this concrete
content in an object of consciousness — in any mental affection, for
instance — are, of course, apprehended in the apprehension of the
whole affection. The distinguishing process may select and bring
out one or another of these constituent elements, and then this
element, as thus distinguished, comes more fully into the view of
consciousness. The self as the subject of the affection may be dis-
tinguished, ill reflective analysis of the concreted affection, from
the object affecting it in the interaction, and then we have the
state of self-consciousness ; in the stricter sense, of consciousness of
self. Or some attrii)ute of the object, engaging the mind's activ-
ity, may be distinguished after the first apprehension of the affec-
tion, and of this, as separate from the self, we may then be dis-
tinctly conscious.

But, it is allowable to remark here, we need to avoid the mon-
strous error of Hamilton in holding that we are conscious of the
external object itself, understood as meaning that when I see an

Psi/Ghological Theory. 201

inkstand before me, I atn conscious of the inkstand. Consciousness
is restricted to that phase ot knowledge whicli concerns itself with
the mind's own states and acts. On the other liand, however, we
must not deny that consciousness reaches to something beyond the
mind itself. There is in sensation — as, for example, in the sight
of the inkstand — an interaction between some external reality and
the mind. This external reality and the mind, of course, meet ;
both are alike present in the sensation. But not as Hamilton
holds, not necessarily is the inkstand itself bodily present in the
interaction ; but an energy, issuing, it may be, from the inkstand,
to which the mind traces back the affection of the sense as to its
source — an energy external to the mind. Of this external energy
— this outer reality — thus affecting the sense we are unquestion-
ably conscious. It is true, therefore, that we are conscious of
external reality, but only as it is presented in the simple form of a
specific energy interacting with the mind. The interpretation of
this interacting energy, leading to the source or object from which
it directly or remotely proceeds, is subsequent to the affection of
which we are conscious.

Self-experience is, in veriest truth, " the original and irreducible
factor of self consciousness," in the sense that the self is conscious
only of what itself experiences. It is not true in the sense that
in all conscious experience there is an actual distinguishing of the
self from the object with which it interacts ; for, as Mr. Bowne
affirms, " the small child, who has not the least idea of self and
net-self as formal conceptions, has yet the liveliest experience of it-
self in its feelings of pain and pleasure." It knows it feels, is con-
scious that it feels, while yet it-may never have recognized itself
as subject distinct from the feeling as object. This conceptual
process is of a later stage.

A peremptory necessity is laid upon psychological theory to de-
clare and establish an exact and definite notion of consciousness.
It is the accepted chief and primal source of all its knowledge of
the mind ; it is the one sole original witness — the only one that
knows from " personal knowledge," from immediate observation.
If its character as a witness be not understood, if this one original
witness come whence no one knows and goes no one knows whither,
its testimony is as the empty wind ; and the science that founds
upon it as its chief support is unsubstantial and worthless. Psy-

202 The Journal of Speculatioe PhlloHOphy.

cholof^ical science is not reduced to this miserable plio^ht of having
no voucher but a mysterious strani^-er and no treasures but the
bills of credit from an unknown drawer. Most truly, says Mr.
Bovvne: "All our knowledge of mind must come back to con-
sciousness " ; " psychology is finally based on introspection."
Moreover, " the proper facts of consciousness admit of no scepti-
cism." This is just because all men know and accej^t the testi-
mony of consciousness as a known and trusted witness. But only
a knowercan be a witness; consciousness is thus a knower, and no
one questions this. A part, at least, of its office-work is to testify
what it knows. If a knower, consciousness constitutes, so far at
least, a part of the knowing functional activity of the human
mind ; it is then a cognitive function, a knowing power; and there
is but one cognitive, knowing function in mind, as there can be
in its essence but one knowledge. It is as preposterous to suppose
a plurality of cognitive powers as a plurality of knowledges dis-
tinguished in their essence. Knowledge may be modified in re;>pect
to object: it may be external or sensible, or it may be inward —
intro>])ection. As part of an organic whole, the cognitive or know-
ing power in man, moreover, is modified by its union in life or
outworking more or less with the other organic functions — as when
in union with will it becomes attention, or with feeling it becomes
feelins consciousness, or conscious sense. But consciousness is in
essence only a knower. It is mysticism and illusion to imagine
any other element in it. No observation certainly ever detected
any such element, and therefore it cannot be accepted in any
form or shape in a science which is professedly a science of
observed facts. Consciousness is introspection, internal i)ercep-
tion, intuition. This view seems to be incontrovertible, and it is
a view which imparts to psychological science simplicity, consist-
ency, clearness, validity, and possesses this high voucher for its
correctness.

The conclusion is that psychological theory can, and therefore
should, claim as settled the following particulars respecting con-
sciousness :

Consciousness is a cognitive function, its special sphere is the
mind's own acts, affections, and state:, and is, accordingly, pre-
cisely co-ordinated with external perception ; it gives apprehensive
or perceptive, and therefore only incomplete, knowledge, not the

Psychological Theory. 203

mature knowledge of complete tlumglit which emerges only in the
julgment ; it varies in vigor, and lacks even tlie omniscience
which takes with its distinct vision all the minutest points of
mental experience ; it is fallible, as is human nature generally, but
is yet the least fallible and by far the most trustworthy of all the
sources of knowledge for man. Self-consciousness, in the stricter
sense, as consciousness of self, is attained only as the result of a
discrimination between the self and its own act or affection. It is
consciousness of self as a factor or element essential in all mental
experience, and consequently ever discoverable there in thorough
analysis.

lY. The Method in Psychological Science.

A theory of psychological construction must of course determine
its method. If the end in the construction be science or knowl-
edge for its own sake, and if the subject-matter be accepted to be
the facts of mind, the controlling method is at once determined;
it must be characteristically the method of simple observation. It
starts from fact as observed in its accepted light, proceeds by the
accumulation and arrangement of fact, and leaves as its com-
pleted work its subject-matter, the human mind, unfolded both in
its essential and its relative attributes, a comprehensive whole of all
observed facts set forth in progressive logical co-ordination both
of its intrinsic constituents and also of its extrinsic relationships
to other realities. It is proper just here to call attention to the
last-named requisite in a scientitic construction of psychological
science. The human mind is recognized as essentially a trifunc-
tional activity. The three mental functions — knowing, feeling,
willing — constitute the great substantial departments of the science.
Hitherto it has been thought that the full treatment of these
specific functional activities, especially if they are presented in
their organic combinations one with another, exhausts the de-
mands of the science. It has escaped recognition that an organic
whole is more than the sum of the organic parts, however nnicli
may be allowed for the modification of these particular functions
by the incidental conjunction of two or more in a single experi-
ence. A psychological construction, to be logically complete,
must exhibit the soul as one organic whole. This is more than
the mere aggregation of its particular memb3rs ; the physiology

204 llie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of the mind as one livinf]^ orfijanisni is more than the conjoined
pliysiologies of the several functional parts.

The luethod indicated — the method of observation, where the
end or object is science or truth for its own sake — may properly
be denominated the method of realism. It received its earliest
and most characteristic elucidation and exemplification in Aristotle.
With him the essence — to 6v — commanded the view in psychologi-
cal study ; and the saience has chiefly grown as it has adopted
this method. The distinction, however, whicli he made between
the essence — ovala — of ol)jective reality and the essence of sub-
jective thought has unfortunately been overlooked by succeeding
psychologists, to the most serious deti'iment of the science.
Thought and objective reality being confounded, both have lost
greatly in their proper significance and worth in the study. Ger-
man speculation has gone so far as, in the person of one of its
recent leading thinkers, cited as authority largely in Great Britain
and in this country, formally and expressly in logical teaching to
deny the necessity of any positive element in thought, the mere
juxtaposition of two concepts sufiicing to constitute a ]ierfect
thought or knowledge. Hamilton himself, in the same way, fail-
ing to note this radical distinction, was borne along, as by a
logical necessity, to his monstrous doctrine of " the uncondi-
tioned." It might indeed be shown that not only the agnosticism
or nescience of the present day, but also the doubt, the shaky un-
certainty, even the strange yet ready acceptance by some of con-
tradictories as each equally true, which are glaring characteristics
of modern science everywhere, in physics and metaphysics, can be
largely accounted for on the ground of this confusion of the being
in thought and the being in objective reality. The evil has been
aggravated and extended by another closely connected error spring-
ing from a misconception, or rather utter perversion, of Aristo-
telian teaching, that the category or generic attribute is the ]^rimal
source, the logical and chronological principle, of human thought
— a most groundless and preposterous assum])tion, and irreconcila-
bly opposed to the method of observation which in the case of
the finite human mind begins with the single and the simple.
It was this perversion of the Aristotelian doctrine and practice
that exalted the deductive method to a supreme and well-nigh
sole governance in thought. Let science ever venerate the name

Psychological Theory. 205

of Hamilton for his service in exposing tlie weaknesses of this
gigantic system of harharism in its mere formal working; its
spirit unhappily still lives, vitiating, more or less, scientific
thought.

This method of realism, it will be borne in mind, admits of tliree
entirely distinct movements of thought, each governed by its own
laws, and each giving perfectly legitimate results, and each ecpially
requisite for the perfecting of the science. Any one of these
subordinate methods may be relatively more or less prominent, and
the general method be accordingly so far modilied. These subor-
dinate methods are (1) the method of deduction, recognized from
the time of Aristotle, and the one logical method prevalent till the
time of Bacon ; (2) the method of generalization, or the movement
of thought from part to whole, the method particularly recom-
mended by Bacon in his " Novum Organiim " ; and (3) the method
of induction, or the movement of thought from part to part, with
which the Baconian method has often been confounded, and
which, although hardly recognized as yet in logical systems, is the
crowning method in recent science. Psychological theory cannot
be esteemed to be complete, or to have adequately comprehended
jts work in the construction of the science, without a full, practical
recognition of each of these subordinate processes of thought, at
least implicitly if not in formal direction and rule. The construc-
tion of the science will be pretty sure to stumble and stray unless
each movement is well in hand and ready for use at every step of
progress. Pre-eminently, however, psychological science, as a
science of fact, must begin with the single and the simple, with
the past, and accordingly must proceed either by the Baconian
method, from part to whole on logical generalization, or by the
more recently prevalent method of co-ordination or logical induc-
tion. The deductive movement can be admitted only as the
general has been attained, from previous particular observation
by legitimate process of thought. Some facts of mind, more or
less generic, may, of course, properly be assumed as already settled
by the observed experiences of the race. But even such assump-
tion must squarely rest on the primal observation.

Psychological method, further, may be more or less modified
by the way in which it ap])roaches its subject-matter, and the
idiosyncrasies or condition of the individual investigator may de-

206 The Journal of Speculative PhilosoDhii.

termiiie tliis way of approach. Tlie liiiinaii miiul may l)e ap-
proached in study thus in a threefold diftereiit way, and be viewed
predominantly as an essence or a form, or a tclic or orectic activ-
ity. The Aristotelian, as intimated, looked more exclusively at
the essence. The liability in the use of this method is to a cold
and stiff abstractedness, lackino; life and interest. Tiie Platoni^t
regarded more the form — to €l8o<i — with him the corresponding
subjective state being the idea. Ilis, characteristically, is the
method of idealism. Its end is the noble, the beautiful, the per-
fect iti form — a worthy method, a fascinating method, an en-
nobling method. Its completed work should, however, be in lov-
ing accord with that of realism. Its liability is to empty ])he-
nomenalism, idle sentimentality. Then there is the modification
of method which may be styled the method of practical wisdom.
It contemplates the spirit of such predominantly as a self-regulated
activity subject to growth, with a native set or trend toward a
perfect manliness. Its goal is the supreme good of man as con-
sisting in the full development and exact co-ordination of all the
capabilities of his nature. It is characteristically the Hebrew and
the Christian method. Its workings and its attainments must be,
if legitimate, in perfect harmony with those of the other methods
indicated ; for the true, the beautiful, and the good dwell togetlier
in harmonious conjunction and sympathy in all real being, just
as the knowing, the feeling, and the purposive functions congru-
ously unite in the functional life of the soul.

Mr. Bowne's " Introduction " does not in form set forth or dis-
cuss the matter of method in psychological science. He declares at
the start that "psychology deals with mental facts and processes,"
and that "the method must be introspective." "Sensations con-
stitute a first order of mental reaction against external action.
These in turn become the ground of a second order of mental reac-
tion," consisting "in a working over of the sensations into rational
forms.'' " In this process appears a new factor, which we call the
thouiiht-f actor." Thus far we recoij;nize the method of observa-
tion as that which his theory would enforce if it had been led to
consider the matter in u formal way, IJut tiiis so-named thought-
factor is the one scienee-l>uilder. The full exposition of its work-
ing must accordingly briuirto view the plan, materials, construc-
tion — the whole character of psychology as a science. His treat-

Psychological Theory. 2(»7

ment of the tlioug-ht-process becomes tlius both exposition and
exemplification to a large extent of his psycholoiijical theory. If
we mistake not, the possibility of any worthy science anywhere,
certainly the validity of any particnlar science of the hnman mind,
hinges npon the principles involved in this exposition. It demands
a close and carefnl scrntiny,

Mr. Bowne winds up the introductory matter in his chapter on
the "Thought-Factor" in these words : " We conclude, then, that
the mental life reveals two entirely distinct processes : (1) the
movements and affections of the sensibility, and (2) an activity
upon them which results in the judgment, the establishment of
relations, and thus in rational knowledge. This activity is essen-
tially what we mean by the thought-process." We deem it very
unfortunate that in expounding this second order of mental activ-
ity a phrase of such large indefinite comprehensiveness as "the
establishment of relations" should have been introduced. Under
its cover and sanction a skilful dialectician could weave out the
most fantastic of fabrics. But, leaving this, we advert to the fact
that in the exposition of this second order one sole element is
recognized — " an activity," with its diversified functions. This
" activity " is given as the single constituent of the thought-pro-
cess, and in interpreting it we are not justified in putting into it
any extraneous element. We have, then, in our study of the entire
thought-process only the two elements — the dat\i,)n from the sense
and the thought-activity upon it. In truth, simple introspection
apprehends nothing more than these two— an object from sense and
the movement of thought upon it. A science of observation is
thus precluded from admitting anything more. And in another
connection we find it expressly affirmed : " Of course, relations
could not be established if thethino;s were not in themselves relat-
able." The relations, it would seem from this, must have their
origin in the things, not in the thought, and must accordingly be
presented to the thought through the sense. This would seem to
be decisive of the whole question. But there is some reservation
here, or a retraction ; for the expression appears, " those general
relations which thought finds or establishes among its objects," and
those general relations alluded to which are of special imj)ortance
to the science are precisely not those which " thought finds.''''
These general relations, he says, are variously called "the cate-

208 The Journal of Speculative PJdlosop/nj.

<;ones of tliouojht, norms of distinction and comparison, ro<j;ulative
ideas, etc." Of these he selects for notice (for he deems a com-
plete s^-Tstem to be impossible) those which he styles " the lead-
in<»; relations under which knowledge is constituted/' His concep-
tion of the nature of these relations thus seems to he that they un-
derlie the constitution of knowledge. If so, the_y cannot he
themselves knowledges. Jjut wdiat they are as to their i)roper
nature is left in mystery. They are not facts, for then they should
be attained bv observation. Thev are not truths, for then they
would be, when apprehended hy the mind, knowledges. They
are said to be relations, but between what things — facts, truths, or
what — is not revealed. They seem to be the relations which the
thought-factor finds, and which are to be taken as ultimates con-
cerning which no more is to be asked, because lying back and
beneath all knowledij-e. Ilis enumeration of these leadin": rela-
tions embraces " likeness and unlikeness,*' " time and space,"
"number," " cause and substance."

It is very obvious that ]\Ir. Bowne, in this exposition of the
thought-process, is engrafting on the method of observation an en-
tirely different movement. lie assumes, on no warrant of observa-
tion or of deduction, certain "general relations" under which all
knowledge is constituted. This method, which is not an infre-
q\ient characteristic of scientific speculation, we may denominate,
for the sake of distinction, the absolute a priori method. Tliere is
another legitimative movement of thought which we will distin-
guish from this as the relatively a priori method ; for thought
itself has its own properties which must consequently characterize
every thought-product ; these are ])re-eminently, if not exclusively,
the " same things which the mind can know on its own account."
These ])roi)erties are learned only by observation of actual think-
ing, and are consequently in l\\e\\\i,Q\\Gf> a posteriori. But, as they
are essential in all thinking, they condition and characterize all
thought-products, and are to them relatively a priori. They are
the proper categories of pure thought, being those generic attri-
butes or predicates which, as essential in all thought — in pure
thought — must belong to all i)roducts of thought. In this sense,
as stated, they condition all actual thinking, inasmuch as without
them thought would lack an essential (]uality — be, in fact, no
thought at all. They are reducible, it is believed, to the three, as

Psychological Theory. 209

at least the most finulainental and generic, viz. : those of Identity,
Quantity, and Quality. '

But, further, the object gives to the sense the other factor in
the thought-process, has its essential attributes, also attained by
observation, therefore ve'A\\ a posteinori^ but relatively a priori to
any thouglit of the object. Of these the two most fundamental
and comprehensive are Reality and Activity. No object can be
given to the sense to be apprehended by it except in its interac-
tion with the mind. This involves the reality of the object, since
that is the very meaning and sign of reality in an object that it
impresses the sense. This again involves activity, the actual
working on the sense.

Still further, the result of the thought-process — the object as
thouirht — has its two fundamental categories— those of cause and
substance. Since every object, by being thought, becomes object
under attribution, observation teaches us that the essential attri-
butes thus attached to an object in thought are the two of action
and quality ; and object-thought under the attribute of action is
cause, and under that of simple quality is substance.

In Mr. Bowne's enumeration " Likeness" and "Number" are
given as generic. They are given above as specific — one of '' Iden-
tity," likeness being but partial identity, and the other of " Quan-
tity," which is both numerical and spatial as "well as intensive.
He gives no hint of the genesis of these ideas further than this:
that they are, as already indicated, antecedent to knowledge and
absolutely a priori as principles by which knowledge is constituted.
Those enumerated are to be received as fair specimens of those so-
called categories or norms, or regulative ideas, of which no com-
plete system is, in his opinion, possible, but which are to be ac-
cepted without question as the constitutive principles of all knowl-
edije. He discusses at considerable length the nature and genesis
of the i leas of Time and Space. They are affirmed, after the
Kantian theory, to be a irriori contributions of the mind. " Time
is primarily the law or principle which compels the mind to con-
nect its experiences and all conceptions of events in general under
the form of antecedence and sequence. Secondarily, time is the

^ See the writer's treatment of the Categories in his " Mental Science " and " Science
of Thought." Editions of 1886.

XXI— U

210 The Journal of Speculative Philosophij.

form of this synthesis." Siniilarly : "All perception of extension
rests on a synthesis of parts." The method exempliiied in this ex-
position is characteristically what is familiarly known as the abso-
lute a priori method as distinguished from that which we have
noted as the relutiyely a priori method. It assumes certain
truths or principles as existing in the mind which are antecedent
and conditional to all experience. Its soundness and value ma}'^ be
fairly weighed as it is exemplified by Mr, Bowne. who is as com-
petent as any one, perhaps, to work the method to its best achieve-
ments. The objections may be summarily presented as follows:

1. We have nothing here but bare assumption without ground
in fact or in legitimate deduction. Its only support is the claim
that it accounts for the genesis of certain ideas in the only way
possible to the human mind.

2. The theory seeks to solve one difficulty simply by bringing in
another far more formidable. The genesis of these ideas is less
mysterious than the genesis of the alleged law or principle in the
thought-factor; than its mode of existence before any exertion of
the activity ; than its application to experience.

3. It makes the thouo-ht-factor a magazine of ideas — of ideas as
diverse and indeterminate as the relations in the objects that can
be presented to thought, of ideas alread}'^ stored and held before
any exertion of its activity. It puts the product-ideas before the
producing, and converts, if we may use Aristotelian phraseology,
a potency into an entelechy without becoming an energy.

4. It ranks and treats the ideas of time and space as categories
of thought ; that is, as generic attributes of pure thouglit, which
he erroneously conceives to be attainable by the human mind be-
fore experience of the particulars which compose the generic.

5. It grounds the necessity of the a priori method in a miscon-
ception of the nature of the ideas of time and space as they are
genei'ally held. The theory supposes these ideas to be intrinsic to
the objects given in experience; and, as an analysis of our sensa-
tions of objects does not find either time or space and a complete
abstraction of all the attributes of the object as given to the sense
leaves an utter blank or zero, it rejects the common view as un-
tenable, and seeks rest in the a priori assumption as the only alter-
native. This is wholly a mistake. Time and space are not held
in the common-sense view to be intrinsic to the objects given in

Psychological Theory. 211

sensation. Time, thus, is not an intrinsic property of bird, nor
yet of moving- bird. Time is not in the bird; it is in time; its
motion is in time. Time, aecordinojly, conceived as an attribute,
as it may be legitimately, is not an intrinsic but an extrinsic attri-
bute — an attribute of condition. Finite sense cannot take in any
object entirely aj)art from its environment. It can apprehend but
a part of the universe of object. It must apprehend its object as
such part ; and the sense of a part involves a sense of what is re-
lated to it as a containing whole, which, as whole, is to its part of
indefinite extent. We cannot see a star without something of the
sky in which it is set. Human sense, thus, from the necessities of
its finite nature, apprehends an object only as it exists in relation
— as in its setting, its environment. All motion is thus correctly
apprehended as being in time as its setting or external condition.

6. The theory attributes to the thought-activity an utter impos-
sibility in the alleged construction of the ideas of time and space —
" all perception of extension rests upon a synthesis of parts." Sen-
sations are monjentary, instantaneous ; apprehensive only of points.
The thought-factor is assumed to be the only principle of con-
junction for the human mind. These moments or instants of the
sense are conjoined by this thought-factor, and as the result of this
synthesis so we get our ideas of duration and extension — time and
space. But this speculation overlooks the utter impossibility of
constructing non-quantitative points into the extended and quanti-
tative. If the instants and moments of sense are quantitative, then
the element of extension, of duration, of space and time, of quan-
tity, is already given in the sense, ante'^edent to thought ; and the
speculation fails because it is uncalled for. On the other hand, if
these instants and moments are themselves mere points, then all
such synthesis of them as makes them actual quantitative exten-
sion is entirely illegitimate. An infinity of mere points can never
avail to an infinitesimal of an extended space or line.

T. The theory misses entirely the true genesis of these ideas of
time and space. It is affirmed that " no inspection of conscious-
ness will reveal to us the origin of this idea [of time], inasmuch
as the idea is always there long before the reflective consciousness
begins the inquir3\ We can only study some of its logical condi-
tions." But surely all this is as true of all our leading ideas. The
objects which produce them are given to the sense when its

212 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

capncitv to receive and retain is at its weakest, wlien the dis-
criminative and properly thinkinoj activitv is also at its weakest,
when, consequently, the idea is so dim and dull that a weak in-
fantile consciousness is incompetent to grasp it. This faint idea,
only by much repeated impression and repeated thought-action
and but gradually and slowly, grows into that full distinctness
which consciousness can apprehend. We have thus the idea of
weiglit — of gravity growing up from imperceptible beginnings.
Doubtless it was in the mind long before " the reflective con-
sciousness could begin the inquiry " into its origin and genesis.
Yet, probably, no one will deny that the genesis of this idea is
within the grasp of proper introspecti(»n. One experience of the
rise of this idea must be essentially the same in its constituent ele-
ments as any other — the last must be the exact counterpart of the
first ; a heavy body impresses tlie sense alike in every case ; and
from this sense-impression as the single source comes all the mate-
rial for the thought-process. This process involves no a priori
form or principle of gravity as already possessed by the thought-
function which in its action it contributes, from itself and from
its own stores, to the sensation. Just so with the genesis of the
ideas of time and space. One instance of experiencing the rise of
these ideas in the mind is essentially the same as every other, hav-
ing the same elements. Any moving thing impressing the sense
gives rise to the idea at the first and ever after. 80, as a matter
of fact which cannot in reason be controverted, we mav and do
witness with an attained maturity of mental life the rise of these
ideas in all the fulness of their essential factors and conditions.
The consciousness of the experience gives a simple unimpeachable
testimony. I see a bird at rest on the tree before ray window ;
m}' sense receives the impression, and the thought-process acts on
the sense-impression. I have an idea of bir.i. Then the bird fiits
before m}' window. My sense receives now a new and a different
impression. I have an idea of moving bird. The sense of motion is
added to the former sense of bird, and the idea ot" bird changes to
the idea of movins; bird. But this idea of motion contains within
itself divers elements discernible in easy analysis; and among
these constituent elements is that of continuous duration.

The vicious character of this whole aprioristic method is sig-
nally exem])lified still further in Mr. Bowne's exposition of the

Psychological Theory. 213

ideas of "substance" and "cause." What is conceived to he the
true exposition of the nature and genesis of these ideas has ah*eady
been given. As pertaining- not to the thing given as object to
the sense, nor yet to the thought-activity directed upon the ob-
ject as apprehended i7i the sense, but to the thouglit-thing as
result of the interaction between these two factors, they are readily
understood. A failure to view theni in this natural way naturally
leads to mistiness and confusion, which are w^orse for truth and
science than positive error. Of course, in this confusion and dark-
ness, difliculties present themselves to the investigating mind. And
here as elsewhere the Gordian-knot solution seems to have been
accepted as the readiest and easiest — viz., that the thought-factor
should create these ideas like those of time and space ; this method
has in other lines been accepted as legitimate and valid ; habit has
facilitated the use of it. Yet how viciously it works here as every-
where may be shown, particularly in the theory given by Mr.
Bowne of the genesis of the idea of reality in the mind. There
is some cloudiness thrown over his exposition by his recognizing
an ontological and a metaphysical reality as distinct from proper
psychological reality. The distinction is beyond our comprehen-
sion as it is beyond our present field of inquiry. The question
here is, How does the mind of man get its idea of a reality ex-
ternal to itself? Of course, it is implied that a true exposition
will impart to that idea, as it exists in the mind, legitimacy and
validity. If the idea comes lawfully into the mind, it is true and
valid, and there is a real external world ; it is not a iigment of
the mind; the outer world has attested itself in away to com-
mand the mind's assent. Now, according to this aprioristic method,
" this idea can get into the experience only as the mind brings it
in." Substance, by whicli " is meant reality in reference to its
attributes," is regarded " as primarily a mental principle, and sec-
ondarily as an ontological reality." " We have the idea of causa-
tion," and " by cause is meant reality in reference to its activities."
" This principle is no datum of experience, but a mental contribu-
tion." " It cannot be abstracted from experience, for the reason
that it cannot be found in experience until the mind puts it there."
All that there is of reality in the outer world for us, for our minds
and souls, is thus made to be the mere fabrication of our own
thinking. Surely it would seem as if this denial of reality as an

214 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

attribute pertaining to the outer world in itself, irrespectively of
our thinkin*^, must, ifanythino;, "lead to nihilism and solipsism."
Yet the facts which reveal beyond all doubt the actual genesis of
this idea are patent facts ; they are admitted facts. And, as was
noticed in Kant's search for the idea of time in the experience, the
explanation why "the idea cannot be found in experience" is sim-
ply that the vision is not turned to where it actually is. " All
perception," it is atKrmed in truth, "rests upon an interaction be-
tween the soul and the world of things." " To be perceived, a
thing must act upon us; and to be perceived as this or that, it
must act upon us in a manner corresponding thereto." Here,
then, if we " construe the facts as they are given us," are " things"
interacting with our minds, determining in our minds so that they
are differently affected by this and by that. We accordingly
have things, actions, mental affections. But, succeeding these
mental affections, thus immediately resulting from the interaction,
there are certain mental activities which are determined to be of
this or that character, according to the character of the interaction
and the affection. This part of the experience Mr. Bowne seems
to exclude from his view. There is the activitv of the thino;. and
that is followed at once by an activity of the mind. But nothing
is recognized as intermediate; there is no proper effect ])roduced
in the mind by the thing from which effect the perception comes;
the thing acts ; the mind acts ; nothing connects them. It is,
however, admitted that the action of the thino; is the condition of
the minds reacting. But what meaning is there in this, unless
the action of the thing produces a feeling in the mind, and unless
it is this — the feelin^ — the action as felt — that is, a state in tlie
mind itself — which is the object of the perception ? So it is ad-
mitted that the mind has sensations, and they are the condition of
all perception. Further than this, a thing manifests its own in-
herent reality as a thing by acting upon our minds, and the mind
is conscious of this action upon it from an external object. But
the vision of the a priori the(U'ist is turned away from the inter-
action itself, the actual meeting of the two interacting factors, and
consequently from the conscious sense, which, it may be remarked,
sometimes abides without any perception immediately following
from all this consciousness of external energy in actual operation
on and in the sense. It takes no note of this. The method seems

Psychological Theory. 215

to be color-blind ; it does not discern vvhat is obvious to sound
vision.

The old Kantian speculation is summarily and characteristically
^iven by Mr. Bowne as it is adopted by him : " Our ol)jectified
representations constitute for us the external world. This does
not forbid that the world ma}' be as real as common sense as-
sumes; it only points out that to perceive the outer world we
must think it or construct it in thouo-ht. The mind can never
grasp the object other than through the conception, and the object
exists for the mind only through the conception." The natural
interpretation of this language must take it to teach sim])le nihil-
ism. We take the ideas as representations of our own minds —
objectify them — make them objects to our own mental view, and
these constitute all there is of an external world ; the external
world is nothing, so far as we know, in itself ; it is only our own
ideal fabric; there is no real world for us; all that is a real noth-
ing; this is the natural common-sense interpretation of the teach-
ing. Consciousness here goes for nothing ; for, if we are conscious
of anything, it is that, when we are violently struck, some real
thing outside of us interacts with us. Consciousness being thus
belied, all knowledge of the mind, all psychological science fails,
and, of course, with it all science, and we have left us as our only
portion pure nescience. Our perceptions do not condition and
determine our thought, our knowledge, but our thougljt-construc-
tions determine them. Perception, indeed, is made to be only a
"rationalizing process," or application of certain assumed judg-
ment-relations, called " the categories." " The mind can never
grasp the object other than through the conception." The con-
ception, accordingly, must exist before the object is apprehended,
and determine its existence for us and fix its nature ; and so we
find reiterated the teaching that the external object has no exist-
ence and no character of its own. Moreover, this all-determining
"conception" — this antecedent to all knowledge — is, as presented
to us, entirely sourceless and characterless. It is, in fact, abso-
lutely incogitable, as it makes a product its own ])roduccr. A
thought, as every principle which must be a form of knowledge,
and every generic attribute which must be a constituent element
in a knowledge, is made to be its own originator, for, we are
taught, an object cannot be grasped except through the conception

216 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

already existing in the mind. It reverses and so belies the uni-
versally recognized process of knowing. A man hitherto Ijlind,
for instance, for the first time sees the sun; it is bright to him.
The theory interprets the experience thus : The sun is presented
to his sense ; he has already in his mind, inner, inherited, trans-
mitted, acquired in some unknown way, the conception of" bright-
ness," and so lie comes to know that the sun is bright. In this
way the teaching denies to the liuman mind all power to know
things as they are, and makes all human knowledge uncertain by
making it to depend for all that is intrinsic and essential in the
objects of knowledge as arbitrary, baseless, characterless concep-
tions. The teaching, of course, if as erroneous as it would seem
to common sense and all reason, will reveal inconsistencies or con-
tradictions here and there. Particularly we may notice here that
it admits that the "raw material" which the tliought-process
works up is given by the sensibility. This raw material must be
real — that is, if anything is real. If it be allowed to be real, then,
inasmuch as it exists before the thought-process begins, and is not,
therefore, created or made real by thought, the conclusion would
seem to be inevitable that there is reality external to thought and
independent of it. So the theory stumbles fatally over its own
teachings.

The a priori method, thus shown to be untrustworthy as it is
exemplified in a vital doctrine concerning true knowledge, al-
though applied l)y eminent ability, may be reasonaV)ly expected to
reveal fatal weaknesses in whatever application. It professes to
found knowledge on an ultimate basis ; it aims to effect its object
by the simple expedient of assuming a principle or law or generic
conception antecedent to all mental activity. The illusiveness of
the process is shown at once in the fact that this fundamental con-
ception, assumed to have a pre-existence in the mind, must be ever
the product of the mind itself, for no other origin can in reason
be assigned to it. It is originated for a special application, proba-
bly in all unconsciousness, out of a general unscientific survey of
the subject-matter, and constructed, of course, so as supposably to
embrace all the particulars. The true process of knowledge from
its very nature prescribes the reverse of this — that it must begin
with the ol)ject of the knowledge as given and as observed, and
is effected first by observing or apprehending this object as having

PsycJiologleal Theory. 217

some attribute or character, and then by identifying tlie object
and attribute as one. This is the one essential characteristic re-
lation in tliong'lit or knowledge — that which makes a knowledge
to be a knowledge. To think, to know, psychologically, to judge,
is essentially to attribute, and all attribution is simply identifica-
tion of an object with some or other of its attributes. The judg-
ment is, indeed, essentially thus a relating activity. It is illegiti-
mate to make it the factor of any and all relations. It is more
grossly illegitimate to make it the factor in any case of the attri-
bute as one of the constituents in this relation. The judgment
never creates the content of the attribute in a knowledge. That
it can attain onl}' as it is given in the presentation of the object
to the judging activity. To what preposterous length the theory
that the attribute in a judgment must be already in the mind be-
fore the object is presented to the sense logically leads is shown
in the very reasoning of Mr. Bowne. " The universal form of
knowledge," he says, truly, "is the judgment." "But judgments
are impossible without the ideas united in them. I cannot say
this is red or green without having some idea of red or green."
" The universal antedates reflective thought, and is a necessity of
all thinking." " Whenever reflection begins we find ourselves
already in possession of a mental world." " The world of things
exists for us onl};- as we construct it in thought by bringing into
sensation the categories of the intellect. Besides these, we find a
world of ideas which lay no claim to substantive existence. These
mental products are all universals." " Red " and " green " thus
are universals already in the mind before any red thing or green
thing has ever been presented to the sense; they emerge from the
mind's treasure-house when the external object is presented.

Assuredly this is not the method of certain knowledge. Hardly
can it be allowed as " helle et probahiUter opinari'^'' Very far
is it from the Baconian method of observation and realism, the
goal of which is ce^^to et ostensive scire. In truth, to rest any in-
tellectual structure, any system of doctrine, any form of knowledge
whatever respecting any real thing, on assumption, is to build on
sand — an uttei-ly unstable and untrustworthy foundation. Tiie first
grand aphorism of the "Novum Organum" — that human knowl-
edge, respecting mind and outer things, is conditioned by observa-
tion — is a first principle lor all stable science. The assumption of

218 The Journal of Speculative PJiilosophy.

universals not only violates this law of knowledije, but itself in-
volves what is utterly incogitable — viz., that an attribute can exist
apart from the subject to which it belongs, except, of course, in
the abstractions of thouo;]it. Those universals which most com-
monly now creep into speculation with most vicious effects, such
as " intinite," " absolute," " perfect," although in themselves of
negative import, easily take on a positive form, and then as easily
admit the idea of the real. Thus, by a subtle paralogism, out of
an utterly groundles>i assum])tion is built up a system of doctrine
respecting God, the universe, nature, the mind, pompous and
plausible, yet only pretentious and illusive. The vicious logical
principle corrupts and spoils the entire body of doctrine into
which it is admitted.

V. The Validation of Psychological Science.

The hopeful and successful builder of science must feel assured
that his work is right, and therefore must give valid results. He
must have a just confidence that the science, after having been
built up of the tilting materials in the method of tested skill, must
be veritable and, therefore, enduring science. If his facts are the
facts of mind, accurately and fully observed, and if they have been
constructed by the known methods of the one science-builder —
thought — his work must abide. He needs thus only to test his
observations and his reflective thought-movements, his deductions,
his generalizations, his inductions, confining himself to observed
fact as his material, and over beijinnino; with that. Observation
as a valid ground and condition of knowledge cannot be ques-
tioned. Human fallibility must, of course, ever be recognized,
and proper provisions and allowances be made for this. But, after
all, truth is attainable by the human mind, and it may be known
to be truth by decisive tests. We do know some things, and we
know that we know them ; and this simply because this knowledge
that we have has all the essential characters of a true knowledge.
This is the one comprehensive and conclusive test. As I know an
orange to be an orange because it has the essential properties of
an orange, so I know that the knowledge I have is a true knowl-
edge because it possesses the known properties of a ki\owledge.
It has proceeded from an observed fact, and my mind, as capable
of knowing the fact, has worked up the fact into a true knowledge.

PsychologiGol Theory. 219

These are manifold specific tests of valid observation. They need
not be enumerated here. And the testino; of the thono-ht-move-
ment can be satisfactorily accomplished in the light of the estab-
lished laws of thought. The builder of science has accordingly
the means of testing his work in his own hands, and may rest con-
tent w^ith his work if he find it to have been founded on assumed
observation of fact, and to have been carried forward by a legiti-
mated skill. The pretended science that threatens an assault on
a knowledge tluis built up of assured observation and in sound
logic will have committed suicide before it can deal its threatened
blow.

It were hardly necessary to call particular attention to this vali-
dation of the science in psychological theory but for the fact that
the attempt has been so often made to construct the science in
open violation of a fundamental principle of scientific construc-
tion by founding it upon an alleged principle, not exclusively on
observed fact. This method of procedure, characterized as the
a priori method, has been already sufficiently considered in its
vitiating effect on psychological science. It is necessary here only
to reiterate the affirmation, that any alleged science founding itself
on any assumption whatever, by whatever name it may be desig-
nated, as first truth, necessary principle, or otherwise, builds itself
on sand, and has no real stability. It is mortally vulnerable for
this one of divers reasons, that he who controverts it has equal
right to assume, and there is no superior authority to adjudicate
with which party lies the better claim. A particular science may,
indeed, found on what has already been established ; it is not re-
quired to relay foundations already laid. But primarily and origi-
nally all science for man must repose on fact attained by legitimate
observation. Thought must accept this observation in implicit
faith. Scientilic observation has, indeed, its regulative laws, and
these must be found in the testing to have been obediently fol-
lowed. Thought itself has, too, its regulative laws, which must,
in securing a validated knowledge, be found, as well, to have been
obedientlv followed. Thouo-ht itself must have been observed,
its nature ascertained. The essential characteristics observed in
this ascertained nature of thought must, of course, appear in every
, instance of legitimate thought. Here, in these essential charac-
ters, we alight upon principles which must precede and condition

220 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

all thoii2;ht, and which will be found as attrilnites of every thought-
object. These principles of thought, thus attained by observation,
are properly denominated a posteriori in respect to their own ori-
gin, but, being prerequisite in all actual thinking, are a 2)ri07'i in
reference to all the results of" such thinking. These fundamental
principles are those already named as the categories of pure thought
— Identity, Quantity, Quality. These principles may rightfully be
taken as the corner-stones of sound knowledge. They are not, how-
ever, assumptions ; and the allowed free use of them by no means
justifies the use of other assumptions that have no ascertainable
basis in the nature of thought or in legitimate observation.

Science, thus knowing what scientific observation is aud what
true thought is, knows what true knowledge when attained is. The
decisive validation of science is thus in its own power. There is
none that can rise up to dispute its sovereign rule.

YI. Relationsldps of Psychological Science.

Psychology bears divers and complicated relationships in its
properly scientific character. It is a part of a larger whole of
science; and it has to do wath a part of the general subject-matter
of science. These relationsliips are organic as parts of the one
great body of knowledge which has the universe of being — being
of thought as well as being of reality — for its subject-matter. In
these co-ordinations reciprocity of vital force must exist, and sci-
ence-construction must recognize the fact and hold itself free to im-
part and to receive light and help as their organic connections may
allow. Psycholog}' is thus to be co-ordinated with Metaphysical
Science, Fundamental Philosophy, Ontology — by whatever name
it may be known. It i)ears here a double and an opposed riela-
tionship, as both originative and subordinate, parental and filial.
It is the subordinate as constituting only a part of universal sci-
ence; it is yet the originative source and ground of logic as the
science of thought which is the universal and onlv science-builder,
for thinking is an essential function of mind which is the proper
subject-matter of psychology. The nature of true thought and so
the determination of all true knowledge thus are to be learned
primitively and authoritatively from psychological science. Logic,
or the science of thought, is thus its own mother ; the mother and

Psychological Theory. 221

offspring at once of psychology ; and, moreover, tlie one mother
of universal science.

It is inadmissible here, in the limited space allowed, to enter into
a more detailed explication of the organic relationships subsisting
between psychology and other branches of knowledge. It must
sutMce simply to indicate the fact of those divers relationships, that
so the construction of the science proceed in full recognition of
the various and complicated co-ordinations determining and shap-
ing more or less tlie spirit and character, and the defining bound-
aries of the science. The successful builder of psychological science
must be in intelligent sympathy and organic communication with
all embodiments of truth and sound knowledge. More and more
fully is the long-observed principle of co-ordination as governing
alike throughout the universe of being and of thought coming into
recognition and effective use — the principle that in every organic
whole each part conditions and determines, more or less, every
complementary part.

222 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

NOTES ATs^D DISCUSSIONS.

A THEORY OF INSA^'ITY.

It is clear that man uses corporeal senses as instruments with wliich to
learn the external world. Nerves are the avenues of sense-impressions.
Nerves receive impressions from the external world, and the minil infers
the properties and qualities of existence from the character and quality
of the nerve impressions.

Now, it is obvious that, besides sound, healthy nerve function, there
may be diseased function. In case of disease the nerve may be sensitive
to its corporeal environment as well as to the external world. The lesions
of diseased nerves will seem to the mind to be impressions from without,
and will be interpreted as perceptions of external existence; thus, severed
limbs often seem to be felt even in the lost extremities, because the nerve
is affected at its end in the stump of the amputated limb.

These lesions of diseased nerves will most likely be more vivid than in
healthy nerve-action, and will be interpreted as perceptions of more vivid
realities. They will apparently reveal to the raind a world of distortions,
hideous forms, threatening the safety of the person thus diseased. This
person will thus be insane. His sense data do not reveal facts, and hence
he acts on wrong premises, and acts absurdly, in reality, although very
rationally, in view of what he sees to be the reality. Insanity of this kind
will pass away when the nerves of sensation are made healthy.

Not only is sense-perception conducted through corporeal organs in
its beginnings, but former perception is also recalled by means of
action of those organs caused, more or less, by the excitation of the
will. Recollection is, like sense-perception, a seizure of a direct, imme-
diate, particular fact or object, and not an apprehension of something
general or universal. Not only can the effect of a former lesion on the
sense-organ be renewed ;it will through the act of recollection, but, by
power of the will, the sense-organ may be framed or determined into
original shapes called fancies, which seem when the subject is conscious
of direct control over them by the will, to be purely subjective. But dis-
ease of the brain can also produce fancies not dependent on the will,
called "fixed ideas." These form hallucinations, the second form of
insanity.

This brain disease may arise from general causes, or it may be pro-

Notes and Discussions. 223

duced tlirectly by tlie brooding of the mind upon an important object or
event for so long a time that partial congestion of the brain-organ super-
venes, and inflammation causes the image to persist in the mind and mix
with most or all of its experiences. A permanent image existing through
the mental experience furnishes a sort of axis for this experience. And
the mind dwells on that image and finds the relations of it to all of its ex-
perience ; in fact, giving unity to its experience through that image.
Hence the image comes to be attached closely to the personal identity,
and, if the image of a person, may often be adopted as the supposed
identity of the person himself, who then believes himself to be St. Paul,
Napoleon, or even Jesus Christ.

In all cases of hallucination, as well as in all cases of delirium, there is
primarily a diseased nervous organism, which, instead of being set into
activity by the environment of the body, is organically put in action by
the disease on its own account and furnishes illusions.

The soul is rational, only its data are incorrect. Insanity, therefore,
does not offer any support to the materialistic theory of the mind, but the
contrary. If the mind itself were diseased its categories of causality,
quantity, quality, space, and time would be affected, and it would invert its
rational procedures, and omit some phases, and reason incorrectly from
data. But of this we have no evidence. The disease appertains to the
body, and affects only the data of relation to the external world.

From these theoretic principles some results follow as regards the
treatment of insanity :

1. The disease of the nerves — inflammation or whatever it is — should
be removed.

2. The mind should never be allowed to brood long at a time over
objects and events. Diversion is essential to prevent insanity, and diver-
sion should be the first thing sought in the treatment of insanity.

3. In case of chronic morbid lesion, which produces the persistent
presence of some image,' there should be attempts to lead out from this
image to its environment, and thus to change its structure by develop-
ment of the conception, unfolding the idea by related ideas into a system
of ideas, and thus overcoming the fixed character of the idea and restoring
freedom. The relations should be often canvassed, and the patient's
reason encouraged to infer results near and remote. Sometimes such a
lesion would be cured by creating a new one of equal importance by a
fright ; but such violence is avoided because of the possibility of increas-
ing the disease.

The art of creatino- new mental images and ideas should be stud-
ied in order properly to treat the insane. These can arise from without

224- The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

throuirli I'odily infliiencps, and within through self-determination of the
mind, whicli chooses to brood over an image. Both of tiiese mctliods
should be used to controvert diseased brain spectres. From the fact that
drugs have the power to produce mental spectres, it has been inferred
that the mind is no self-determining entity, but a product of bodily func-
tions. The distinction between sense-data and the process of inference
and will removes this materialistic implication. The sense-data are all
corporeal, and may be sound and valid, or may be only delusive, as in
case of druof-excitement of the nerves. The mind infers and wills in view
of its data, whether real or delusive. Moreover, the mind through its
self-determination, in case of brooding, can even create the disease which
gives rise to hallucination. W. T. Harris.

September, 1881.

BOOKS KECEIYED.

Mrs. Herndon's Income. A novel. By Helen Campbell, author of the " What to do
Club." Boston : Roberts Brothers. 1886. [A very able discussion of the questions of
wealtli and poverty that are coming to the front in our local politic?.]

Thomas Carlyle'8 Counsels to a Literary Aspirant (a hitherto unpublished letter of
1842), and what came of them, with a brief estimate of the man. By James Hutchison
Stirling, LL. D. Edinburgh : James Thin, South Bridge. 1886.

The Community of Property : Nationalization of Land. By J. H. Stirling. Edin-
btirgh: Oliver & Boyd, Twccddale Court. 1885. Pp.l-tO. [A discussion of tlie
po.sitions taken Ijy Mr. Henry George in his lectures in Edinburgh.]

The Re-organization of Philosophy. An address delivered before the Aristotelian
Society, November 8, 1886 (being the annual address for the eighth session of the soci-
ety), by Shadworth H. Hodgson, LL. D., President. Williams & Norgate. 1886.

Journal of the American Akademe. October, 1886. "S'ol. Ill, No. 1. Alexander
Wilder, editor. Contents: Plato, frontispiece; Foreword; Ancient Symbolism and Ser-
pent-worship, by A. Wilder ; Conversation ; The American Akademe.

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.

Vol. XXI.] July, 1887. [N"o. 3.

A STUDY OF THE ILIAD.

BY DENTON J. SNIDER.

Book Sixth.

This Book is perhaps the favorite Book of the "Iliad" with most
readers. It has a character of its own throu2;hout ; in spite of all
diversity, its parts hold together in a common soul. That soul we
shall try to feel afresh in modern ways of thinking and speaking.
The first line utters a fundamental fact, which holds good to the
end : " The Gods withdrew from the conflict between Greeks and
Trojans." Accordingly, we shall see no divine intervention in
this Book ; the struggle is handed over to mortals, to be carried
on or to be reconciled by them as best they can. The withdrawal
of the Gods, announced at the start and intended by the poet, is
one of the facts which keep the various portions of the Book in
unity with itself.

The connection with the preceding Book is close and multifari-
ous. Diomed is still the central figure, thongli he is now to
undergo a change. He has put down two divinities that were
partisans of Troy ; clearly he is the man whom the Trojans must
fight, or conciliate, if possible. Both Diomed and Troy show a
new aspect into which they unfold from their antecedent phase.
If Mars and Venus were the sole Gods of Troy, the city would now
XXI— 15

226 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

fall ; but there is something else unconquered there which at pres-
ent comes into the foreground, and which Diomed is not able to
subdue. We have already noticed that there is a Trojan deity,
Apollo, from whom he fled ; but Apollo has quit the conflict along
with the other Gods, and does not appear in this Book.

Not a God, then, but a man now appears in Troy, Hector; we
have seen him a number of times hitherto as the brave captain of
his people, who is trying to repel the invaders of his country ; we
have also seen him as a bitter denouncer of Paris. Now he is to
be shown as the one whom we may call the ethical hero of Troy,
the bearer of all its noble instincts; with him in it, the city can-
not be taken by Diomed, or by anybody else, lie is the one Tro-
jan man who has to perish before his country can perish. In the
present Book he is called to be a mediator ; he invokes the Family,
all the domestic life of Troy, to pacify the wrathful Goddess,
Pallas, who has lent such power to Diomed. lie will be shown in
Ids own home, as son, as husband ; his brother, Paris, will be held
up before us in contrast ; thus the inner ethical scission in Troy
will be made manifest, revealing the two parties and the two
tendencies of the city. A religious man, a domestic man,, a patri-
otic man we behold in Hector; we may truly call him the Greek
in Troy.

Yet just in this lies the limit on which he breaks, which makes
him tragic. He does not believe in the detention of Helen, yet he
fights for the nation which detains her ; it is, alas ! his own nation.
His conviction clearly is, that the Greek cause is right ; still he
assails that cause in the defence of his country. In nobly main-
taini)ig his own Family and State, he is led to assail the principle
•of Family and State. His very virtue whelms him into guilt, and
this is his tragedy.

Of all the Iliad, this is the Book of the Family. The inner
condition of Troy is brought before us; we see the home in the
midst of war; we see especially the woman in her domestic life;
yet this life is one of terrible anxiety, and perpetually threatens to
become death. The Greeks in their camp have not the Family,
and, hence, cannot show this domestic phase of the conflict. Still,
the Family is the heart of their cause ; are they not flghting for
its integrity ? But Troy alone can show the home, in its deep
anta<ronism to war — hella dsteatata matribus. This Book, accord-

A Study of the Iliad. 227

ingly, has a conciliatory character; the Family seeks the peace of
life, the mother will keep her son, the wife will keep her husband.
Emotions averse to home-destroying battle we feel everywhere ;
the prayer goes up to the Gods that they would ward otf the fateful
stroke from the Family. It is the deepest truth that the poet in-
vokes woman with her domestic institution as the mediatorial
principle which seeks to conciliate the conflict. Yet these sad,
piteous Trojan women are tragic too, their very supplication is its
own denial ; they, praying for the safety of Troy and of them-
selves, pray for the detention of Helen and the destruction of the
Family. Can the Goddess listen to such a petition ? Note, too,
the place of the Book ; it is put between Books of war ; thus it
gives relief from the bloody strain of battle; we tarry upon it as
a peaceful oasis before plunging into the storm which rages
around it.

The object of the Book, then, is the conciliation of Diomed, who
has conquered the Trojans' deities of sensuous love and of blind
violence — -deities whom every Greek Hero must put down ere he
can truly fight for Helen, who is to be rescued from the domina-
tion of just those two Gods. Accordingly, the opposite principle
in Troy, the pure and peaceful element ot the Family, must next
be called up to try to save the city. Will the plan be successful?
Yes and no ; this double answer leads us to consider the double
nature of Diomed, and the new turn which his character now
takes.

Diomed has already shown two sides, the divine and human, both
of which were active in him during his grand career in the Fifth
Book. The poet tells us that the hero repeatedly received sug-
gestions from Pallas ; by her aid he conquered Mars and Yenus,
she being the Goddess of war and wisdom combined, and at the
same time a virgin unstained. Thus she is the antagonist of those
two Trojan deities in her very nature. Now Diomed has Pallas
in him, he sees her form and hears her voice, she animates him ;
this is his divine side which raises him above himself. Yet she is
outside of him too, she is the spirit abroad which puts down the
Trojan, she is the Greek spirit which will conquer Troy, or that
portion of Troy represented by Mars and Yenus. When she leaves
him, he is human, is but Diomed, the individual, not a great war-
rior, or at least not si) great as when the divine energy is working

228 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

in him, and hiirliiii^ him against the Gods themselves. He, as in-
dividual, has these friendly, paternal, ancestral ties; he is con-
nected in some way, as all the Greeks are, with the Trojans ; on
this personal side he may be approached and be reconciled.

But the reconciliation of Diomed, in order to be complete, must
be double, must include botli the divine and human elements. It
must first seek to placate Pallas, the divine element not merely of
the Hero, but, to a certain extent, of the whole Greek enterprise ;
she is not only in him, but in the entire cause. After that Diomed,
the person, may be conciliated. Of the two attempts, the former
does not succeed, cannot succeed, if Greece is to endure ; Pallas
will reject the Trojan prayer, and the war mnst go on. But the
latter attempt succeeds, in part at least ; Diomed, the individual,
no longer knows the voice of the Goddess, stops in the midst of
the conflict, and is reconciled. We shall hear of him again, but
he will never fully recover his divine energy.

We are now to see this thought taking body in the structure of
the Book. Four divisions of it are plainly marked : 1. A series
of bitter single combats (1-72). 2. The sending of Hector
(73-118). 3. The meeting of Glaucus and Diome^d (119,-236).
4. Hector in the city (237-529). But these four divisions all
stand in relation to one thought, that of reconciliation, which has
the two sides, human and divine. From the first to the second
division is a movement which passes from the unreconciled human
element to the attempt to reconcile the divine element. From the
third to the fourth division is another movement which passes from
the reconciled human element to the unreconciled divine element.
The sweep of the whole Book is, that though individuals may
make peace and drop out of the conflict, the Gods will not be
reconciled, the spiritual principle in this Trojan War cannot be
compromised. The noblest character in Troy forbodes that the
city must be destroyed. These four organic portions may now be
unfolded.

1. In a series of bloody single combats we see the unreconciled
nature of the struggle between individual Greek and Trojan. For
the Gods have withdrawn and turned the conflict over to men,
who surge in battle through the plain. It is a contest of individual
strength and courage without direct divine interference on either
side. The most important Greek heroes, Ajax, Diomed — note

A Study of the Iliad. 229

that Diomed now comes after Ajax, an ominous hint of what is to
follow — Euryalus, Ulysses, and others, are brought before us in
rapid pictures, each hero slaying his man, or two or even four men.
A fierce, gory time of which the reader soon has enough.

But the most prominent and the typical instance is the fate of
Trojan Adrastus, who, being overturned in his chariot, is taken
alive by Menelaus, and offers large ransom. Menelaus is inclined
to be merciful, when his brother, the leader of the Greeks, runs np
and rebukes him : " Let none escape, not even the babe in its
mother's womb." Then he smote the cowering prisoner, and,
putting his heel on the breast of the fallen man, jerked out the
ashen spear. As an image of implacable temper, this will suffice.
Old Nestor, too, who is usually the reconciler among the Greeks,
is full of the spirit of the time : " Let no man tarry behind for
plunder, but let us slay men, and afterward at leisure strip the
dead." The whole stress here is the human struggle unreconciled
and without mercy.

2. Now comes the attempt on the part of the Trojans to recon-
cile the divine element which has animated the Greeks, and
specially Diomed, in the preceding Book. If they can take away
that power from their enemy, they can indeed win. Will they do
works meet for reconciliation ? Such is the underlying question
of the whole Book. The matter is not to be settled by an expia-
tory ritual, but by a complete undoing of the wrongful deed.

Hector is taken from the front of battle and sent to the city.
This is the suggestion of Helenus, " the very best of augurs," the
man of religion who well knows that some divine power is fighting
for the Greeks, even though the Gods have outwardly withdrawn
from the contest. He has the gift of vision, and sees the very
divinity who has been helping Diomed. This is Pallas, who must
now be propitiated by the Trojans with a grand procession and
sacrifice. The Goddess is to be taken away from the Greek hero,
if possible, that he be shorn of his strength, and become like
another man. It should be noticed that Helenus considers Diomed
the greatest hero of the Greeks, greater than even Achilles, " whom
men say to be Goddess-born." The fact that a Goddess helps
Diomed, does not detract from his greatness ; indeed just that
constitutes his greatness. Thus the poet naively takes for granted
that the deity must be in the man as well as outside of him, and

230 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that he whom the Gods lielp most is the mightiest individual.
Man is truly free and himself just through divine aid.

So the Trojans are going to try to conciliate Pallas Athena, the
divine element of Diomed,and partly of the whole Hellenic world.
We have already seen that she is a strong Greek partisan among
the Gods on Olympus ; still she has her temple in Troy, in the
sacred precinct of the acropolis. It is an indication that both
Greek and Trojans belong to the same race, have the same wor-
ship, language, customs mainly ; have the same Gods, who,
however, are divided upon this cause of Helen, as the Hellenic
race itself is divided for the same reason, and split into two hostile
tendencies. Well is it then for the Trojans to propitiate the
Greek Goddess in Troy.

But why should Hector be selected, the mighty chieftain, and
taken away from the head of his troops in the field ? Why should
not Helenus himself, the man of religion, go to perform a re-
ligious mission ? Hector is altogether the proper person, and none
other ; and Helenus knows it. Hector is the Greek in Troy, op-
posed to Paris, opposed to keeping Helen. In his heart he be-
lieves that the Greeks are right ; still as a patriot he fights them
when they assail his country. In his conviction. Hector is most
friendly to the Greek Gods; truly they are his, and not Venus,
not Mai's. He is the man of all others in Troy, to conciliate these
Greek deities ; in spirit he is most theirs, far more than Helenus
the soothsayer. Hector is the bearer of the Greek, versus the
Asiatic influence in Troy. Pallas will listen to him, if she will
listen to any Trojan. It is true that the offering is to be made by
his mother, but he brings it about, he is just the one who might
be expected to order such a sacrifice ; he is the mediator, through
whose kindred soul the Greek Gods will speak, if they speak at
all, to the Trojans.

Before departing, he, by a special effort, puts his troops in good
spirits, and j)laces them in a secure position. He animates his
people till they drive back the Greeks who " think that one of the
immortals had descended from the starry heaven to help the men
of Troy." Besides, he leaves ^neas behind, who is coupled with
him in courage, fame, and command. But, while he is gone, Dio-
med, losing in someway his divine companion, is individually rec-
onciled.

A Study of the Iliad. 231

3. The story of the meeting of Glaucus and Diomed on the
fiekl of battle, seems, at first sight, an episode disconnected from
the main action ; but its spirit is in unison with the present Book,
and, moreover, it is completely in Homer's manner, which often
reflects the whole strnggle in some far-off legend of other days.
We behold the reconciliation of a Greek and Oriental, or better,
of an Eastern and Western Greek, by referring to the personal
relations of their ancestors, who were in the olden time allied by
ties of hospitality. It is another declaration that Greek and Tro-
jan are kin, both of one race ; in the preceding Book we saw the
same fact imaged in the story of TIepolemns and Sarpedon, son
and grandson of Zeus, fighting each other on the plain of Troy.
In the present instance the legend will throw a deep glance into
the meaning of the whole war, with the scission of the Hellenic
people into East and West. In this story three mythical strands
are twisted together ; the legend of the Thracian king told by
Diomed, the legend of Bellerophon told by Glaucus, the legend
of ancestral friendship ending in the reconciliation of the descend-
ants.

a. The speech of Diomed is remarkable ; it indicates a great
change in the hero of the Fifth Book. There Pallas had lent him
the gift of knowing Gods from mortals in battle ; but now he
cannot tell whether Glaucus be man or deity. There he assailed
and put down Mars and Venus, and showed in that deed his high-
est heroism ; but now he says, " I shall not war with the Gods
of heaven." Something has happened to him manifestly. He
cites the instance of Lycurgus, the Thracian king, who resisted
the Bacchic cult and drove out the God, and who in consequence,
did not live long. Here we have a case of a Greek ruler who is
punished for his opposition to an Asiatic divinity, for Bacchus
came to Greece from Asia, and is barely known to Homer. So at
present Diomed would not fight a Trojan God ; he is terror-
stricken at the fate of Lycurgus, who assailed an Oriental divinity
that was entering European Greece. This is not our former Dio-
med ; he is now afraid of calamity, afraid of not living long. Pal-
las has left him, the divine element has gone out of him, and we
see only the human Diomed. He can now be reconciled.

How shall we consider this change in Diomed ? German criti-
cism, which is inclined to find many Homers everywhere in Homer,

232 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

declares, in a number of representatives, that a new poet composed
this famous episode, one who did not know, or disregarded the
hero of the Fifth Book. But sucli a way of interpretation ignores
the procedure of Homer in a hundred places, and indeed of all
supreme poets. These introduce great changes into their characters
which the reader must poetically, and tlie interpreter logically,
justify. In " King Lear," how different is Cordelia of the Firet Act
when she disappears, from Cordelia of the Fourth Act, when she
appears again ! It is no explanation to say that there are two
Cordelias and two Shakespeares. And in the present case it lands
ns in the Kingdom of Nowhere to say that there are two Diomeds
and two Homers. Under this difference we must see the unifying
reason, and then we shall behold one character and one poet.

If we look back at the Fifth Book, we find that this change in
the man has been amply prepared. He does not attack Venus
nor Mars till Pallas comes to him and specially inspires him.
His susceptibility to the divine influence is distinctly marked and
limited ; without the Goddess he is but a conmion mortal, a good
tighter still against men, but not against Gods. He cannot com-
mand the celestial spell ; at present the superhuman power has
left him, and he knows it well. He will tight a mortal even now,
but not a Trojan deity, as he has before done. He has manifestly
reached his limit ; those two Gods of Troy, Mars and Venus, are
all that lie within the range of his heroship.

It is evident that the poet has in mind the divine energy, which,
when it seizes the individual, fills him with what is universal,
both in power and vision. Or we may call it a demoniac posses-
sion, which makes the man more than himself — clearer, mightier,
even taller in stature. When this power is off', the individual is
like the rest of us ; thus it has happened to Diomed. In the Fifth
Book he is held up and driven forward by a tremendous God-sent
might ; in the Sixth Book there is still the memory of it among
the Trojans, but he has lost it. This is his change and none
other.

h. We now come to the speech of Glaucus and the marvelous
tale which it contains. It begins sad, he speaks mournfully of
the generations of men, transitory as the leaves on the trees. Why
such a mood ? Glaucus has already a presentiment of his Trojan
destiny, and he strikes the elegiac tone ; indeed, his whole story

^otes and Discussions. 233

is one of trao^edy, which unconscious!}' includes himself. His
family is a famous one, his ancestor came from Greece and settled
in Lycia ; now he, the descendant, is tightinf^ for Asia against his
kindred and his nation. This is his fate to which his first words
are a pensive overture ; he has Orientalized and he will perish,
just as Troy, which has done the same thing, must be de-
stroyed.

But how did this retrogression to the East come about ? Here
the legend enters which tells of Bellerophon, the ancestor who
made the change, and who was entangled in the fateful coils of
the Orient. Bellerophon was a typical Greek Hero, of the high-
est family, of unstained character, of surpassing beauty and manly
strength. Anteia, the king's wife — she was an Oriental woman,
married in Greece — was madly enamored of him, tried to tempt
him, but without success. Then she falsely accused him to her
husband the king, and Bellerophon had to suffer for wrongs which
he never did. Here the legend touches another famous Oriental
story, that of Potiphar's wife. Bellerophon is sent by the king
to Lycia in Asia Minor, the home of Anteia, where the father-in-
law, who is ruler of that country, receives a communication, by
signs scratched on a tablet, that the bearer, who is Bellerophon,
should perish.

This passage has become famous, inasmuch as it introduces the
question of Homeric writing, and the further question whether
the poems of Homer were written in the beginning. It is plain
that these signs were a means of communication between absent
people. But what was the nature of these signs ? Three main
views have been held concerning them : first, that they were alpha-
betic ; second, that they were a cipher, agreed upon, and known
to those persons alone who communicated ; thirdly, that they
were a kind of picture-writing. Let the reader take his choice ;
any one of the three will do for the passage. To us the second view
seems the most probable ; it holds that these signs were a con-
ventional cipher not intelligible to their bearer, Bellerophon,
who could doubtless have read the alphabet or the pictures, or, at
least, would not naturally have been entrusted with them.

In consequence of the false accusation, Bellerophon has to
undergo the severest trials ; hardships were put upon him, that
he might perish, yet he, the Greek Hero, must stand the Oriental

234 TKe Journal of Speculative PJnlosophy.

test. In him tlie old poet shows how the best man, guiltless,
must suffer, yet in his suffering triumph. It is this which proves
that he is " the son of a God," though sprung of a mortal father,
the elder Glaucus. His labors are three, all significant of Greek
heroship. First he slays the Chimaera, a monster made up of a
lion, goat, and dragon, breathing forth iire — a mixture of animal
forms common to the mythology and art of the East. This Ori-
ental horror it is just the function of Greece and the Greek Hero
to suppress ; they must put down the beast and become ethical,
they must put down the ugly and become beautiful. In many
ways Greek legend has celebrated this triumph of Hellas over
Asia; the story of Troy is its completest expression. Nor is it
carrying the thought too far if we consider the character of the
three commingled animals, the lion, the goat, and the dragon —
violence, salacity, the tire of the destroyer. At least, the bestial
side of the world and of man as well as of art and of religion must
be subordinated by the true Helleni(! soul.

The next task of Bellerophon was to subdue the Solymi, who,
according to Herodotus, were the primitive inhal)itants on the
border of Lycia; wild men we must consider them, whom the
Greek Hero has to bring under the State and civilized order.
Thirdly, he slew the Amazons, wild women, hostile to the Family,
as they are represented in Greek legend. Thus it is seen that the
Greek Hero is producing tiie institutional world ; he has per-
formed three typical deeds, he subjects the animal, he vindicates
State and Family ; moreover, in these actions he calls forth a new
realm, that of beauty, Greek art springs into existence just at
this point; Greek mythology gives its own origin mythically:
and the greatest poem of Hellas sings itself into being. In his
final deed, Bellerophon touches tlie summit; those of his own race
— the Lycians here — who would kill him stealthily, and destroy
his cause, he slays to the last man. He is now the triumphant
Greek Hero, having put down the foe within and without, even
in the Orient, and is recognized as " the son of a God."

But this is just where fatality enters; adversity cannot conquer
the Greek Hero, but prosperity can. Bellerophon takes land and
authority in Lycia, takes a wife and has children ; he marries the
king's daughter, a sister of that ill-famed Anteia, who was the be-
ginning of all his woes. He enters the Family which has been

A Study of the Iliad. 235

his curse and the State which has tried to destroy him ; out of
Hellas he sinks into the embraces of the Orient. Like Themisto-
cles, like Alexander, he Orientalized even in victory ; truly a
typical Greek Hero, though thrown far back into Greek legend.
How well does the old bard know his own race and its besetting
temptation, especially the temptation of its great men ! Writing
of a remote mythical past, he casts his light forward into the his-
toric future, and prophetically reveals the destiny of his mightiest
countrj'men.

Fate now overtakes the Greek Hero just in those institutional
relations which he had once so valiantly maintained in their
Hellenic spirit. The wild men, the Solyrai, again make war; his
son perishes in conflict with them. His daughter is slain by
Artemis for violation of the precepts of the chaste Goddess.
Where now is the triumph of the Greek Family and State? Bel-
lerophon himself goes crazy ; has he not already surrendered the
rational principle of his life? He roams the Aleian plain, "hate-
ful to all the Gods, consuming his mind, shunning the paths of
men." Again we have to think he is the tragic image of the
Greek Hero, who has renounced his Hellenic heritage and joined
the Orient.

But this Glaucus who is talking — what shall we say to him, the
grandson of the great Bellerophon ? He, too, has lapsed, he is
fighting against the Greek cause, and for the detention of Helen.
He has just told his own story in that of his grandfather ; he is
also fated to go the same way, and he has a strong presentiment
of his destiny. Hence the melancholy tinge which colors his
whole speech ; it is as if he were making his own funeral oration.
So the poet himself felt, we must think ; a little later Glaucus
perishes. Tradition makes Homer a native of the islands of the
^gean, or even an Asiatic Greek ; certainly he must have lived
somewhere on the borderland, for he feels the struggle on both
sides to its very heart-throb. With what sympathy, yet with what,
truth, he portrays the conflict ! In fact, his feelings seem rather to
lean toward the Trojan side, though his head is alwaj's with the
Greeks. The story of Bellerophon is a picture in miniature of the
whole Trojan War, and his fate foreshadows its outcome : the
Trojans, too, are Greeks who have cast away the Greek heritage,
and must perish. Many such little pictures, framed in some re-

236 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

mote legend, we iind in the " Iliad " ; they are in the poet's mythical
manner, and they bind the poem together in a new unity. In
spite of critical scruples, we can think of only one man writing
the great Trojan story and the little Lycian story, so closely is the
meaning of both knit together.

c. Dionied listens to the tragic tale ; he will not fight, but
" plants his spear in the earth, and addresses the shepherd of the
people with gentle words." He knows that the ancestors of him-
self and Glaucus were guests, and exclianged hospitable presents,
one of which has descended to him, and with it the friendly rela-
tion. They, too, pledge faith not to slay one another, and ex-
change gifts as their ancestors had done, though the poet says that
the gift of Glaucus was by far the more valuable. Does not this
hint that Diomed, in his present condition, has got the best of the
bary;ain bv a cessation of the combat? At least, Diomed, the for-
mer fierce warrior, is reconciled with a man warring for Troy ; he
has allowed personal ties to turn aside his zeal from the universal
cause. If such considerations were to prevail, there would be no
restoration of Helen, in fact, no Greek world. Pallas appears to
him no longer, the divine has gone out of his soul ; in the future,
though he will again show bravery in battle, he will soon be
wounded and withdraw from the struggle.

4. The individual Greek Hero is now reconciled with an in-
dividual Trojan warrior ; we are next to see how the attempt of
Trov to reconcile the divine element of the Greek side will sue-
ceed. When Hector enters the city from the place of war, the
women gather around him, asking after husbands, sons, brothers,
friends. We witness the domestic forces of conciliation, which
would put an end to the bloody struggle. But of these women
three are selected typical women, with whom Hector is brought
into relation during his visit. The war primarily sprang from the
wrong done to the domestic principle by Troy ; now we see the
Trojan Family whirled into the tragic circle of the guilty act of
Paris.

Three families are brought before us in these three women, rep-
resenting three ])hases of the domestic institution in Troy. The
first is that of Hecuba, the queen, or at least the wife of the king
of the city, out of whose fifty sons she is the mother of nineteen.
A glimpse of the Oriental harem is seen ; the one wife of the

A Study of the Iliad. 237

household is degraded into being one of many wives. Second, is
the family of Helen, estranged, in self-opposition, a family based
upon the ruins of the Family. The third family is that repre-
sented by Andromache, wife of Hector, the true family, yet tragic
to the last degree through its political environment.

a. Hector first sees his mother at the palace of Priam ; this pal-
ace, with its fifty chambers for the king's children, is also signifi-
cant. The son bids her take the fairest robe, " the one which is
dearest to her," and make an offering of it to Pallas, that "she
may keep off Dioraed from the sacred city." This robe is laid on
the lap of the Goddess by Theano, the priestess and the wife of
Antenor, who is a leader of the Greek party in Troy together with
Hector. Thus Pallas is besought by those nearest to her in the
hostile walls to have mercy on " city, wives, and children of the
Trojans."

But the Goddess refuses ; why ? She could do naught else
without destroying herself. What is Troy doing? Has it had
pity? Did it restore the stolen Helen to husband and child,
when peacefully demanded back before the war ? Is it not engaged
in battle at this moment to keep the Family asunder ? The prayer
is a contradiction ; if it be answered and Troy be successful, the
home is indeed disrupted. No wonder that Pallas " shook her
head." Behold now the reason.

h. This is Helen to whom Hector next comes in his visit, for
the purpose of bringing Paris back to the war. She is the woman
whose presence in Troy is a violation of all the Trojan prayers
to save Family and State. Hector is brought face to face with
that which nullifies his mission, which gives the lie to his hope
of aid from the Goddess. Troy will not undo the wrong, and a
prayer for Troy is a prayer for the disruption of the home.
Hector knows the guilt of his city, and feels it deeply ; in fight-
ing for his own Andromache he is compelled to fight against the
restoration of the wife.

Here is the man, Paris, who has thrown him into such a con-
tradiction. No wonder Hector wishes that " the earth might
gape open " for that baneful brother, the cause of the war, " whom
Zeus reared to be the destruction of Troy, Priam, and Priam's
sons," Paris embodies the tragic guilt of the whole city. Since
the conflict with Menelaus he has shunned the war, he seems to be

238 T.l\e Journal of Speeitlative Philosophy.

sulkini^ in a kind of shame. It is clear that Paris is an important
man in Tro^', a political rather than a military leader; his partv
evidently controls the city; his presence is necessary, though he
be not a very o;ood fiojhter ; at least, he is an uncertain combatant,
sometimes brave, and sometimes not. When he arrives with
Hector (see bes^inning of the next Book) he revives the drooping
spirits of the army, but his warlike exploits are confined to one
small feat of arms. There is no necessary inconsistency between
his character here given and that given in the Third Book, as some
critics would make out. AVe find a difference, it is true, but this
difference comes only through an added trait; we see the man in
a new situation, and for a new situation or turn of character, we
need not conjecture a new Homer, nay, not even for an incon-
sistency.

Helen is repentant, tearful, full of self-reproach, quite as we
saw her in the Third Book. The presence of Hector, the ethical
Hero, doubtless calls forth this strong confession of her internal
state. But Hector himself is not without his struggle of soul ;
he is by no means at peace with his own conduct, as we see by his
forebodings. At present he gives to Helen neither })raise nor
censure ; unhappy is her lot, and he is fighting to keep her thus.
Still she, the beautiful woman in tears, does not lose the desire to
please; she is still conscious of her beauty, and its power, nay, is
aware of her fame present and future. She tries her magic spell
upon Hector, but his answer is : " Do not ask me to sit, though
loving me; thou shalt not persuade me." His mind is on his
country, he will hasten to the battle-field " that I may defend the
Trojans " ; but just now he is thinking of wife and child, whom
he hurries forth to see. Thus Hector is not detained by the
blandishments and beauty of Helen from duty to Family and to
State ; he is master over sensuous charms, still he, too, has his
limit and his conflict.

c. The third woman whom Hector meets is Andromache, his
wife, who has gone forth from her home to the city walls, weep-
ing, because she has heard that the Trojans were hard pressed
by the Greeks in battle. Husband and wife are seeking and
thinking of one another; we I^ehold the true relation of the
Family, in contrast to that of Helen and Paris, even to that
of Hecuba and Priam ; moreover, the child is now present, while

A Study of the Iliad. 239

the niarriao;e of Paris is fruitless, and that of Priam is quite too
fruitful.

Her speech tells the whole domestic tra<jedy of the Trojan war;
father, brothers, even mother have perished in this fateful struor^jle
between East and West. Hector is now all these and husband too.
She tries to keep him from exposing himself to danger in the
war. But he must go though he feels most profoundly lier ap-
peal. She is the tragic woman, whose institution is immolated in
war that it may be preserved in the end. The relief from their
sorrow is furnished by the child ; he is still their hope, and brings
them in their tears to a smile, and to happier thoughts. Hector
can pray to the Gods that the Trojans may say of his son : " This
man is much better than his father," the noblest of heathen pray-
ers, and sounding like an ancient stray note of the Paternoster, if
we elevate it into its highest significance out of its bloody setting.

But the gloomy foreboding of Hector is the true voice of his
situation and comes from his heart :

Yet well in my undoubting mind I know
The day shall come in which our sacred Troy,
And Priam, and the people over whom
Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.

He feels that the Gods, Pallas and even Zeus cannot support
Troy without stultifying themselves. How can they protect the
families of that Troy which wages a fierce w^ar to disrupt the
Family? Repentant Helen is seeking to be what Androm-
ache is, and Hector is standing in the way, contrary to his own
conviction ; well may he utter the bodeful prophecy which con-
tains the doom of himself and his city.

Hector, therefore, is a tragic character in the loftiest sense of
the word; the outer war has its spiritual image in the inner war
of his own soul, and it is this inner war which is slaying him. He
feels that the Greeks are right in demanding the restoration of
Helen ; they are really fighting for his tenderest relation — hus-
band, wife, and child ; truly the Greeks are fighting for Hector,
Andromache, and Astyanax in principle. On the other hand.
Hector goes to war to save his country, a high and noble action ;
but this very action turns to wrong through the overshadowing
wrong of the country. All this the hero feels ; he knows his city

240 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

must perish, and he must be included. The ethical order of the
world is paramount ; Troy and all who maintain its violation must
sink under the judgment of Zeus. Hector is so profoundly tragic
because he, true to family and country in the highest degree, is
driven to violate something still truer and higher — the supreme
movement of the race above family and country, yet including
them. He knows it, he fights his own true self, his victory would
be his own ethical death. Harmony with Zeus alone is not tragic.

What then, can Hector do? Change sides, and make war with
the Greeks against his people ? Thus he would assail his own in-
dividual family and nation ; he would have to turn against father,
wife, kindred, and countrymen. He is held fast in the vise of
fate — if he fights for the Greeks, he fights against parent and peo-
ple ; if he fights for Troy, he fights against the restoration of the
wife. He is caught in the mill of the Gods ; nor can he withdraw
and be neutral in the war which is to settle this great question of
Family ; that were indeed his spiritual death. Manifestly there
is but one way to avoid being tragic, that is, to take sides with
Zeus, But then Hector would not be Hector ; losing his tragic
limit he would lose the character which rouses such a deep human
interest, for we all have a possible tragic limit located somewhere
in ourselves.

The wife, and with her the Trojan women, are caught in the
conflict between the State and Family ; their city will not do jus-
tice in the case of the great domestic violation, and so destroys
the domestic institution. But the hnsband is caught in the con-
flict between his nation and the ethical order of the world ; the
State will not do the universal rii^ht, and so falls under the doom
of Zeus. The good men and women of Troy are tragic, they are
ground to death in the conflict which Paris and the party of vio-
lation liave called into existence.

Still, tliere is one pei-son in the city not destined to perish, but
to be restored — that person is Helen. She is repentant, struggling
to get rid of her thraldom, inner and outer, as yet without suc-
cess ; still she is striving. Whatever stands in the way of the
estranged soul's returning to its true life, must go down ; such is
the final decree. Troy stands in the way. Hector stands in the
way ; the potit with all his sympathy registers the judgment
against both.

Shakespeare! 8 '■'■ Sonnets!''' 241

But in the Greek camp there is also a wronsf wliich cannot be
allowed to live. It is the wrong done by the Leader to Achilles.
Troy cannot be taken till that violation be gotten rid of. Zeus
is now disciplining the Greeks, his own people, to that end. But
in Troy there is a greater wrong which they are called to put
down ; still they must set their own house in order before they
can march to victory. This house-cleaning process is what Zeus
has in hand just now ; his method is to purify the Greeks through
defeat. We see that the Greek divine principle will not be rec-
onciled with Troy ; war must be renewed by the weary human
combatants; wherewith we have reached the next Book. The
Geds must come forward again ; in the Sixth Book there was not
one divine interference ; though much besought, they did not ap-
pear, they are not to be conciliated.

SHAKESPEARE'S "SONNETS."

BY GERTRUDE GARRIGUE8.

" Lo, I come to do thy will, O God ! " There are not many of
us who, if told in a way we could not question, that God had pro-
vided us a work to do for him would hesitate, for a moment, to
undertake it. We would never think whether it was high or low,
small or great. The direct command of God, the knowledge that
it emanated from him, that it was intended for us and us alone,
would sanctify and glorify it to us and to all beholders how mean
soever it might otherwise appear. And yet, how we despise our
daily tasks!

The here and now is our world, " the task that lies nearest our
hand," is the work that God has chosen for us, and it is only by
doing it, and doing it well, devoting to it all the resoui*ces of our
being, that we can hope to be great or good or blest — to enjoy
satisfaction ourselves or participate in the satisfaction of others.
There is, there must be some one thing, at least, which each of us
can do well ; but, unhappily, it is seldom the thing we desire to do,
and the conflict, the result of which we like to call the " choice "
XXI— 16

242 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of a vocation, but wliicli is reallv the gradual recoi^nition and
iinal acceptance, by each individual, of his own limitations, grows
out of this fact.

The tiling we desire to do is our ideal, and we adorn it with
every grace and credit it with everv possibility. The thing we
must do we hate and decry. It is the dark and ugly real from
which we are constantly endeavoring to escape until, in some
luminous hour of life, we discover that we have been fiijhtino: a
shadow, that the antitheses have been reconciled, that it is only
through the real that the ideal can become actual.

The solution of this problem is a necessary phase in the life of
every being who rises above the plane of sense-certitude, and the
manner of its solution will index what his future development is
to be. So long as he elects to regard what keeps him from the
realization of his ideal as a necessity or fate outside of himself, so
long liis soul will be filled with discord, disharmony, and unrest;
but once he gains a glimpse of the truth, once he recognizes that
his limitations lie within himself, he is on the road to peace. He
may sink for a moment beneath his sense of nothingness, but it
will be only for a moment. All true humility is an invitation to
Grace. And Grace, the universal Good, flowing into the soul,
raises it above all petty, sordid thoughts of self, at the same time
that it unites it with the common brotherhood of humanity. It
takes man out of his small personal self that it may ingratiate
him into that larger self through which alone the ideal is attain-
able.

We know almost nothing of the private life of Shakespeare.
No author was ever more impersonal. Dante and Goethe have
left a mass of prose writing, by means of which we are able to
interpret their poetic symbolism ; but Shakespeare, who lived be-
tween the two and nearer Goethe, has left scarcely more by
which w^e can judge the man himself than did old Homer. The
dedications to his two poems and the " Sonnets " are all.

There are many o])inion8 in regard to the " Sonnets," but their
crities, nevertheless, naturally divide themselves into two classes —
those who believe them to be autobiographical and those who be-
lieve them to be dramatic, vicarious. With the ordinary sense in
which they are considered to be autobiographical we have noth-
ing to do. Indeed, we consider it inadmissable, and a gratuitous

Shakespeare^ 8 '■^Sonnets.'*'' 243

insult to the memory of a man the whole course of whose life, so
far as we know it, was bound up in duty and high thoughts.

The - glory of Shakespeare, the crowning quality which dis-
tinguishes his genius, which separates him immeasurably from his
contemporaries, is the estimate which he placed upon woman. No
glance, before or since, has ever sunk so deep into the soul of
womanhood. He was the first, we had almost said the last, to
discern that it is through her will that woman is strong. Others
place what strength they allow her in her affections. In her af-
fections, on the side of sensibility, she is weak, weak and unstable
as water. On the intellectual side she may or may not be strong,
but will is her province. This is true, even as regards the im-
mediate phase of will. No one will deny her caprice, or the
power of satisfying that caprice ; but it is in the mediated stages,
in the reflected forms of will, on her moral side, that woman is
great.

Shakespeare saw this and said it, again and again, through all
his noble gallery of woman characters. All poetry must be ex-
perience first. To portray them as he did, Shakespeare must have
knowm good women. "Do men gather grapes of thorns, or
figs of thistles ? " That matchless hand that could paint an
Imogen, a Portia — either Italian or Roman — or even a simple

Hero :

" Is my lord ill that he doth speak so wide ? "

that man a slave of the senses ? Perish the thought !

We believe the " Sonnets " to have been autobiographical, how-
ever, though in a difierent sense. They were written, as were
Michael Angelo's, to give expression to the feelings for which
these solitary beings — solitary in their greatness — could find no
confidant. We believe we can trace in these the soul life of our
great poet — the early enthusiastic desire for a contemplative life ;
the strong impelling force, which lay within himself, and drove him
into activity; the vain struggle and suffering; the renunciation
and reconciliation :

" O, benefit of ill ! now I find true,

That better is by evil still made better;
And mined love when it is built anew,

Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater,

244r The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

So I return rebuked to my content,

And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent." '

The Renaissance reached England late. In Italy it had at-
tained its zenith and was already beginning to decline, when its
first influence began to be felt in the northern country. As an
art period its best results in Italy were plastic, its full literary
fruition was only reached in England. Various causes led to this
result. Plastic art is largely the handmaid of religion, literature
chronicles the whole life of humanity. Art disappeared before
the middle ages to reappear centuries afterward under vastly dif-
ferent circumstances. It disappeared as the attendant of a relig-
ion in which the universal and individual — nature and spirit —
combined, without losing their respective rights, and had for its
principle the perfect identification of idea and form — of spiritual
individuality — with material form. It reappeared in the service
of a doctrine which was supposed to hold that the soul or spirit,
although it appears in the external, should at the same time show
itself to be returned back, out of this material state, into itself.

In plastic art Italy assimilated the classic models and gave them
a new character — a new form indeed, painting instead of sculpture.
The literary revival in Italy was pedantic, and foreign to the new
spirit. It was a copy, more or less, of the Classic models, and so
lacked genuine interest. The form though was good, and when
it reached England, as it did in company with the antique models,
translated into English and liberally diffused by the printing-press,
it found its best issue in the influence it exerted there.

England had only just passed through her epic period, the War
of the Roses had been successfully terminated, and the Tudors
firmly established upon the throne, when the Reformation reached
her. It first communicated itself to the throne, and from that de-
scended to the people. It was accomplished, therefore, without
any considerable violence or disorder.

In 1564 the long peace, which characterized the early part of
the reign of Elizabeth and which was only tertninated by the
splendid episode of the Armada, had begun. It was an age of great
mental excitement. The translation and general dissemination
of the Bible and the freedom with which religion was discussed

1 CXIX " Sonnet," 9-14

Shahespeare's '■'■ Sonnets ^ 245

gave a new impetus to thought. The secularization of the monas-
teries typified the secularization of the intellect of tiie period. The
Church was not denied, it was simply disregarded. The invention
of gunpowder, of the printing-press, and of the mariner's compass
— which made the navigation of the ocean, the discovery and explo-
ration of distant continents, as well as the closer intercourse of ad-
jacent peoples practicable — all tended to foster that spirit of inde-
pendent personality which is the leading characteristic of the north.
The minds of men were fully and fairly awake ; they saw and felt
much, and believed in all they felt and saw. The possibilities of
the individual was the one absorbing theme. And it was into
this magniticently affirmative age that the great secular poet of all
time, that " unutterable Shakespeare," was born.

Shakespeare was an Englishman to the core. English in his
feeling of nationality, in his love of home, in his belief in the
sanctity of the family, the integrity of the state, the limit of indi-
vidual freedom — to the point that it does not conflict with society.
English in his appreciation of the northern virtue, chastity, and in
his recognition of woman. Given all these properties in their
highest degree, and we have the character which appears to us
under the name of the man Shakespeare. All of his contempo-
raries, who have spoken of him at all, bear witness to his moral
worth, his generosity and warmth of heart, his manly and grace-
ful demeanor, his " respectability " among a class that were at
that time notably lax and disreputable — authors and actors.

He was known as the " gentle Shakespeare," which meant, not
merely that he was mild-mannered, but, in Dante's sense, that he
was possessed of all true and noble dignity. Although necessarily
an associate of the wildest and most profligate spirits of his time,
he was not a victim to their perverted morals. Their " wit-com-
bats " and social pyrotechnics amused, and possibly instructed him,
and for these he frequented their assemblies, though he was a
stranger to their dissipations. He was in their world but not of
it, and the effort made by some critics to prove the contrary is
useless. "We have had enough of the statement that it is necessary
for a man to experience all vileness before he is able to picture all
good. Man may be great in spite of evil, never because of it.

The taste for dramatic representation belongs to man by right
of his imitative faculty. The drama is a symbol to him. He en-

246 The Journal of Speculative PhilosojjJnj.

joys seeing in it the reflection of his own thoughts and acts with-
out being obliged to suffer from their consequences. He is con-
tent, in the drama, to learn through the experience of others. In
England during the Elizabethan age the stage was a passion.
The first importations of the Classic drama, or rather its feeble imi-
tations, were soon outgrown. The Classic ideal, with its system
of gods, all liable, like its pnrely human characters, to a fate out-
side of themselves, could find but little sympathy among a people
where the apotheosis of the individual was the leading thought.
In the Classic drama, too, the form is all in all, and only that con-
tent which is capable of a certain treatment can be seized upon
and produced; in Romantic art, on the contrary, all things have
their place. The essential element for representation is the sub-
jective internality of the soul, and this internality is able to pre-
sent itself under all conditions and to adapt itself to every circum-
stance.

When Shakespeare came to London, about 1586, he found his
audience and the subject-matter of his plays awaiting him. The
old chronicler Aubrey, says of him : " This William, being inclined
naturally to poetry and acting, came to London, and was an actor
at one of the play-houses, and did act exceeding well." And
this is probably the whole truth, despite the many apocryphal
stories told to explain his advent there.

The i)ath to the stage was not a difficult one for Shakespeare.
James and Richard Burbage, the latter the principal actor of his
time and the original impersonator of many of Shakespeare's
greatest tragic roles, were from the same county as he ; and
Thomas Greene, another member of the company and its leading
comedian, was from the same town. James Burbage, the father
of Richard, was at the head of the company at the " Blackfriars,''
the theatre at which Shakespeare first engaged, and in which he
soon, if not at once, became a stockholder. The term dramatist
at that time included both author (dramatic) and actor, and that
Shakespeare was both, almost from the first, is likely.

Shakespeare's youth was spent in one of the most picturesque
parts of picturesque England, in a locality beside of intense his-
torical interest — Warwick Castle w^as in his own county, and Bos-
worth Field only thirty miles away. His home was sufficiently
far from the turmoil of great cities to make it possible for its in-

Shakespeare's ^^ Sonnets.'''' 2^7

habitants to live the life of English yeomen. In this atmosphere
of natural beauty, of historical association, and simple rustic man-
ners, Shakespeare's character was shaped and moulded during this,
his sense-period, to the noble proportions that made his future
possible.

The drama was to that time what tlie newspaper is to ours. As
the newspaper carries to remotest villages an echo of what is hap-
pening in the great centres of thought and deed, so the strolling-
players carried to Stratford the first glimpse of that intellectual
life which lured our poet to London. Once there, we can imagine
how eagerly and swiftly he absorbed the material at his hand. It
is necessary to remember always that Shakespeare was, first of all,
a poet ; a great intellectual, musical being, who, because he
wrote in a time when deeds were to be noted, was obliged to use
that form of poetry which best delineates action — the dramatic ;
but his genius was none the less lyric.

It is tolerably well proved that the Taming of the Shrew, Titus
Andronieus, the first part of King Henry the Sixth, The Comedy
of Errors, The Two Gentlemen of Yerona, and Love's Labor Lost,
were all written by 1592. To have made such an immense stride
in so short a time, considering that he was also an actor, Shake-
speare must have been absorbingly occupied. Yet no one, who
knows his works, can doubt that he was also a voluminous reader.
The first part of Spenser's ^a^We Queen was published in 1590.
Can we doubt that Shakespeare was one of its earliest admirers, or
that his soul was fired to emulation?

That plays at that time were not considered literature is well
known, and the utter disregard which Shakespeare showed to his
dramatic works, and which, among critics, has been a subject of
general surprise, is easily explained upon this grouTid. It also
explains how he, having discovered his ability to write, and feel-
ing within himself the boundless invention, the unrivalled power
of expression which are his characteristics, should pant for the
opportunity to give them, what sjemed to him, the only adequate
form. Besides, to a man of his character, his native and acquired
refinement, his pure morality, the companionship and the position
in society that the stage forced upon him was in the highest de-
gree repugnant ; while the social position, acquired at a price,
which to us, looking at it from a distance, seems so inordinate,

248 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that Spenser reached, through his success as poet, may have seemed
to him, at that time, an object of worthiest ambition.'

The " Sonnets " were first published in 1609, but we know that
some of them were in private circulation as early as 1598 ' and a
few found their way into a piratical work, " The Passionate Pil-
grim '^ in 1599. They bear internal evidence of having been writ-
ten at widely different times and under vastly different circum-
stances. When they were published they appeared with a dedi-
cation, unique in its kind : " To the onlie begetter of these insu-
ing Sonnet:5, Mr. W. H.^ all hapjnnesse and that eternitie prom-
ised by our ever-living poet, wisheth the well-wishing adventurer
in setting forth. T. T." (Thomas Thorpe).

This dedication has been the despair of critics. It is not worth
while even to mention the various theories regarding it. They
all turn upon the <letinition of " begetter." Herr Barnstorff ' has
had an immense amount of ridicule wasted upon hiin for ventur-
ing to suggest that " Mr, W. H. " might mean " Mr. William
Himself"; but, if we are to take begetter as meaning j^^'cxfwc^/*,
there is no further question. Though there are few of the dramas
over which the battle as to their genuineness has not been fought,
and though there are those who would rob Shakespeare of all
property whatever in the plays, no shadow of doubt has ever been
cast upon the authorship of the " Sonnets." The dedication is by
the bookseller, undoubtedly, but it would have been quite in Shake-
speare's punning vein to have mystiffed that worthy by the enig-
matical " Mr. W. H.," especially if the " Sonnets " conveyed, as we
think, a more or less personal narrative.

If begetter is defined jyrocwr^;*, it will be seen that there is no
end to which conjecture may not reach, and it is entirely imma-
terial to us now who procured them. We have them, and they
are Shakespeare's.

Whatever may be said about the arrangement of the second series
(CXXVII-CLIV), the first shows unmistakable evidence of design.
They are consecutive in thought, if not in time, and represent a

' For his repugnance to the stage and his feeling of social degradation from being
connected with it, see " Sonnets " CX and CXI.

' Francis Meres, in his " Palladis Tamia," speaks of Shakespeare's " sugard sonnets
among his private friends.''''

^ " Schlvissel zu Shakspeare's Sonetten." Bremen, 1860.

Shakespeare's ^''Sonnets.'''' 249

totality ; are, in short, in themselves a work of art. The second
series are, no doubt, a collection — not a sequence — many of them
written at the same time and under the same circumstances, if
not exactly in the same spirit, as those of the first series, but re-
jected from it in the final arrangement. Some were, no doubt,
occasional poems, introduced here by the poet because this was a
complete edition of his sonnets — for we do not entertain the ab-
surdity that the author, who was still a resident of London and
actively interested in all literary affairs, was ignorant of their
publication.

The first series (I-CXXVII) then is the real subject of our study,
and we shall merely use the sonnets of the second part as aids to
an interpretation.

In 1592 England was sorely visited by the plague. The thea-
tres were closed, and all performances interdicted. Shakespeare
was now, probably, for the first time since his removal to London,
at leisure. In the following year the "Venus and Adonis" ap-
peared, and its author in his dedication of it to his patron, the
Earl of Southampton, calls it tiie '•^ first heir of his iiivention''^ —
which can mean nothing else but his first literary worh. We have
already seen that he did not consider his dramas such.

That the first seventeen sonnets contain a seemingly parallel
motive to the one in this poem has been observed by many critics,
and they have drawn from it the conclusion that they were written
about the same time and were an ofi'shoot from the poem. We
venture the theory that they were written immediately before,
and suggested the poem. Daniel's " Sonnets to Delia^'' traces of
which we discover in Shakespeare's (that incomparable borrower's)
earlier sonnets, was published early in 1592. They probably sug-
gested the form for the poetical work which we are supposing
Shakespeare, at his first moment of leisure, hastening to attempt.

The sonnet was an exotic in England, and, though some of her
poets have breathed rich and glowing thoughts into its narrow
compass, their passion is too often only a "painted fire." Shake-
speare knew this right well, and in his contempt for " mistress-
sonnetting" chose a male object for his muse. He thus threw a
stumbling-block of huge proportion in the pathway of interpreta-
tion. The discussion as to what manner of man was the object
of Shakespeare's passion has been conducted ad nauseam. We

250 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

hope to prove that the divinity that Shakespeare worshipped, the
" master-mistress " of his passion was none other tlian his ideal of
art — with him, poetry ; and that the first seventeen sonnets are
an invocation to that ideal to give itself form, to make of itself an
actuality — in other words, to write, through him, a poem that
should live. The same thought is repeated through all their ex-
quisite, musical forms, and might express itself in the words of
Carlyle : " Produce ! Produce ! "Were it but the pitifulest, infini-
tesimal traction of a Product, produce it in God's name."

Take the first sonnet: "From fairest creatures" — highest ideals
— "we desire increase" — a product, some expression of them-
selves. " That thereby beauty's rose " — truth — " might never
die." " But as the riper should by time decrease, his tender heir
might bear his memory " — old truths become obsolete and require
new statement. " But thou " — Shakespeare's poetic ideal — " con-
tracted to thine own bright eyes" — lost in reverie, self-contempla-
tion — " feeds' t thv light's flame with self-substantial fuel" — is
only of service to itself. And, on to the last two lines, which con-
tain the invocation :

" Pity the world, or else this glutton be
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee."

With the eighteenth sonnet, this motive is dropped, and is not
again recurred to, and it is at this point that we suppose Shakespeare
to have relinquished any intention he may have cherished to use
the sonnet as a vehicle to fame. His sonnets, after this, are self-
communings, and form a diary of that portion of his life during
which they were written.

In his dramas, Shakespeare has given us his convictions upon all
the great ethical questions. He has represented human life in its
totality, not to justity or to condemn, but, like Nature herself, he
ofters to all men the contemplation of a universal destiny whose
standpoint is necessity — the necessity which imposes upon the
individual the result of his own deed, and which is therefore the
highest freedom. But this view of life is not an inspiration, it
must be learned, lived, and understood, before it can be taught.

All his greatest dramas represent the collisions of individuals
with institutions, and their consequent discomforture. But where
and how did the poor player gain this insight ? How did he

Shakespeare's " So7i7iets.^' 251

learn that the individual in himself is powerless? That it is only
through the universal, in combination with his fellows, that he
can find validity ? By experience ? He lived it, and the "Sonnets"
chronicle the process. They portray his collision with himself.
In the dramas he is not known, but in the sonnets it is himself
alone that is known.

In the eighteenth sonnet, as we have said, the content is changed.
There is a ring of exultation here. Something has been produced :

" So long as men can breathe and eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee."

He has written the " Yenus and Adonis," we will suppose, and
carried it to London. The next seven sonnets are full of satisfied
desire and growing confidence, which culminate in the twenty-
fifth :

" Let those who are in favor with their stars,
Of public honor and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,

Unlocked for joy in that I honor most.
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread.

But as the marigold at the sun's eye ;
And in themselves their pride lies buried.

For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior, famoused for fight.

After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honor razed quite.

And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove or be removed."

The twenty-sixth has frequently been called a poetic version of
the dedication to "Lucrece," and was probably addressed to his Muse
as the prose one was to his friend and patron, Southampton. Af-
ter this the whole tone alters. The happy confidence is gone, and
from the twenty -seventh to the ninety-seventh there is a gradual
culmination of bitterness, when again the tone changes, and tiie
last thirty sonnets glow with reconciliation.

These three divisions, which bear some correspondence to the
three periods to which critics assign his plays, could not be more
distinctly marked. The second and third divisions are spoken of

252 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

by critics o^enenilly as the "first and second absence." We accept
the name althouijjh we refuse the deduction of a material absence
from a material object, and interpret instead that press of practical
business forced Shakespeare to absent himself from his favorite
pursuit — the production of semi-classic poems.

In December of 1593, the theatres in London were reopened after
the plague. The" Venns and Adonis" had been published almost
a year before (April, 1593), and " Lucrece" appeared a few months
after (May, 1594:). Both of these poems, especially the former,
were immensely popular from the start, and. during the poet's life,
were considered superior to his plays. The theatre was his means
of liveliliood, however, and his plain duty, the proper support of
his family, Shakespeare never shirked.

At the reopening of the " Blackfriars," he found himself again
engaged. Shortly after he became also a sharer in the " Globe,"
and thus called upon to do double duty. Robert Greene, the
dramatist, in his " Groat's Worth of Wit," published 1592, calls
Shakespeare, even then, a " Johannes Factotum," and we may
easily believe that his read}' tact, his fertile invention, his quick
discernment, and unerring judgment, would make him the helpful
man of every company and every occasion.

This strong practical bias, united to a theoretical comprehension
almost unrivalled, marks him the inimitable man as well as poet.
A man of thought, he was born for action, and these two sides
warred within him until he discovered the deep identity under-
lying their diflPerence. Before he came to London, he had lived a
simple, sensuous life; the vigor, the warmth and glow of the in-
tellectual excitement which he found there dazzled and overcame
him, and, for a time, he lived in the intellect alone. But intellect,
unless reenforced by the will, intellect without morality' — the only
form in which will can act without contradicting itself — is a snare.
Intellect, of itself, is cold, solitary, individual, self-contemplative;
it must come out of its isolation, combine with its like, become
active, if it would become valid.

Had Shakespeare been suffered to follow his own bent, he would
have gone entirely out of the line of tendency. Spenser, great
poet as he was, did not express the spirit of the time. He was an
offshoot of the Italian Classic Revival, and his debt to Tasso and
Ariosto is almost immeasurable. He has never been dear to the

Shakesjfeare^s ^^ Sonnets.^'' 263

common heart, for in him the interest of real life is entirely
lacking.

Shakespeare was born to be the poetic revelation of the English
people. In that direction all things favored him ; in any other
direction everything was against him. He could not understand
this then, probably never did. He felt the obstacles that fate
seemed to throw in the way of his " better angel," the " man, right
fair " ; and struggled manfully to free himself from the " woman,
colored ill" — the real, the world and its distractions, his profession,
to which he was devoted despite his abuse of it. For the theoretical
and practical were equally potent in Shakespeare, and he must
needs have loved them both.

At first, he only complains of absence from his ideal — want of
leisure for writing poems. His soul's " imaginary sight " presents
its shadow to his '* sightless view," but the heavy journey of the
day's toil renders him unfit for communion with it :

" But day doth daily draw ray sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger."

Life does not fulfil its promise. He is growing famous in a pro-
fession that he does not honor, and his success is attracting;: the
envy and malice of others. He meets with disappointment and
disillusion on every hand. The time he wishes to spend in giving
form to his ideal is wasted, as he thinks, in the battle for existence ;
but his love clings to his art, and when he thinks of it " all losses
are restored and sorrows end."

Now he reproaches it that it merely gave him a taste of fame ;
for he confesses that he suffers from the " uncertain, sickly appe-
tite to please," only to cheat him with a barren hope :

" Why dids't thou promise such a glorious day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ? "

Now weighed down with contempt for his paltry life, he calls
upon his "angel" to leave him: "Let me confess that we two
must be twain " ; now glorying so infinitely in its " worth and
truth " :

" That I in thy abundance am suflficed,
And by a part of all thy glory live."

254 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Now reproaching, now forgiving the ideal for its " sensual sin "
— its union with the real in his work ; for to Shakespeare it seemed
a degradation of his art to use it in producing plays :

" But yet be blamed if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest."

The sonnets of the second series addressed to the '' woman,
colored ill " undoubtedly belong to this period and are the most
intense and passionate of the whole collection. He feels himself
being drawn into the maelstrom of active life at the same time
that he is being drawn avvay from his inner world of beauty,
and he agonizes at the tliought — the more so that, though over-
whelmed with remorse, he is powerless against the charms of the
real. The one hundredth and forty -fourth sonnet — usually called
the '' key sonnet " — expresses more clearly than any other the
true nature of his interior conflict:

" Two loves I have of comfort and despair, .

Which like two spirits do suggest me still ;
The better angel is a man right fair,

The worser spirit a woman, colored ill,
To win me soon to hell, my female evil

Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt ray saint to be a devil.

Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turned fiend.

Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ;
But being both from me both to each friend,

I guess one angel in another's hell ;
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out."

The theme changes. His love for his art and liis sorrow at
separation fill his verse: "1 must attend time's leisure witli my
moan." Now he is uncertain whether it is the form or content of
poetry, " The clear eye's moiety or the dear heart's part," that he
loves better. Now he is fearful that " truth may prove thievish
for a prize so dear." Now he pictures himself as journeying from
his good : " The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, plods
dully on." Now, as having leisure to return.

"Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind."

Shakespeare's '-''SonnetsP 255

A softer mood succeeds. His old confidence revives and hope
seems rekindled. The fifty-fiftli sonnet resembles the eighteenth
in tone and has even a stronger ring, and the iifty-sixth, " Sweet
love, renew thy force," has all the eifect of a new invocation. But
a fresh sorrow confronts him. Hitherto it has been the poet who
has been absent — who has found no leisure to devote to poetry ;
now it is the Muse who is away and will not come at call. Fur-
ther on, the poet accuses himself of "idle-hours." Heretofore he
has blamed occasion, circumstances were against him ; now he
begins to feel in himself an. impediment. He acknowledges his
self-love and self-seeking, but excuses himself on the ground of
his lofty aim :

" 'Tis thee (myself), that for myself I praise."

He is fearful that he shall lose his love for the ideal — " That
Time will come and take my love away." He describes himself as
old, as one whose " youthful morn has travelled on to age's steepy
night," and we know this can be only a figure which describes
the state of his mind and hopes, not the physical age of a man
barely forty-five when these poems were published.

The sixty-sixth sonnet is an outcry against the "times" — al-
ways the butt of the self-discordant. All honesty is dead, and
he would desire death, too, only that he should leave his love
alone. The world is dead to the ideal, he thinks, and even he
debases it :

" For I am shamed at that which I briug forth,
And so should you to love things nothing worth."

This is the grief that confronts him oftenest ; he may not write
poems to secure his own immortality, but he must write dramas
destined for the multitude. Nor is it strange that he should feel
thus, for does not Emerson say of him : " It must even go into the
world's history that our best poet lived an obscure and profane
life, using his genius for the public amusement ! "

Now he is undecided whether his enjoyment is complete in the
mere possession of his inner world of beauty — whether the spiritual
life is, in itself, sufficient, or whether it is worthless unless it caij
be seen — unless its presence in a form shall give him fame :

"Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then bettered that the world may see my treasure."

256 Tfie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

And now he is angry that *•' every alien pen hath got my use."
This prepares us for the final catastrophe. He is not able him-
self to produce a poem that shall houor his thought, but another
does so. The second part of Spenser's *' Faerie Queen " appeared in
1596, and, though we do not wish to push an analogy too far, we
must believe that none but he can be the " better spirit " that
moved our poet to jealousy if not to envy. He is the only poet
of the time of whom it is likely Shakespeare would write:

" My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear,
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride."

And we have already seen that he had no ambition as a dram-
atist, even if the period — Marlowe being dead — had aiforded any
whose competition could have troubled him.
He rouses himself in one sonnet —

" Or I shall live your epitaph to make
Or you survive vphen I in earth am rotten,"

only to lapse, in the next, into the same jealous mood which cul-
minates in :

" You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse."

The two following sonnets (LXXXY and LXXXYI) acknowl-
edge his inferiority to the " better spirit," and the third is saddest
of all. It begins : " Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing,"
aud ends:

" Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter."

He dwells upon his own unworthiness, and is ready to pardon
the Muse because of it : " For thee against myself I'll vow
debate." He is gradually more and more overcome with the
belief that the ideal has deserted him, and ceases to write — even
sonnets.

The second division is as sharply defined as the first, and its
expression necessarily much more involved. It represents the
purely negative side of life, needful to development but something
to be worked out of as soon as possible. To remain in such a

Shakespeare's ^^Somiets.^^ 257

condition is the saddest of all possible fates, though life exhibits to
us many who are so unfortunate. But Shakespeare was too strong
and sweet a soul to place himself long in opposition to that Higher
Principle which alone has in itself entire validity. We have al-
ready seen how rational and just he grew to consider the world
order, how his latest and greatest plays all discover such an in-
sight into the reasonableness of the ethical laws that bind the social
whole as could never have emanated from one who regarded them
as alien constraints.

To take the affirmativ^e position, to acknowledge our limita-
tions, is to place ourselves within the stream of wisdom, power,
and love, and be carried by it into peace and perfect living — free-
dom. In the second part, we have followed Shakespeare through
every grade of unhappy thought. We have seen him struggle to
make his own laws, to create his own conditions, to accomplish
his own aims, to compass something other than the plain duty that
his talents and the popular feeling pointed out for him. At one
moment he has blasphemed fate, at another he has writhed under
the conviction of its power. Now he has grovelled beneath it,
now he has become heroic and defied it. But the heroism that
can make its appearance here is by no means a heroism that can
establish its own regulations, that can create or transform its own
environment. It is a heroism of submission. If a man desires
that his deed shall have actuality, that it shall become a power in
the world, he must bring it into harmony with the universal and
necessary.

Whenever the concluding sonnets of the second division were
written, it is evident that from that time their author submitted
to the inevitable. With the ninety-seventh sonnet we seem to
enter a new atmosphere. The turbid, restless, uneasy style is
exchanged for one clear and sunny. This is now, indeed, "our
Shakespeare," calm, serene, cheerful, "wise with all wisdom of
the intellect and heart " and will, for he has also found his moral
side. Again he has been absent, but during this absence he has
rid himself of the desire for fame. He is now content only to be
"obsequious in thy heart," in a "mutual render, only me for
thee." He has suffered :
XXI— 17

258 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

" What potions have I drunk of Syren tears,
Distilled from limbecs foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears
Still losing where I saw myself to win ; "

hut lie has learned the true mission of suffering — growth. It has
taught him patience, too — patience with himself as well as with
others :

" T am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own."

The ninety-second sonnet contains the germ of the happy cer-
tainty to which he has now attained : " But do thy best to steal
thyself away, for term of life thou art assured mine." He saw
the truth even then, as in a flash ; the ideal — the good, the beau-
tiful, and the true — does not depend upon its ex])ression in a form.
A man may carry it with him and live by it unsuspected ; " I see
a better state to me belongs than that which on thy humor doth
depend." He can faithfully fulfill all the duties of life and so be
enabled, without disturbance from without, to retire into the
depths of his own soul, there to hold communion with all that in
the outer world is denied him. By this means he will convert the
ideal into the true real; or, rather, he will see that they are inter-
changeable terms and really have no separate existence.

" Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

Fooled by these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer death.

Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess.

Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss

And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;

Within be fed, without be rich no more ;
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.
And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then."

A Universal Telos the Presupposition of all Inquiry. 259

A UNIVERSAL TELOS THE PRESUPPOSITION OF

ALL INQUIRY.'

BY WILLIAM BOULTING.

Any act of thought, however simple, expresses the contidence
which reason reposes alike on its own activity and on the object
of reason as the correlate of that activity. The exercise of thought
implies the interdependence of phenomena and the unity of the
phenomenal world. Without this sublime confidence in the effi-
ciency of thought, this presupposition that the process and the
object of thought are of the self-same nature, we could not think
at all. All thought is an effort to explain, to make clear, to
arrive at a sufficient reason in which tlie movement shall receive
its satisfaction and justification.

The refutation of scepticism involves the recognition that every-
thing has a ground or reason. The philosophic aim is ever to
arrive at some truth or series of connected truths which shall
embrace the universe and leave nothing outside of itself; and,
while the philosopher may doubt, with Lotze, whether the hu-
man orbit has sufficient sweep to give so vast a parallax, he
never loses the conviction that such truth is., even if it be but
very partially obtainable by man.

This reliance of thought on itself means more than the asser-
tion that A is A ; it states more than that experience shows that
similar results may be expected to follow similar conditions. It
ever attempts to arrive at an explanation of the relations of phe-
nomena which shall be self-evident and conclusive; which shall
be such a sufficient reason as shall admit of no further question-
ing. This is ever the goal of thought ; the presupposition which
underlies its activity. It can never be proved, because it is the
very ground of the processes of logic ; because it is the self-
begotten confidence on which the search for truth depends. In
BO much as the object of inquiry is so far completely recognized
that the demands of thought are satisfied, that no further expla-
nation is necessary, we deem that we possess a complete explana-

' A paper read before the London Philosophical Society, June, 1887.

260 The JournaX of Speculative Philosophy.

tion — truth. But, if we are unable so completely to exhaust the
inquiry as to arrive at this result, we do not, therefore, suppose,
with the sceptics, that the explanation does not exist — that there
is no truth. We never lose our confidence that there is truth,
though as yet undiscovered by us.

Thought, then, presupposes its own efficiency and the reason-
ableness implied, if not wholly revealed, in its object. It does
not presuppose the infallibility of its exercise, but it confidently
rests on the postulate that when the data given in the world are
sufficient and are properly taken, then the world will exhibit itself
as reason — a reason which will explain even the errors and short-
comings of the search for truth. AVithout this underlying con-
fidence the exercise of thought would be impossible. The very
first act of thought as a relationing activity presupposes its su-
preme and indisputable authority in the domain of experience;
the last act of thought could onl}' take place when the self-evidence
of the universe — the recognition of its nature as self-complete, as
a fact of Perfect Reason, had been attained. Thought,' then,
presupposes its own efficiency and the reasonableness of its object.

Hence it is that the transcendentalist clings with unswerving
faith to what Mr. Rigg has aptly called the " Rock of Self-Con-
sciousness." An analysis of mental states reveals the fact that the
knower must be eternally present to the series of the known. Fur-
ther analysis is unnecessary, because, once perceived, the explana-
tion, in so far as it has been required, leaves nothing further to be
explained. The philosophical inquiry issues in a result sufficient
and self-evident — just the kind of result the true nature of which
Descartes imperfectly grasped when he insisted that the trustwor-
thiness of ideas depended on their being " clairea et distinctes.''^
The question of how has been answered by the Transcendental
student in so far as it has been asked. But the question of why
has not even been put. It is a question which belongs to the
wider series of problems relating to the unifying of the object of
consciousness and what that object points to. When the unity of
the one subject of experience is ascertained, what further unity
must be ascribed to the phenomenal universe yet remains a prob-
lem unsolved.

The mere formal unity of self-consciousness does not give a final
solution to the problem of philosophy. The rational consistency

A Universal Telos the Presupposition of all Inq^iiry. 261

and vital meaning of the universe remains unexplained. If we
once refuse to acquiesce in the self-refutation that lies perdu in
scepticism there is no other goal for thought than a direct and full
perception of its own self-consistence. In other words, the require-
ments of reason and the obviousness of the fact that the limita-
tions of reason are one with itself demand a unity of being wherein
knowledge shall be a complete and all-embracing system of ra-
tional relations, and the broken and fragmentary experiences, the
intolerable contradictions, the sin and sorrow, the fever and fret
of the particular life, shall receive full justification. Whatever
philosophical refinements may be introduced, whatever philo-
sophical discoveries remain to be made, I take it that no sober
thinker would ever dream of a time when the mere human might
be enabled to view the whole as from the throne of Omniscience,
and pronounce it "very good." The very incompleteness and im-
possibility of completeness of the merely human life demands and
points to God as the Reason which, whatever else He may be,
implies and fulfils the particular determinations of the one spirit
in His human life.

And here there arises a difficulty. For the question naturally
arises whether we are to regard God as eternally become, and if
80, whether it is possible to conceive of the changing phenomenal
world as deducing itself from an eternally complete fact of knowl-
edge ; or whether we are to conceive of God as the eternal Knower,
not merely of the reason for His varied human life, but of that life
as dependent on process. In other words, are we to conceive of
the ground of our knowing as itself a process? I approach this
difficult and perhaps insoluble problem with no little diffidence
and hesitation. It seems to me that the difficulty of deducing be-
coming from an eternally complete truth arises from ignoring the
fact that the presupposition of the validity of thought lies deeper
than the category of time. Our knowledge, which is timeless,
though of time, is indeed ever unexhausted and inexhaustible,
and we can only represent to ourselves this incomplete and insolu-
ble character of it in a time and space form. But the self-confi-
dence of our reason is presupposed in, and lies deeper than, its
time or space exercise, and there are antinomies in our cosraologi-
cal conceptions, the necessary solution of which seems to me to
imply some higher category in which they find their unification.

2»>2 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

That our human life has a meauinor, and that that meaninff must
be known to the one Knower, is, in my thinking, transparently
clear; and this implies that our human life in time does not pass
into nothingness, but is a means whereby that Will of Perfect Rea-
son, which is its ground and end, possesses itself. And while we
know from experience that this necessary and divine meaning im-
plies process in man, I cannot pretend to the philosophical acumen
of those who would exhibit it as itself a process. But let us sup-
pose that the view I have just expressed be incorrect, and the op-
posite opinion be accepted, namely, that God, regarded as the
synthesizing Knower of His life in man, is also the Knower of in-
finite change, I must confess that, for my own part, 1 do not ex-
actly see why we should be compelled to posit a changing life
beside the eternal and complete meaning, and the human life
which that meaning involves. But if this view be insisted on,
as it is, doubtless, as the issue of much reflection, then I am bold
enough to give no hesitating reason for my contidence that such a
view cannot but imply that the changes of the divine life must be
80 interconnected that they are expressive of one complete mean-
ing which involves them, and which they fulfil, Fcr if there is
not present to this everchanging life of Deity the eternal reason for
itself, it is manifest that there is an unreasonable and capricious
element in the Divine Life. But caprice is the illusion of a limited
experience, and is inconsistent with that confidence in the reason
that is immanent in the world which lies as the very heart of
philosophic as of all inquiry.

While we are bound to ascribe to God the fulfilment of all his
manifestations in you and me, it seems to me that we cannot pre-
tend to discover the concrete actuality of His thought. Yet we
can, as I venture to think, confidently refute the view that the
Divine Life is an endless becoming to which we need attribute no
permanent direction. We cannot envisage the demands of our
reasonable faith in God in such a conception. An analysis of the
human mind does, indeed, point to an actual awareness which is
its ground. Whether this awareness is to be thought of as itself
process it is, perhaps, impossible for man to determine, though it
seems to me (and I shall further develop my position in the course
of this paper) that the balance of evidence is against such a v'iew.
But even if the data are adequate to the absolute determining of

A Universal Telos the Presupposition of all Inquiry. 263

this problem, the human experience, as dependent and contingent,
can never yield concrete and precise knowledge of that actuality
which derives its being from no source but itself.

Our attempt at knowledge of any kind presupposes that the ob-
ject which reveals itself is already in some form or other there-
existent — and efficient to produce knowledge in us. Our gradual
entrance into knowledge — becoming — is a category whereby the
already there, which implies it, enters into human knowledge.
Our thought, as human and particular, is not an all-embracing,
synthesizing activity, and hence can never realize God's nature in
its concrete actuality. But what we can be quite sure of is, that
the presupposition, without which we could not think at all, and
the essential oneness of the Thinker, and of the Thinker and his
thought, point with an infallible certitude to an existence — self-
consciousness — on which this little round of human consciousness
is dependent, and in which it finds its absolute fulfilment. The
fundamental presupposition of thought implies a self-consistent,
self-dependent knowledge, leaving nothing outside itself. It im-
plies but it does not expound.

The scientific conception of the universe is too often appealed
to even by men of some metaphysical insight as if it were an in-
fallible canon. That science has genuine actuality and affirma-
tive reality is indisputable. But the exact nature of its validity
is yet a desideratum in philosophy, and perhaps will remain so
until further discoveries re-create the current concepts which the
best informed scientists are aware to be for the most part pro-
visional and hypothetical only. Again, it is obvious that a cos-
mology as based on effects wrought on us can never give us the
concrete actuality which produces them in us. A completely
satisfying knowledge about the universe would not be the same
as the awareness which it reflects. It must be of the same nature,
but it cannot be the same thing. The knowledge of an act is not
the act.

Nevertheless, there is one point in the philosophy of scientific
method which I think it will be fruitful to consider, because, even
if it does not (as it appears to me distinctly to do) throw con-
siderable doubt on the legitimacy of the transfer of process from
the phenomenal world to its ground, it certainly does give warrant
to the belief in a permanent direction in that process if it exists.

264 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

An event is only comprehended in so far as it takes its place in
a system of knowledge in which it becomes more than itself.
Hence that nniformity of ^N^ature which is explicated by the sci-
entist and which is implied in the confidence of reason in itself is
more than a mere recognition of the law of identity ; more even
than an admission that uniform precedents are invariably fol-
lowed by uniform consequents if there be no external interfer-
ence. It assumes (and this assumption Science may or may not
formulate but invariably trusts in her inquiries), it assumes that
even the disturbing and interfering elements are subject to law ;
that change, too, is uniform ; that change of law is again due to
law. Science supplies herself with the self-same large imagina-
tion as Laplace, and supposes with him the world at any one
moment to be the necessary outcome of all its antecedent, and the
necessary condition of all its future, states. Any one moment
stands in relation to an infinite series extending in both direc-
tions.

Now, while our knowledge must enter into the very nature of
the awareness from which, as its ground, it derives itself, it would
seem to me to be an eminently pregnable and unwarranted as-
sumption to posit any kind of direct correspondence or trans-
figured identity between events in the phenomenal universe and
events as they may occur in the supposed "life" of God. But if
this huge assumption is made in order to give a support to science
(which in my humble judgment stands in no need of such a crutch.)
then, as an idealist, I am unable to understand what this concep-
tion of the relations of this infinite series may mean, except that,
as related, they are wio ictu and eternally present to a mind.
Science happily occupies herself but little in the construction of
philosophical flying-machines, but if we choose to fasten on her
an indication of a changing life for God, then our bold philosophy
will at once receive a challenge from the absolute relatedness of
God's entire universe and we shall be checked by the inscruta-
bility of the way in which the meaning of the whole is ever pre-
served in the changing universal life.

But does science in any way point to process as the ground of
process? Continuity in the representation is of course indispen-
sable to a being who rises from sensible appearances in time-rela-
tions to supersensible concepts; but deeper far than continuity

A Universal Telos the Presupposition of all Inquiry. 265

in time and space, lies that presupposition of Unity which is the
sine qua noii of science no less than of philosophy.

Science, as the effort of man to universalize himself, rises from
the sensibles of experience to the supersensible. But in the fair,
undisputed, and logical pursuit of her abstractions, she soon linds
herself involved in inexplicable and probably contradictory re-
sults. From the limited data of sense-experience Science is per-
petually soaring only to impale herself on the horns of dilemmas.
Unless she refutes herself with the sceptic she must either retrace
her steps or place in God as the ground of our finite apprehension
a perfect logical harmony, unifying what is for us contradictory.
It would seem as if in many cases the last alternative is the only
mode of escape. The space and time forms yield an abundance
of antinomies, and the logical mind of Jevons, in his examina-
tion of scientific method, was forced to recognize this fact. He
even went so far as to say that, *' For all that I can see, then,
there may be intellectual existences in which both time and space
are nullities." (" Principles of Science," chap, xxxi.) Of course,
from my point of view, the Divine Knowing must always be of
time and space, inasmuch as it is the completion and unifying of
God's particular life in man ; but it need not be itself a process in
time and space.

But, to return to an examination of the procedure of the scien-
tific thinker. Science receives her impetus and has achieved her
successes by conceiving of the whole universe as a universe of
events everywhere connected ; and she forthwith proceeds, by
means of the hypothetical judgment, to discover these connec-
tions, explanations of observed facts, or laws ; and from these
again to foretell facts not yet experienced. The scientific concep-
tion is not merely that of the invariability of similar results under
similar conditions, but that all change whatever is expressible in
the form of that abstract reconstruction or method of valid regis-
tration which we call Law. Law is led up to by the hypothetical
judgment, but its ultimate guarantee is other than mere expe-
rience or experiment. The hypothetical judgment may yield and
experiment confirm a rule, but the guarantee of a true law is its
self-evidence, the reduction to plain absurdity of any other ex-
planation. No fresh laws can obtain any more than fresh phe-
nomena can arise except as ever implied and involved in all an-

266 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tecedent existence. For science, there is no caprice, nor mere
empirical observation, but a conviction which it trusts and which
never fails it, that tliere is an inner connection of phenomena,
which from time to time and in part it discovers. The world for
the scientist is never a mere series of more or less connected events,
but a world of which every changing moment implies all the past
and all the future. This world is expressible by the double ex-
pedient of fixing and recording changing phenomena in the inter-
pretation of timeless law. The changing event and the timeless
law of our cosmology are both abstractions whereby we attempt
to universalize our knowledge. The scientist does not imagine
laws to rule on their own account; but he does assert an inter-
dependence of phenomena actually or conceivably experienced
which can be formulated as law. What his fruitful conception
really comes to is that, scientifically considered, the universe is a
series of events everywhere connected, whether they be events
past, present, or to come. As Jevone says {op. cit, p. 738-739),
'' Scientific inference is impossible, unless we may regard the pres-
ent as the outcome of what is past and the cause of what is to
come." The connections, or, in other words, the varied forms of
relations between events are expressible as laws. Put into the
crucible of philosopliy, scientific law and scientific event alike re-
solve themselves into abstractions ; and, when thus anah'zed, they
none the less demand a unity from which they receive their va-
lidity. The conceptions of the persistence of matter and the per-
sistence of energy express the scientific conviction that the reality
of an event is ever more than a mere event. The being of the
universe at any one moment contains the secret of the whole.
The fluctuations of a changeful universe are, to the scientist, bound
together by their subordination to an inner nature which renders
change possible ; and the only exposition of the universe that is
legitimately open to him lies in the abstract formulae of events
subject to principles or laws. Such principles tend to become
ultimate according as they approach the requisite of an explana-
tion — leaving no question to be asked — in other words, self-evi-
dent, though so far from being obvious that they are only obtain-
able by the infinite travail of human inquiry.

The present is thus more than the mere presence of events. It
is the realization of the agencies of the past. It is the potential

A Universal Telos the Presupposition of all Inquiry. 267

which involves the realization of the future. The present is more
than itself. The existing universe is, for the man of science, the
necessary result of the completed past, the necessary antecedent
of the whole future. But his knowledge of what is is fallible and
•imperfect.

Without again raising the question of making time valid as
a universal datum, supposing that we were compelled to grant
such universality to the time form, and that the scientific recon-
struction of our experiences does directly and immediately, though
but partially, reflect the Divine Life, what unification of that Life,
other than a totally insnfiicient and merely formal one, can there
■be, if the infinite moments of its changes be not correlative to a
pervading and eternal meaning.

Hence on the ground of merely intellectual data we are com-
pelled to posit a Reason from which our phenomenal world of
being and becoming, of the real and the valid, of the transient
event and the timeless law" derives itself. That is not always in-
conceivable which is, here and now, beyond being understood;
and the Reason which I have thus definitely posited is indeed the
presupposition of cill thought.

But taking the higher ground of our moral nature we are com-
pelled by the same sublime self-confidence of reason which
prompts us to philosophize and which carries its own imperative
mandate with it, to posit in God, not merely a Unity of perma-
nence and change, and of the real and the valid, transcending
buman faculty to comprehend, but also the unity of our ideal as-
pirations with our actual world, of our moral struggle with the
limitations that encumber it. Our knowledge implies as its
ground or reason an awareness which transcends while it em-
braces human faculty. Man is the measure of all things in so far
as he is necessary to and participates in the Divine Nature. By
this participation he becomes aware of the existence of that ful-
ness of being which as man he is not, and which, in his human
and particular life, he cannot wholly become. He is bound to
conceive of the Telos which he cannot comprehend. A foot-rule
implies infinity but cannot measure it. Our power is adequate
to the perception of the limitation of our faculty. The processes
of reason are ever compelled to posit and point toward their Di-
vine incomprehensible but necessary ground. That presupposi-

268 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tion of tlioii2;ht — its self-consistence — which issues in the tran-
scendental discovery of the Unity of the One Thinker, and of the
Thinker with his Thou»;ht, seems to me to indicate with an irre-
sistible confidence that there is an awareness in which the human
life finds its fulfilment and meaning ; while the boundaries set to
our conscious experience as limited and particular, proliibit the
entrance of the fulness of the nature of God into the passing show
of His temporal life in us.

LEIBNITZ^S CRITIQUE OF LOCKE.'

TRANSLATED FROM THE PRENCH BY ALFRED O. LANQLET.

NEW ESSAYS ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.

Book I. — Innate Ideas.
Chapter II.
No Innate Practical Principles.

§ 1. Philalethes. Ethics is a demonstrative science, and yet it
has no innate principles. And, indeed, it would be very difficult
to produce a rule of ethics of a nature to be settled by an assent
as general and as prompt as this maxim : Whatever is, is.

Theophilus. It is absolutely impossil)]e that there be truths of
reason as evident as those which are identical or immediate. And,
although you can truly say that ethics has principles which are
not demonstrable, and that one of the first and most practical is,
that you ought to pursue joy and avoid sorrow, it is needful to
add that this is not a truth which is known purely by reason, since
it is based upon internal experience, or upon confused knowledge,
for you do not feel what joy or sadness is.

Ph. It is only through processes of reasoning, through language,
and through some mental application, that you can be assured of
practical truths.

Th. Though that were so, they would not be less innate. How-
ever, the maxim I just adduced appears of another nature ; it is

' Coatinued from " The Journal of Speculative Philosophy," vol. xix, No. 3, July, 1886.

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 269

not known by the reason, but, so to speak, by an instinct. It is
an innate principle, but it does not form a part of the natural
light, for it is not known luminously. However this principle is
stated, you can draw from it scientific consequences, and I com-
mend most heartily what you just said of ethics as a demonstra-
tive science. Let us note also that it teaches truths so evident that
thieves, pirates, and bandits are forced to observe them among
themselves.

§ 2. Ph. But bandits keep the rules of justice among themselves
without considering them as innate principles.

Th. What matters it? Does the world concern itself about
questions of theory ?

Ph. They observe the maxims of justice only as convenient
rules, the practice of which is absolutely necessary to the conser-
vation of their society.

Th. ' [Very well. You could say nothing better in general in
respect to all men. And it is thus that these laws are written in
the soul, namely, as the consequences of our preservation and of
our true welfare. Do you imagine that we suppose that truths
are in the understanding as independent the one of the other as the
edicts of the pr?etor were on his placard or white tablet ? 1 put
aside here the instinct which prompts man to love man, of which

' Note on Gerhardfs text, which is the basis of the present translation. — Quite frequent-
ly in the text of Gerhardfs edition there is an " Et " which Eidmann omits. Compare
the note as to Leibnitz's French style at the foot of page 278, "Jour. Spec. Phil.," July,
1885, translated from Gerhardfs introduction. The textual variations in the editions
of Erdmann and Gerhardt are for the most part very slight, scarcely ever affecting the
sense to an extent worth taking account of, and are due, in my judgment, chiefly to
Leibnitz's imperfect knowledge of French which later editors have sought to correct or
supplement. Occasionally these variations seem to be due (as in the preface) to abbre-
viation by excision of superfluous phrases or passages which contain and add little or
nothing of value to the discussion.

The translation, however, continues upon the basis of Gerhardfs text as the most re-
liable, and aims to preserve its distinguishing features with the purpose of bringing so
far as possible in an English dress, Leibnitz's original, 1)efore the English reader. To
this end I have introduced into the translation the [ ] precisely as they stand in the
French text of Gerhardt. His explanation of them is given in the note he appends to
his statement that his text " has been newly compared with the original, so far as it is
still extant" (see p. 279, "Jour. Spec. Phil., JuW, 1885). The text of the translation
thus conforms to and represents the original as perfectly as possible. There seems to
be, however, little regularity or consistency in the employment of these [ ], so far, at
least, as I can discover upon comparison with Locke's treatise. — Translator.

270 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

I shall presently speak, for now I wish to speak only of truths in
so far as thev are known by the reason. I admit, also, that cer-
tain rules of justice could not be demonstrated, in all their extent
and perfection, without supposing the existence of God and the
immortality of the soul, and these, where the instinct of humanity
does not impel us, are written in tlie soul only as other derivative
truths.] However, those who base justice only upon the necessi-
ties of this life and upon the need they have of it, rather than
upon the pleasure they ought to derive from it, which is the great-
est when God is its ground, are liable to resemble a little the so-
ciety of bandits.

*' Sit spes fallendi, miscebunt sacra profanis." '

§ 3. Ph. I agree with you that Nature has put in all men the
desire for happiness and a strong aversion to misery. These are
the truly innate practical principles, and principles which, accord-
ing to the purpose of every practical principle, have a continual
influence upon all our actions. But they are inclinations of the
soul toward the good, and not impressions ^ of some truth which
is written in our understanding.

Th. [I am delighted, sir, to see that you admit in effect innate
truths, as I shall presently say. This principle agrees sufficiently
with that which I just indicated, which prompts us to seek joy
and shun sorrow. For felicity is only a lasting joy. However,
our inclination does not tend to felicity proper, but to joy — that
is to say, to the present ; it is the reason which prompts to future
and enduring welfare. Now, the inclination, expressed by the
understanding, passes into a precept or practical truth ; and if the
inclination is innate, the truth is innate also, there being nothing
in the soul which may not be expressed in the understanding, but
not always by a consideration actually distinct, as I have suffi-
ciently shown. The instincts also are not always practical ; there
are some which contain theoretical truths, and such are the internal
principles of the sciences and of reasoning, if, without recognizing
the reason in them, we employ them by a natural instinct. And

' Compare Hor. i, Epist., 16, 54. Horace has " mhcehis." — Tr.

' Erdmann's and Jac(iues's text has " des imperfections de quelqtie veriie.^' Ger-
hardt reads, " des iiitpre.viionji de (juelque veriiey Locke has " impressions of truth."
Book I, chap. 3, § 3. Vol. I, p. 158, line 5, Bohn's edition.

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 271

in this sense you cannot dispense with the recognition of innate
principles, even though you might be willing to deny that deriva-
tive truths are innate. But this would be a question of name
merely after the explanation I have given of what I call innate.
And if any one desires to give this appellation only to the truths
which are received at tirst by instinct, I shall not contest the
point with him.]

Ph. That is well. But if there were in our soul certain char-
acters imprinted there by Nature, like so many principles of knowl-
edge, we could only perceive them acting in us, as we feel the
influence of the two principles which are constantly active in us —
namely, the desire of happiness and the fear of misery.

Th. [There are principles of knowledge which influence us as
constantly in our reasoning processes as these practical principles
influence us in our volitions ; for example, everybody employs the
rules of deduction by a natural Logic without being aware of it.

§ 4. Ph. The rules of Morality need to be proved ; they are then
not innate, like that rule which is the source of the virtues which
society regards as such : Do to another only what you would have
him do to yourself.

Th. You always make me the objection which I have already
refuted. I agree with you that there are moral rules which are
not innate principles ; but that does not prevent them from being
innate truths, for a derivative truth will be innate, supposing that
we can draw it from our mind. But there are innate truths,
which we find in us in two ways — by insight and by instinct.
Those which I have just indicated, show by our ideas what natural
insight accomplishes. But there are conclusions of natural insight
which are principles in relation to instinct. It is thus that we are
prompted to acts of humanity, by instinct because it pleases us,
and by reason because it is just. There are then in us truths of
instinct, which are innate principles, which we feel and apj^rove,
although we have not the proof of them which we obtain, how-
ever, when we give a reason for this instinct. It is thus that we
make use of the laws of deduction conformably to a confused
knowledge, and as by instinct, but logicians show the reason of
them, as mathematicians also give a reason for what they do with-
out thinking in walking and leaping. As for the rule which states
that we ought to do to others only what we would have them do

272 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

to us, it needs not only proof, but, further, it needs to be pro-
claimed. One would wish too much for one's self if one could
have one's own way ; shall w^e say then that one also owes too
much to others ? ' You will tell me that the rule requires only
a just will. But thus this rule, very far from beinc^ adequate
to serve as a measure, would itself need one. The true sense of
the rule is, that the place of another is the true point of view for
equitable judoment when you attempt it.]

§ 9. Ph. Bad acts are often committed without any remorse of
conscience ; for example, when cities are carried by storm, the
soldiers commit, without scruple, the worst acts; some civilized
nations have exposed their children, some Caribbees castrate theirs
in order to fatten and eat them. Garcilasso de la Veo;a reports
that certain peoples of Peru took prisoners in order to make con-
cubines of them, and supported the children up to the age of thir-
teen, after which they ate them, and treated in the same manner
the mothers so soon as they no lon<^er bore children. In the voyapje
of Baumgarten it is related that there was a Santon^ in Egypt who
passed for a holy man, eo quod noii foeminarum unquam esset ac
puewruin, sed tantum asellarum eoncuhitor atque midaruni.

Th. Moral science (over and above the instincts like that which
makes us seek joy and shun sadness) is not otherwise innate than
is arithmetic, for it depends likewise upon demonstrations which
internal insight furnishes. And as the demonstrations do not at
once leap into sight, it is no great wonder, if men do not perceive
always and at once all that they possess in themselves, and do not
read quite readily the characters of the natural law, which God,
according to St. Paul, has written in their minds. However, as
morality is more important than arithmetic, God has given to man
instincts which prompt at once and without reasoning to some por-
tion of that which reason ordains. Just as we walk in obedience
to the laws of mechanics without thinking of these laws, and as we
eat, not only because eating is necessary for us, but further and
much more because it gives us pleasure. But these instincts do
not prompt to action in an invincible way; the passions may re-
sist them, prejudices may obscure them, and contrary customs alter

' This sentence is found iu the texts of Erdraann and Gerhardt ; it is wanting in
that of Jacques.
* Mahometan monk.

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 273

them. Nevertlieless, jon apjree most frequently with these instincts
of conscience, and you follow them also when stronger impressions
do not overcome them. The greatest and most healthy part of
the human race bears them witness. The Orientals and the
Greeks or Romans, the IMble and the Koran agree in respect to
them ; the Mahometan police are wont to punish the thing Baum-
garten tells of, and it would be needful to be as brutalized as the
American savage in order to approve their customs, full of a
cruelty, which surpasses even that of the beasts. However, these
same savages perceive clearly what justice is on other occasions ;^
and although there is no bad practice, perhaps, which may not be
authorized in some respects and upon some occasions, there are
few of them, however, which are not condemned very frequently
and by the larger part of mankind. That which has not been at-
tained without reason, and was not attained by reasoning alone,
should be referred in part to the natural instincts. Custom, tradi-
tion, discipline, are thus intermingled, but it is due to instinct (le
naturel) that custom is turned more generally to the good side
of these duties. In the same way,^ the tradition of God's ex-
istence is due to instinct (l^e naturel). Now J!*^ature gives to man
and also to most of the animals afibctionate and tender feeling for
those of their species. The tiger even parclt cognai.is maculis /
whence comes this hon mot of a Roman jurisconsult, Quia inter
omnes homines natura cognatlonem constituit, unde hominetn
homini insidiari nefas esse. Spiders form almost the only excep-
tion, and these eat one another to this extent that the female de-
vours the male after having enjoyed him. Besides this general
instinct of society, which may be called philanthropy in man,

1 Compare J. G. Schurman's " The Ethical Import of Darwinism," pp. 256-260. He
states that " some gropings amid the general darkness incline me, at least tentatively, to
the belief that, apart from the domestic virtues, there is no such great difference be-
tween the morals of Christians and the morals of savage'." (p. 25fi). This statement is
modified further on pp. 258-259, and finally takes the following form : " The fighting
men, actual and potential, in every uncivilized community recognize the same rights,
obligations, and duties toward one another as constitute the essence of civilized morality.
You never find a man without a moral nature, a nature essentially like our own ; but
the objects he includes within the scope of its outgoings vary " (p. 259). For the real
significance of such facts see " Principles and Practice of IMorality," by Pres. E. G.
Robinson, of Brown University (p. 43). — Tr.

^ Gerhardt's text reads, " C.^st comnie le naturel," etc.

XXI— 18

274 TJie Journal of Speculative PhUosophij.

there are some more particular forms of it, as the att'ection between
tlie male and the female, the love -which father and mother bear
toward the children, which the Greeks call crropY^i/, and other
similar inclinations which make this natural law, or this image of
law rather, which, according to the Roman jurisconsults, Nature has
taught to animals. But in man in particular there is found a cer-
tain regard for dignity, for propriety, which leads him to conceal
(the) things, which lower us, to be sparing of shame, to have re-
pugnance for incests, to burv dead bodies, not to eat men at all
nor living animals. One is led further to bccareful of his reputa-
tion, even beyond need, and of life ; to be subject to remorse of
conscience, and to feel these hinlatua et ictus, these tortures and
torments of which Tacitus, following Plato, speaks ; besides the
fear of a future and of a supreme power which comes, moreover,
naturally enough. There is reality in all that ; but at bottom
these natural impressions, whatever they may be, are only aids to
the reason and indices of the plan of Xature. Custom, education,
tradition, reason, contribute much, but human nature ceases not to
participate therein. It is true that without the reason these aids
would not suffice to give a complete certitude to morals. Finally,
will you deny that man is naturally led, for example, to withdraw
from vile things, under a pretext that races are found who like to
speak only of filth, that there are some, indeed, whose mode of life
obliges them to handle excrements, and that there are people of
Boutan, where those of the king pass as an aromatic. I think
that you are of my opinion at bottom in regard to these natural
instincts which tend toward what is right and decent; although
you will say, perhaps, as you have said with regard to the instinct
which prompts to joy and felicitj', that these impressions are not
innate truths. But I have already replied that every o])inion is
the perception of a truth, and that the natural opinion is the (per-
ception) of an innate truth, but very often confused, as are the
experiences of the external senses; thus you can <listinguish the
innate truths from the natural insight (which contains only the
distinctly kuowable), as the genus should be distinfruished from
its species, since the innate truths comprehend both the instincts
and the natural insight,]

§ 11. J*h. A person who knew the natural limits of justice and
injustice, and (who) would not cease confusing them with each

Leibnitz' a Critique of Locke. 275

other, could only be regarded as the de.-lared enemy of the repose
and the welfare of the society of which he is a member. But men
confuse them every moment, consequently they do not know them.
Th. [That is taking things a little too theoretically. It happens
every day that men act contrary to their knowledge in concealing
these (limits) from themselves when they turn the mind elsewhere,
in order to follow their passions ; otherwise, we would not see peo-
ple eating and drinking what they know must cause them sickness
and even death. They would not neglect their business; they
would not do what entire nations have done in certain respects.
The future and reason rarely make so strong an impression as the
present and the senses. That Italian knew this well, who, before
being put to torture, proposed to have the gallows continually in
sight during the torments in order to resist them, and they heard
him say sometimes, '''■ Lo ti vedo^'' which he explained afterward
when he had escaped. Unless you iirmly resolve to look upon the
true good and the true evil with the purpose of following or shun-
ning them, you find yourself carried away, and it happens, with
regard to the most important needs of this life, as it happens with
regard to paradise and hell in the case of those, indeed, who be-
lieve in them the most :

Cantantur haec, laudantur haec,

Dicuntur, audiuntur.
Scribuntur haec, leguntur haec,

Et lecta negliguntur.]

Ph. Every principle which you suppose innate can only be
known by each one as just and advantageous.

Th. [You always return to this supposition, which I have re-
futed so many times, that every innate truth is known always and
by all.]

§ 12. Ph. But a public permission to violate the law proves
that this law is not innate ; for example, the law requiring love
and preservation of children was violated among the ancients when
they permitted their exposure.

Th. [This violation supposed, it follows only that you hav^e not
well read these characters of Nature written in our souls, but some-
times obscure enough by reason of our excesses, not to mention
that, in order to have a perfectly clear perception of the necessit}'

276 The Journal of Speculatim Philosophy.

of duties, men must see the demonstration of them — a condition
that is rarely fulfilled. If geometry were as much ()p]iosed to our
passions and present interests as is ethics, we should contest it and
violate it but little less, notwithstanding all the demonstrations of
Euclid aud of Archimedes, which you would call dreams and be-
lieve full of ])aralogisms ; and Joseph Scaliger, Hobbes, and others,
who have written against Euclid and Archimedes, would not find
themselves in such a small company as at present. It was only
the passi(m for glory, which these authors believed they found in
the quadrature of the circle and other difficult problems, which
could dazzle to such a point persons of so great merit. And if
others had the same interest, they would make use of it in much
the same manner.]

Ph. Every duty carries the idea of law, and a law would not be
known or supposed without a legislator who has prescribed it, or
without reward and without punishment.

TJi. [There can be natural rewards and penalties without a
legislator; intemperance, for example, is punished by disease.
However, as this injures no one at first, I admit that there are few
precepts to which you would be indispensably bound if there
were not a God who leaves no crime without chastisement, no
good act without reward.]

Ph. It is necessary then that the ideas of a God and of a life to
come be also innate.

Th. [I am agreed in the sense in which 1 have explained my-
self.]

Ph. But these ideas are so tar from being written by Nature in
the mind of all men, that they do not a]>pear even very clear and
very distinct in the mind of several students, who also profess to
examine things with some accuracy ; so far are they from being
known by every human being.

Th. You return again to the same proposition, which main-
tains that what is not known is not innate, which I have, how-
ever, refuted so many times. What is innate is not at first known
clearly and distinctly as such ; often much attention and method
is necessary in order to their perception, the student-class do not
always adduce them, still less every human being.

§ 13. Ph. But if men can be ignorant of or call in question that
which is innate, it is in vain for you to speak to us of innate priu-

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 277

cij^les, and to claim to show us tlieir necessity ; very far from
being able to serve as our instructors in the truth and certitude of
thin<i;s, as is maintained, we shall find ourselves in the same state
of uncertainty in regard to these principles, as if they were not
in us.

Th. You cannot call in question all the innate principles. You
were agreed in regard to identical propositions or the princij)le of
contradiction, admitting that there are incontestable principles,
altliouo-ji vou would not then recognize them as innate ; but it
does not at all follow that everything which is innate and neces-
sarily connected with these innate principles, is also at lirst in-
dubitably evident.

Ph. IN'o one that I know of has yet undertaken to give us an
exact catalogue of these principles.

Th. But has any one hitherto given us a full and exact catalogue
of the axioms of geometry ?

§ 15. Ph. My Lord Herbert has been pleased to point out some
of these principles, which are : 1. There is a supreme God.
2. He ought to be served. 3. Virtue united with piety is the
best worship. 4. Repentance for sin is necessary. 5. There are
penalties and rewards after this life. I agree that those are evident
truths and of such a nature that when well explained a reasonable
person can scarcely avoid giving them his consent. But our friends
say that they are very far from being so many innate impressions,
and if these five propositions are common notions wi'itten in our
souls by the linger of God, there are many others which you ought
also to put into this class.

Th. I agree with you, sir, for I take all the necessary truths as
innate, and I connect with them also the instincts. But, I agree
with you, that these five propositions are not innate principles ; for
I hold that they can and ought to be proved.

§ 18. Ph. In the third proposition, that virtue is the worship
most agreeable to God, it is not clear what is meant by virtue. \i
you understand it in the sense most commonly given to the term,
I mean that which passes as praiseworthy according to the difier-
ent opinions which prevail in different countries, this proposition
is so far from being evident that it is not even true. If you call
virtue the acts which are conformed to the will of God, this will
be almost id.em jper idem, and the proposition will teach us noth-

278 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

\\v^ of iin]>ortaiice ; fur it would ineaii onl_y that (lod is pleased
with that which is conformed to his will. It is the same with the
notion of sin in the fourth })roposition.

Th. I do not remember to have remarked that virtue is com-
monly taken as something which depends upon opinion ; at least,
the Philosophers do not make it that. It is true that the name
of virtue depends upon the opinion of those who give it to differ-
ent habits or actions, according as they deetn them good or bad
and use their reason ; but all are sufiicientlv agreed as to the notion
of virtue in general, although they differ in its application. Ac-
cording to Aristotle and several otliers, virtue is a habit of restrain-
ing the passions by the reason, and still more, simply a habit of
acting according to reason. And that cannot fail to be agreeable
to him who is the supreme and final reason of things, to whom
nothing is indifferent, and the acts of rational creatures less than
all others.

§ 20. Ph. You are wont to say that the custom, the education, and
the general o])inions of those with whom you converse may ob-
scure these principles of morality which you suppose innate. But
if this reply is a good one, it annihilates the proof which you pre-
tend to draw from universal consent. The reasoning of many
men reduces to this : The principles which men of right reason
admit are innate : We and those of our mind are men of riijht
reason ; consequently our principles are innate. A pleasant
method of reasoning, which goes straight on to infallibility !

Th. For myself, I make use of universal consent, not as a prin-
cipal proof, but as a confirmatory one ; for innate truths taken as
the natural insight of reason bear their marks with them as does
geometry, for they are wrapped up in the immediate principles
which you yourselves admit as incontestable. But I grant that it
is more difficult to distinguish the instincts and some other natural
habits from custom, although it may very often be possible so to
do. For the rest, it appears to me that people who have cultivated
their minds have some ground for attributing the use of right
reason to themselves rather than to the barbarians, since in sul)-
duing them almost as easily as they do animals they show suf-
ficiently their superiority. But if they cannot always succeed in
this, it is because just like the animals they conceal themselves in
the thick forests, where it is difficult to hunt them down and the

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 279

game is not worth the candle. It is doubtless an advantage to
have cultivated the mind, and if we may speak for barbarism as
against culture, we shall also have the right to attack reason in
favor of the animals, and to take seriously the witty sallies of M.
Des Preaux, in one of his satires, where, in order to contest with
man his prerogative over the animals, he asks, whetlier,

The bear is afraid of the passer-by or the passer-by of the bear —

And if by decree of the shepherds of Libya

The lions would vacate the parks of Numidia, etc.

However, we must admit that there are some points in which
the barbarians surpass us, especially as regards vigor of bod}' ; and
as regards the soul even we may say that in certain respects their
practical morality is better than ours, because they have not the
avarice of hoarding nor the ambition of ruling. And one may
even add that the conversation of Christians has made them worse
in many respects, ^ They have taught them drunkenness (when
carrying them the water of life), swearing, blasphemy, and other
vices, which were little known to them. There is with us more
of good and of evil than with them : a bad European is worse than
a savage — he refines upon evil. However, nothing should prevent
men from uniting the advantages which Nature gives to these peo-
ples with those which reason gives us.

I*h. But what reply do you make, sir, to this dilemma of one
of my friends ? I would be pleased, he says, to have the advo-
cates of innate ideas tell me whether these principles can or can-
not be effaced by education and custom. If they cannot be
effaced we ought to find them in all men, and they should clearly
appear in the mind of each particular man. If they can be
altered by extraneous ideas, they ought to appear more distinctly
and with more lustre the nearer they are to their source, I mean
in children or illiterate people, upon whom extraneous opinions
have made less impression. Let them take which side they please,
they will clearly see, he says, that it is contradicted by indubita-
ble facts and by continual experience.

Th. I am astonished that your clever friend has confounded
obscurity with effacement, as some in your party confound non-

' ' Gerhardt has respects: they (chases : on leur a appris). Compare J. G. Schurman's
^'The Ethical Import of Darwinism," pp. 256-260 as above.— Tu.

280 The Journal of Speculative Philosophij.

being Avitli non-appearance. Innate ideas and truths would not
be effaced, but tliey are obscured in all men (as they are now) bv
their inclination toward the needs of the body, and oftener still
by the occurrence of bad customs. These characteristics of the
internal lio;ht M'ould alwavs be shinino; in tlie understandinir and
would give fervor to the will, if the confused perceptions of sense^
did not engro?s onr attention. It is the struggle of which Holy
Scripture no less than ancient and modern philosophy speaks.

Ph. Thus, then, we iind ourselves in darkness as thick and in
uncertainty as great as if there were no such light.

Th. God forbid ; we should have neither science nor law, nay,
not even reason.

§ 21, 22, etc. Ph. I hope that you will at least admit the force
of prejudice, which often causes that to pass as natural which has
come from the bad instruction to which children have been ex-
posed, and the bad customs which education and association have
given them.

Th. I admit that the excellent author whom you follow says
some very fine things upon that subject, and which have their
value if they are taken as they should be; but 1 do not believe
that they are opposed to the doctrine properly understood of na-
ture or of innate truths. And I am confident that he will not ex-
tend his remarks too far ; for I am equally persuaded that a great
many o])inions pass for truths which are oidy the effects of cus-
tom and of credulity, and that there are many such opinions, too,
which certain philosophers would fain account for as mattei's of
])rejudice, which are, however, grounded in right reason and in na-
ture. There is as much or more ground for defending ourselves
from those who through ambition oftenest make pretensions to
innovation, than for challenging ancient impressions. And after
having meditated sufficiently upon ancient and modern thought,
I have found that the majority of the received doctrines may Ijear
a good sense. So that I could wish that men of sense would
seek to satisfy their ambition by occupying themselves rather in
buildino: and advancinfj; than in retrog-rading and destroving. And
I (could) desire that they resemble the Romans who constructed
beautiful public works, rather than that Vandal king whom his
mother charged to seek the destruction of these grand structures,
since he could not hope for the glory of equalling them.

Leibnitz' $ Critique of Locke. 281

Ph. The aim of the clever class who have contended against
innate truths has been to prevent men from handing round their
prejudices and seeking to cover their idleness beneath this fair
name.

Th. We are agreed upon tliis point, for very far from approv-
ing that doubtful principles be received, I would, for myself, seek
even the demonstration of the axioms of Euclid, as some ancients
also have done. And when you ask the means of knowing and
examining innate principles, I reply, following what I said above,
that with the exce[)tion of the instincts whose reason is unknown,
you must try to reduce them to first principles, tliat is to say, to
axioms identical or immediate by means of definitions, which are
nothing else than a distinct exposition of ideas. I do not doubt
even but that your friends who have hitherto been opposed to in-
nate truths, would approve this method, which appears consonant
with their principal aim.

Chapter III.

Other Considerations touching Innate Principles.^ hoth Specula-
tive and Practical.

§ 3. Ph. You wisli to reduce truths to first principles, and I
grant you that if there is any such principle, it is without gainsay-
ing this ; it is impossible for a thing to be and not to be at the
same time. It appears, however, difficult to maintain its innate
character, since jou must be convinced at the same time that the
ideas of impossibility and identity are innate.

Th. It is quite necessary that those who favor innate truths
maintain and be convinced that these ideas are also innate, and I
admit that I am of their opinion. The ideas of being, of possi-
bility, of identity are so completely innate that they enter into
all our thoughts and reasonings, and I regard them as essential to
our mind ; but I have already said that you do not always pay
them particular attention and that you discern them only with
time. I have said hitherto that we are, so to speak, innate unto
ourselves, and since we are beings, the being we is innate ; and
the knowledge of being is wrapped up in that knowledge which
we have of ourselves. There is something similar in the case of
other general notions.

282 Ihe Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

% 4. Ph. If tlie idea of identity is natural, and consequently so
evident and so present to the mind that we ousiiht to recognize it
from the cradle, I would be pleased to have a child of seven years,
and even a man of seventy, tell me whether a man who is a creat-
ure consisting of body and soul, is the same (man) when his body
is changed, and whether, metempsychosis supposed, Euphorbus
would be the same as Pythagoras.

Th. I have stated sutiiciently that what is natural to lis is not
known to us as such from the cradle ; and even an idea may be
known to us without our being able to decide at once all ques-
tions wliich can be formed thereupon. It is as if some one should
pretend that a child could not have a knowledge of the square
and its diagonal, because he will have difficulty in recognizing
that the diagonal is incommensurable with the side of the square.
As for the question itself, it appears to me demonstratively solved
by the doctrine of Monads, which I have elsewhere shown in its
true light, and we shall speak more fully of this matter in the
sequel.

§ 6. Ph. [I see very well that to you I should object in vain
that the axiom which declares that the whole is greater than its
part is not innate, under pretext that the ideas of whole and part
are relative, dependent upon those of number and extension;
since you would apj)arently maintain that there are ideas condi-
tionally innate, and that those of number and extension are to
such a degree innate.^]

Th. You are right, and indeed I rather believe that the idea of
extension is posterior to that of whole and part.

§ 7. Ph. [What say you of the truth that God should be wor-
shipped ; is it innate?]

Th. I believe that the duty of worshipping God declares that
on occasion you ought to show that you honor him beyond every
other object, and that this is a necessary consequence of the idea
of Ilim and of his existence; which signifies with me that this
truth is innate.

§ 8. Ph. But the Atheists seem to prove by their example that
the idea of God is not innate. And without speaking of those

' French text is: '■'^ puhque vou» nouticndres apparemment, qtCil y a des idees in/iees
i-rxpectives, et que cclles des nombres el de Vetendue sunt innees aussi.'^

Leihnitz's Critique of Locke. 283

whom the ancients have mentioned, liave there not been discov-
ered entire nations, who have no idea of God nor of tiie terms
whicli denote God and the sonl, as at the bay of Soldania, in Bra-
zil, in the Caribbee islands, in Paraojuay?

Th. [The late Mi*. Fabricius, a celebrated theologian of Heidel-
berg, has made an apology for the human race in order to clear
it of the imputation of atheism. lie was an author of great accu-
racy, and decidedly above much prejudice; I do not, however,
pretend to enter into this discussion of facts. I grant that entire
peoples have never thought of the supreme substance, nor of the
nature of the soul. And I remember, that when you wished at my
request, countenanced by the illustrious Mr. Witsen, to obtain for
me in Holland a translation of the Lord's Prayer into the lan-
guage of Barantola, you were stopped at this point, "hallowed be
thy name," because you could not make the Barantoli understand
what hallowed ujeans. I remember also that in the creed made for
the Hottentots you were obliged to express Holy Spirit by words
of the country which signify a pleasant and agreeable wind. This
was not unreasonable, for our Greek and Latin words irvevfia,
anima, spiritus^ mean ordinarily only the air or wind we breathe,
as one of the most subtile things which we know through the
senses ; and you begin through the senses to lead men little by
little to what is beyond the senses. However, all this difficulty
which you iind in attaining abstract knowledge effects nothing
against innate knowledge. There are people who have no word
corresponding to that of being ; do you doubt that they do not
know what being is, although they think but little of it separate-
ly ? Besides I find what I have read in our excellent author on
the idea of God ("Essay on Understanding," Book I, chapter 3,^ § 9)
so beautiful and so to my liking that I cannot refrain from quot-
ins: it.^ Here it is :

" Men can scarcely avoid having some kind of idea of things of whicli
those with whom they converse often have occasion to speak under cer-
tain names, and if the thing is one which carries with it the idea of ex-

^ Chap. 4, in Locke's treatise, Bohn's edition. — Tr.

^ The French translation of Locke's original, is, in my judgment, clearer in form of
stateme\it and style than Locke himself. Hence I have retranslated the French into
English. If any reader prefers Locke's original, he can easily find it in Bohn's edition
of the Philosophical Works, Vol. I, p. 188.— Tu.

284 The Journal of Speculative Philosoplnj.

cellence, of grandeur, or of some extraordinary quality wliich interests in
some point and wliioh impresses itself upon the nund under the idea of
an absolute and irresistible power which none can help fearing" (I add:
and under the idea of a superlatively great goodness which none could
help loving), ''such an idea ought, according to all appearances, to make
the strongest impression and to spread farther than any other, especially
if it is an idea which accords with the simplest insight of reason, and
which flows naturally from every part of our knowledge. Now such is
the idea of God, for the brilliant marks of extraordinary wisdom and
power appear so plainly in all the works of the creation that every ra-
tional creature who will reflect thereupon cajinot fail to discover the
author of all these marvels; and the impression that the discovery of
such a Being must naturally make upon the soul of all those who have
once heard him spoken of is so great and carries with it thoughts of so
great weight and so adapted to spread themselves in the world that it
appears to mc wholly strange that an entire nation of men can be found
upon the earth so stupid as to have no idea of God. That, I say, seems
to me as surprising as to think of men who should have no idea of num-
bers or of tire."

I would I might always be allowed to copy word for word a
7iunil)er of other excellent passages of our author, which we are
obliged to pass by. I will say only liere, that this author, in
speaking of the common light of reason, which agrees with the
idea of God, and of that which naturally proceeds from it, aj^pears
tD differ but little from my view of innate trutlis; and, concerning
that which appears to him so strange, ?v's., that there may be
men without any idea of God, that it would be surprising to find
men who liad no idea of numbers or of fire, I would remark that
the inhabitants of the Marian Islands, to wliich you have given
the name of the Queen of Spain, who has protected missions
tliere, had no knowledge of fire when tliey were discovered, as
appears from the narrative which R. P. Gobien, a French Jesuit,
charged with the care of distant missions, has given to the public
and sent to me.]

J^ IG. P}i. If you are right in concluding tliat the idea of God
is innate, from tlie fact that all enlightened races have had this
idea, virtue ought also to be innate because enliglitened races Iiave
always had a true idea of it.

'Ih. [Not virtue, but the idea of virtue, is innate, and perhaps
you intend only that.]

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 285

. Ph. It is as certain that there is a God, as it is certain that the
opposite angles made by the intersection of two straight lines are
equal. And there has never been a rational creature who applied
himself sincerely to the examination of the truth of these two
propositions who has failed to give them his consent. However, it
is beyond doubt that there are many men who, having never turned
their thoughts in that direction, are ignorant equally of these two
truths.

Th. [I admit it: but that does not prevent them from being in-
nate — that is to say. does not prevent you from being able to find
them in yourself.]

§ 18. Ph. It would be more advantageous to have an innate
idea of substance ; but it turns out that we do not have it, either
innate or acquired, since we have it neither through sensation nor
reflection.

Th. [I am of opinion that reflection sufiices to discover the idea
of substance within ourselves, who are substances. And this no-
tion is the most important. But we shall speak of it, perhaps
more fully, in the sequel of our conference.]

§ 20 (Gerhardt). Ph. If there are innate ideas in the mind
without the mind's being actually aware of their presence, they
must at least be in the memory, whence they must be drawn by
means of reminiscence — that is to say, be known, when memory
recalls them, as so many perceptions which have been in tlie
mind before, unless reminiscence can subsist without reminis-
cence. For this conviction, where it is an inwardly certain
one, that a given idea has previously been in our mind, is
properly what distinguishes reminiscence from every other kind
of thinking.

Th. [In order that knowledge, ideas, or truths be in our mind,
it is not necessary that we have ever actually thought of them ;
they are only natural habitudes ; i. t^, dispositions and aptitudes,
active and passive, and more than a Tabula rasa. It is true, how-
ever, that the Platonists believed that we have already actually
thought of that which we recognize in ourselves; and to refute
them it is insufficient to say that we do not at all remember, for
it is certain that an infinite number of thoughts recur to us which
we have forgotten that we had. It has happened that a man be-
lieved that he had composed a new verse, which it turned out he

286 The Journal of ISpeculative Philosophy.

read word for word a long time previous in some aiKuent poet.
And often we liave an extraordinary facilit}^ of conceiving certain
things because we formerly conceived tiiem without remembering
them. It ma}' be that a c-hihl, having become blind, forgets ever
having seen light and colors, as happened at the age of two and a
half years from small-pox, in the case of the celebrated Ulric
Sclioenberg, a native of AVeide, in the Upper Palatinate, who died
at Konigsberg, in Prussia, in 1049, where he taught philosophy
and mathematics to the admiration of every one. It may be that
sucli a man has remaining etlects'of former impressions without
remembering them. I believe that dreams often thus revive in us
former thoughts. Julius Scaliger, having celebrated in verse the
illustrious men of Verona, a certain self-styled Brugnolus, a Ba-
varian by birth, but afterward established at Verona, appeared to
him in a dream and complained that he had been forgotten. Ju-
lius Scaliger, not remembering to have heard him spoken of be-
fore, did not allow himself to make elegiac verses in his lioiior in
consequence of this dream. At length, the son, Joseph Scaliger^
travelling in Italy, learned more particularly that there had been
formerly at Verona a celebrated grammarian or learned critic of
tliis name, who had contributed to the re-establishment of polite
literature in Italy. This story is found in the poems of Scaliger
the father, together with the elegy, and in the letters of the son.
It is related also in the Scaligerana, which are culled from the
conversations of Joseph Scaliger. It is very likely that Julius
Scaliger had known something of Brugnol which he no longer
remembered, and that the dream was partly the revival of a
former idea, although he may not have had that reminiscence^
properly so called, which makes us know that we have already
had this same idea ; at least, I see no necessity which obliges us
to assert that there remains no trace of a perception when there is
not enough of it to remind you that you have liatl it.]

§ 24. Ph. [I must admit that your reply is natural enough to
the difficulties which we have framed against innate truths.
Perhaps, also, our authors do not contest them in the sense
in which you maintain them. Thus I return only to sa}' to
you, sir] that you have had some reason to fear that the view
of innate truths serves as a pretext for laziness, for exempting
one's self from the trouble of research, and gives opportunity to

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 287

masters and teachers to lay down as a principle of principles that
principles must not be questioned.

Th. [I have already said that if it is the aim of your friends to
advise the search for the proofs of the truths which they can re-
ceive, without distinguishinf^ w'hether or 7iot they are innate, we
are entirely agreed ; and the view of innate truths, of the manner
in which I take them, should deter no one from such search, for,
besides being well to seek the reason of the instincts, it is one
of my great maxims that it is good to seek demonstrations of the
axioms also, and I remember that at Paris, when the late Mr.
Roberval, already an old man, was laughed at because he v,^ished
to demonstrate those of Euclid after the example of Apollonius
and Proclus, I illustrated the utility of this investigation. Nev-
ertheless, whatever the principle of those who say that it is wholly
unnecessary to argue against the one who denies j^rinciples, it has
no authority Avhatever in regard to these principles which could
receive neither doubt nor proof. It is true that, in order to avoid
scandal and disturbance, regulations may be made regarding pub-
lic disputations and some other lectures, in virtue of wliich the
discussion of certain established truths ma}^ be prohibited. But
this is rather a question of police than of philosophy.]

CORRIGENDA.

The following corrections are to be made in the text of the first instalment of this
translation, and the accompanying note, published in " The Journal of Speculative
Philosophy," vol. xix. No. 3, July, 1885, pp. 275 sq.

In Prefatory Note: Page 277, line 24, instead of "district," read "Quarter."
Page 277, line 25, dele, " Spiers and Surenne's French Dictionary."
Page 278, lines 11, 12, instead of "might give him (Leibnitz) the urgent advice,"
read "would urgently advise him (Leibnitz)."

Note 1, page 278. W. T. H. suggests that perhaps the reading was besogne (work) —
instead of besoin. So that the passage would read, "researches which required more
work (or labor)."

In text of translation : Page 280, line 8, instead of " without " read " notwithstand-
ing."

Page 280, line 38, instead of " triumphs " read " will triumph."
Page 281, line 18, instead of "anew," read "as a piece of news."
Page 281, line 20, instead of "elsewhere," read "for the rest."
Page 281, line 32, read " harmony pre-established by the primitive Substance."
Page 281, lines 34, 35, the sense is, and the text should therefore read, "you can say
that all things are of one and the same kind, differing only in degrees of perfection."

Page 281, line 38, instead of "at the house of Pliny," read "according to," or "in
the writings of Pliny."

S88 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Page 282, line 27, instead of " you. If only," read " you, except that."

Page 283, lines 1-5. After the words " have always," read " the purest kind of
spirits, notwithstanding our [physical] organs, which cannot, by any influence of theirs,
interfere with the laws of our [spiritual] spontaneity. 1 find void and atoms excluded
from (or, in) my theory, in quite another way than by the sophism of the Cartesians,"
etc.

Page 283, line 18, instead of " Finally," read " In brief."

Page 283, line 21, instead of "should not know how to conceal," read "cannot con-
ceal."

Page 283, line 27, instead of "elsewhere," read "formerly."

Page 283, line 31, instead of "But these new lights have cured," read " But this new
light has cured."

Page 283, line 37, insert after " a little," " too much."

Page 284, line 1, instead of "assuming," read "favorable."

Page 284, lines 17, 18, read "retained even its expressions."

Page 284, lines 19, 20, instead of "as in some encounters," read "except at certain
junctures."

Page 284, line 23, instead of " therein," read " therefrom."

Page 285, line 13, instead of "will have stirred," read " doubtless stirred."

Page 285, line 14, instead of " He will have chosen," read " No doubt he desired."

Page 285, line 32, insert after "even" "from."

Page 287, line 23, instead of " could not come from any other place," rer.d " could not
elsewhere arise (or appear)."

Page 291, line 36, instead of " them," read "it."

Page 293, line 1, instead of "cross-grained," read "complicated," "intricate," or
" involved."

Page 295, line 2, insert after "these" "truths."

Page 294, line 22, dele " even."

I should add that I am again debtor to the courtesy of Harvard College Library for
the use of Gerhardt's edition of the text of the Xouveaux Essais. — Translator.

THE SOUL'S PROGRESS IN GOD.

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF BO.VAVENTURA (" ITINERARIUM MENTIS IN DECM ") DY

THOMAS DAVIDSON.

John Fidanza (1221-1274), better known as Saint Bonaventura and the Seraphic
Doctor, Cardinal and General of the Franciscan order, stands beside the great Dominican
Doctor, Thomas Aquinas, whose intimate friend he was, as one of the two bright lights of
mediasval thought. They represent its two chief directions. Thomas is a scholastic,
Bonaventura a mystic. Of the numerous works of the latter, the best known and most
admired are his " Breviloquiuni " and his " Itinerarium Mentis in Deum." Of these,
the great French chancellor Gerson says: " Bonaventura's two little works — the 'Brevi-

The SouVa Progress in God. 289

loquiuin ' and the ' Itiiieiarium ' — are divinely composed with such compendious art that
above them there is nothing."

The following is an attempt at a translation of the latter. I say " an attempt," be-
cause I am fully aware that it is far from being a complete success. And for this there
are several reasons. In the first place, the Saint wrote such poor Latin that it is some-
times hard to discover what he means. In the second, the printed texts of his works
literally swarm with misprints, some of which render sentences ingrammatical. I have
used two texts, that of Severino Frati, which is accompanied by an Italian translation,
and that of C. J. Hefcle. It is curious to find the same misprints in both, even in
quotations from the Bible.

Imperfect as my translation is, I hope it will help to call the attention of the religious
world to a work which, among all the writings of Roman Catholic Christianity, stands
next to the " Imitation of Christ." It is, of course, a very different work from the
latter, and meant for readers of a different order of mind. The " Imitation " is intended
for edification ; the " Itinerary " for mystical enlightenment. It is, indeed, a manual of
instruction in mystical contemplation, and, as such, has, I believe, no equal.

I had intended to accompany my translation with explanatory notes, which, indeed,
are very necessary ; but I soon found that I could not do this without occupying more
space than the " Journal of Speculative Philosophy " could spare. I may hereafter
publish the translation in book-form, with extensive notes.

A literal translation of the title would have been " The Mind's Itinerary to God," but
I think the one I have chosen sufficiently expresses the purpose of the work and means
more to us.

I have tried to make my translation as literal as possible, and this for the reason that
I could hardly do otherwise without departing from the meaning of the original. Old
thoughts can hardly be expressed in new words, and tlierefore I have retained the
author's diction sometimes even where it compelled me to use obsolete or unusual Eng-
lish words, such as susception^ dijtidicate, and the like. All such words are intelligible
enough, and most are properly enough defined in the dictionaries. There is one excep-
tion — viz., si/nferesis (usually wiitten sipulercsis, that is, awTijpijaiQ). Gerson's definition
is: "An appetitive faculty of the soul, receiving from God a certain natural inclina-
to the good; a natural stimulus to good." Thomas Aquinas defines it thus: "■ Synteresis
is not a kind of special power higher than the reason, like nature ; but a kind of natural
possession of principles of practice, just as the intellect is a possession of principles of
theory, and not any kind of power." (See p. 294.)

Prologue.

In the begiuninii;^ I invoke the First Principle, from wlioni, as
tVoni the Fatlier of Lights,^ descend all illuminations, from whom
is every best and every perfect giit — that is, 1 invoke the Eternal
Father, through his Son, our Lord Jesus Clirist, that, by the inter-
cession of the Most Holy Virgin Mary, Mother of the same God
and our Lord Jesus Christ, and by that of the Blessed Francis,
our o;iiide and father. He would illuminate the eves of our soul,^

* John, i, 1. 2 James, i, 17. ^ Luke, i, 79 ; Philip, iv, 7 ; John, xiv, 27.

XXL-19

290 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

to guide our feet into the way of that peace wliioli pa?seth al)
sense, tlie peace which our Lord Jesus Christ preached and gave,
of which preaching our father, Saint Francis, was the repeater, in
every sermon proclaiming peace at the beginning and end ; in
every sahitation wishing peace ; in every contemplation sighing
for ecstatic peace, as a citizen of that Jerusalem, whereof it is
said by that Man of Peace, who was peaceful with them who
hated peace : '• Seek ye those things whicli are for the peace of
Jerusalem." ' For He knew that the throne of Soloaion was only
in peace, as it is written : " In Salem (peace) also is his Taberna-
cle and his dwelling-place in Zion.''^ When, therefore, according
to the example of our most blessed father Francis, I panted after
this peace — I, a sinner, who, though in all respects unworthy,
have succeeded, the seventh in order since his transition, in the
room of that most blessed Father,^ to the general ministry of
the brethren — it happened that by the Divine will, in the thirty-
third year after the transition of this blessed father, I, desiring to
find peace of spirit, withdrew to Mount Alvernia as to a quiet
place ; and while I abode there and was considering in my mind
certain mental ascensions to God, there occurred to me,, among
other things, that miracle which in the above-mentioned spot
happened to the blessed Francis, namely, the vision of a winged
seraph in the form of a crucifix. And, as I reflected thereupon, it
immediately appeared to me that this vision typified the uplifting
of our father in contemplation and the way that leads thereto ;
for by the six wings we may rightly understand the six upliftings
of illumination, whereby, as by a kind of steps or paths, the soul
is disposed to pass upward to peace through the ecstatic transports
of Christian Wisdom. But there is no way save through most
ardent love for the Crucified, who so transformed Paul, when
caught up to the third heaven,^ into Christ that he said : "I have
been crucified with Christ ; and I live no longer as I, but Christ
liveth in me.'"^ He likewise so absorbed the mind of F'rancis
that it revealed itself in the flesh, inasmuch as he bore the
most sacred stigmata of the Passion in his body for two years be-
fore his death. The figure, therefore, of the six seraphic wings
implies the six degrees of illumination, which, beginning with cre-

' Psalmti, cxxii, 6. ^ Psalms, Ixxvi, 3. » See Pref., p. 288.

•» 2 Cor. xii, 2. * Gal. ii, 20.

The SouVs Progress in God. 291

ated thin<>;8, lead up even to God, to whom no one rightly enters
except through the (''ruciiied. " For he that entereth not by the
door into the fold of the sheep, but cliuibeth up some other way,
the same is a thief and a robber ; but he that entereth in by the
door shall go in and out and shall iind pasture." ' Wiierefore John
saith in the Apocalypse : " Blessed are they that wash their robes
in the blood of the Lamb ; that they may have the authority over
the tree of life, and may enter in b}^ the gates into the city." ^ As
if He said that the heavenly Jerusalem cannot be entered by con-
templation except through the blood of the Lamb as a gate ; for
no man is in any way disposed to divine contem'plations which lead
to mental transports, unless with Daniel ^ he be a man of desires;
for desires are kindled in us in two ways — through the cry of
prayer, which maketh us roar from anguish of heart, and by the
lightning of speculation, whereby the mind is turned altogether
directly and intently to the rays of light, Whei'efore, to the
groaning of prayer through Christ crucified, through whose blood
we are cleansed from the defilements of sin, I first of all invite
the reader, lest he should, perchance, think that reading will suf-
fice without unction, speculation without devotion, research with-
out admiration, circumspection without exultation, industry with-
out piety, knowledge without charity, intelligence without humil-
ity, study without divine grace, the mirror without divinely in-
spired wisdom. To those, therefore, who are subjects of preve-
nient grace, the humble and pious, the contrite and devout, to
those who are anointed with the oil of divine joy, to the lovers of
divine Wisdom, and to them who are kindled with the desire
thereof, and who wish to devote themselves to magnifying, loving,
and trusting God, I offer the following speculations, at the same
time warning them that the mirror held up outside availeth little
or nothing, unless the mirror of our minds be clean and polished.
Exercise thyself, therefore, O man of God, upon the rankling
prick of conscience, before thou raisest thine eyes to the rays of
divine Wisdom reflected in her mirror, lest haply, from gazing at
these rays, thou fall into a deeper pit of darkness.

I purpose to divide my treatise into seven chapters, [)refixing to
each a title for the easier understanding of the things treated

1 John, X, 1, 2. 2 Rev. xxu, U. ^ Dan. ix, 23 ; x, 11.

292 The Journal of Speculative Philosophij.

therein. I beg my readers, tlierefore, that they "svill regard the
intention of the writer more than his work, the meaning of liis
words more than his uncouth speech, truth more than elegance of
«%tyle, exercise of att'ection more tlian erudition of intellect. Those
who will do this must not run lightly over the course of these
speculations, but must witii all care ruminate upon tliem.

THE SPECULATION" OF THE POOR MAN IN TOE WILDERNESS.

Chapter I.

ON THE DEGREES OF ASCENSION TO GOD, AND THE BEHOLDING OF
HIM THROUGH HIS FOOTSTEPS IN THE UNIVERSE.

''Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee; in whose heart
are the highways to Zion. Passing througli the valley of weeping,
they make it a place of sjirings." ^ Since bliss is naught but the
enjoyment of the Supreme Good, and the Supreme Good is above
us, no one can i)ecome blest unless he ascend above himself, with
ascension not of the body, but of the heart. But we cannot be
lifted above ourselves, save through a higher power lifting us up.
For, however much our inward steps may be ordered, nothing is
done unless divine aid accompany. But divine aid accoinpanies
those who ask it from the heart, humbly and devoutly, and this is
to sigh for it in this vale of tears — which is done by fervent prayer.
Prayer, theretore, is the motlier and source of uprising to God.
Wherefore Dionysius, in his "Mystic Theology," wishing to instruct
us in the way to attain mental transports, sets down prayer as the
first step. Let us each, tlierefore, pray and say to our Lord, God :
"Lead me, O Lord, in thy way, and I will walk in thy truth.
Let my heart rejoice to i'ear thee."^ In ])raying this prayer, we
are illuminated to know the steps of ascension to God. For, in-
asmuch as, in our present condition, this Universe of things is a
stair whereby we may ascend to God ; and, since among these
things some are his footprints, some his image, some corporeal,
some spiritual, some tem]>oral, some eternal ; mid, hence, some
outside of us, and some inside ; in order that we may attain to
the consideration of the First Principle, which is altogether spirit-
ual, eternal, and above us, we must jiass through the footsteps,
which are corporeal, tem])oral, and outside of us; and this is to

' Psalms, Ixxxiv, 4-0. * Psalms, Ixxxvi, 11.

The SouVs Progress in God. 293

be led in the way of God.^ We must also enter into our own
mind?, wliich are the image of God, eternal, spiritual, and within
us ; and this is to enter into the truth of God. We must also rise
aloft to the eternal, which is purely spiritual and above us, by
looking at the First Principle ; and this is to rejoice in the knowl-
edge of God and in kevekence for his majesty. This, then, is the
three-days' journey in the wilderness. This is the threefold illu-
mination of one day ; the first is as the evening, the second as the
morning, and the third as noon-day. This has regard to the
threefold existence of things; that is, in matter, in intelligence,
and in the divine art, as it is written : "Let there be made; He
made, and it was made."' This also has regard to the triple sub-
stance in Christ, who is our stair — that is, the corporeal, the spir-
itual, and the divine.

According to this triple progress, our minds have three princi-
pal outlooks. The first is toward corporeal things without, and
with reference to this it is called animality or sensuality. The
second is directed inward upon and into itself, and with refer-
ence to this it is called spirit. The third is directed upward above
itself, and in reference to this it is called mind. With all these it
must dispose itself to ascend to God, that it may love him with
the whole mind, the whole heart, and the whole soul, in wliich con-
sist at once perfect observance of the law and Christian Wisdom.

But, since every one of the aforesaid modes is doubled, accord-
ing as we come to consider God as Alpha and as Omega, or accord-
ing as we come to see God in each of the above modes through a
glass and in a glass, or because each of these considerations has to
be commingled with the other that is joined to it, and also to be
considered in its purity, so it is necessary that these three grades
should rise to the number of six ; whence, as God finished the uni-
versal world in six days and rested on the seventh, so the smaller
world is led in the most orderly way, by six successive grades of
illumination, to the rest of contemplation. Tj'pical of this are
the six steps leading to the throne of Solomon:^ the six-winged
Seraphim which Isaiah saw ; ^ the six days after which God called
Moses from the midst of the darkness;^ the six days after wliich-

1 John, xiv, 6. ^ Gen. i, 2, 3. » j Kings, x, 19.

■* Isaiah, vi, 2. ^ Exod. xxiv, 16.

294: The Journal of Speculative Philosophij.

as we road in Matthew, Christ led his disciples up into a moun-
tain, and was transtipjured before them.'

Corresponding, tlierefore, to the six grades of ascension into
God are the six grades of the powers of the soul, whereby we
ascend from the lowest to the highest ; from the external to the
most internal; from the temporal to the eternal; namely: sense,
imagination, reason, intellect, intelligence, and the apex of the
mind, or the spark of synteresis.^ These grades are implanted in
us by nature, deformed by sin, reformed by grace, to be purged
by justice, exercised by knowledge, perfected by wisdom. For,
according to tlie first institution of nature, man was created fit for
the quiet of coMtem])lati(»n ; and, for this reason, God placed him
in a Paradise of delights; but, turning away from the true light
to mutable good, he himself was made crooked through his own
fault, and his whole race through original sin, which infected
human nature in two ways — the mind with ignorance, and the
flesh with concupiscence; so that man, blinded and bowed down,
sits in darkness and sees not the light of heaven, unless he be
aided by grace with justice against concupiscence, and by knowl-
edge witli wisdom against ignorance. All this is done throu<«:h
Jesus Christ, " who for us was made wisdom from God and justice
and sanctifieation and redemption."^ lie, being the Power and
Wisdom of God, the incarnate Word full of grace and truth, made
grace and truth. To wit, he infused the grace of charity, which,
wlien it comes "of a pure heart, a good conscience, and faith un-
feigned,"'* rectifies the whole soul, in its threefold outk^ok al)ove
mentioned. He also taught tlie knowledge of truth, according to the
three modes of Theology — that is, symbolic, proper, and mystical —
so that, tiii-ough symbolic theology, we might rightly use sensible
things ; through theology proper, intelligible things; and, through
mystical theology, might be caught up into supermental ecstasies.

Whoever, therefore, would ascend to God must avoid deforming
sin and exercise the above-named natural powers, with a view to
reforming grace, and this by prayer; with a view to purifying
justice, and this in conversation ; with a view to illuminating sci-
ence, and this in nieditation ; with a view to perfecting wisdom,
and this in contemplation. Therefore, even as no one comes to

Matth. xvii, 1. 'See p. 289. » 1 Cor. i, 30. •• 1 Tim. i, 5

The Sours Progress in God. 295

wisdom save throngh grace, justice, and knowledge, so no one
■conies to contemplation save b}' clear meditation, holy conversa-
tion, and devout prayer. As grace, therefore, is the foundation
•of rightness of will, and of the clear illumination of reason, so
we must first pray, then live holily, and, thirdly, attend to the
manifestations of truth ; and, so attending, we must gradually
rise, till we reach the high mountain, wiiere the God of Gods is
seen in Zion.

And, since we must ascend Jacob's ladder, before we descend,
let us place the first step in the ascent at the bottom, holding up
this whole sensible world before us, as a mirror, tlirough which we
may rise to God, the supreme artificer, that we may be true He-
brews, passing forth from Egypt to the land promised to our
fathers ; also that we may be Christians, passing forth with Christ
from this woi'ld to the Father : and that we mav be lovers of Wis-
dom, that calleth and saith : " Come unto me all ye that desire
me, and be ye filled with mine offspring,"^ "For, from tlie
greatness and beauty of created things, their Creator may be seen
and known."" The supreme power, wisdom, and benevolence of
the Creator is reflected in all created things, as is reported in
threefold fashion by the sense of the flesh to the interior sense.
For the sense of the flesh lends itself to the intellect when it
investigates with reason, believes with faith, or contemplates with
intellect. In contemplating, it considers the actual existence of
things; in believing, their habitual course; in reasoning, their
potential pre-excellence.

The first point of view, which is that of contemplation, consid-
ering things in themselves, sees in them weight, number, and meas-
ure ; weigiit, which marks the point to which they tend ; number,
whereby they are distinguished ; measure, whereby they are
limited ; and hereby it sees in them mode, species, order, as well
as substance, virtue, and action, from which it may arise, as from
footsteps, to understand the power, wisdom, and boundless good-
ness of the Creator.

The second ])oint of view, which is that of faith, considering
this world, attends to its origin, course, and termination. For by
faith we believe that the ages were arranged by the Word of Life ;^

Sirach, xxiv, 2(>. ^ Wisdom, xiii, 5. ^ Heb. xi, 3.

296 The Journal of Speculative PhilosopJw.

by faith we believe that the epochs of tlie three laws — tlie law of
nature, the law of scripture, and the law of grace — succeed each
other and have elapsed in the most perfect order ; by faith we
believe that the world will be terminated by a final judgment. In
the first we observe the power; in the second, the providence; in
the third, the justice of the Supreme Principle.

Tlie third point of view — that of reason — investigating, sees that
some things are only, and some are and live only, whereas some
are, live, and discern ; and that the first are inferior ; the second,
middle; the third, superior. It sees, likewise, that some are only
corporeal, and some partly corporeal, partly spiritual ; whence it
concludes tliat there are some purely spiritual, as better and
w'orthier than either. It sees, moreover, that some are mutable
and corruptible, as terrestrial things ; others mutable and incor-
ruptible, as celestial things; whence it concludes that some are
immutable and incorruptible, as supercelestial things. From
these visible things, therefore, it rises to consider God's power^
wisdom, and goodness, as being, living, and intelligent, as purely
spiritual, incorruptible, and intransmutahle. This consideration,
asrain, is extended accordinii; to the sevenfold condition of created
things, which is the sevenfold witness of the divine power, wisdom,
and goodness, if we consider the origin, magnitude, multitude,
beauty, plenitude, action, and order of all things. For the origin
of things, in respect to creation, distinction, and adornment, as far
as the works of the six days are concerned, proclaims the divine
power, producing all things from nothing; the divine wisdom, a&
clearly distinguishing all things ; the divine goodness, as gener-
ously adorning all things. The magnitude of things — in respect to
the bulk of length, breadth, and depth ; in respect to the excellence
of the power extending itself in length, breadth, and depth, as is
manifest in the diffusion of light ; in respect to the efficacy of
action, intimate, continuous, find diffused, as is manifested in the
action of fire — clearly indicates the immensity of the power, wis-
dom, and goodness of the threefold God, who exists uncircum-
scribed in all created things, through power, presence, and essence.
The multitude of things — in respect to their diversity, general,
special, and individual, in substance, in form or figure, and in effi-
cacy, beyond all human estimation — manifestly involves and dis-
plays the immensity of the three above-named conditions in God.

The 8ouVs Progress in God. 297

Tlie beauty of tlnno;s — in respect to the variety of lij^hts, figures,
and colors, in bodies simple, mixed, and organized, as in the
heavenly bodies and minerals, as in stones and metals, plants and
animals — plainly proclaims the above three things. The pleni-
tude of things — in that matter is full of forms, in respect to seminal
reasons, form is full of virtue as to active power, and virtue is full
of effects as to ethciency — manifestly declares this same thing.
Action, manifold, according as it is natural, artificial, or moral, by
its most manifold variety, shows the immensity of that power, art,
and o-oodness which indeed is to all thino-s the cause of beino-, the
ground of understanding, and the order of living. Order, in re-
spect to the ratio of duration, situation, and influence — that is, to
sooner or later, higher or lower, nobler or baser — in the book of
creation, clearly manifests the primacy, snblimity, and divinity of
the First Principle in regard to infinity of power, while the order
of the divine laws, precepts, and judgments, in the book of Script-
ure, manifests the immensity of his wisdom ; and the order of the
divine sacraments, benefits, and retributions in the body of the
Church manifests the immensity of his goodness, so that order itself
most evidently leads us by the hand to that which is first and high-
est, mightiest, and wisest and best. He, therefore, who is not en-
lightened by all these splendors of created things is blind ; he who
is not waked by such callings is deaf ; he who from all these effects
does not praise God is dumb ; he who after such intimation does
not observe the First Principle is foolish.

Open, therefore, thine eyes; draw near thy spiritual ears; un-
seal thy lips, and apply thy heart, that in all created things thou
mayest see, hear, praise, love, magnify, and honor God, lest, per-
ad venture, the universal frame of things should rise up against
thee. Yea, for this the universe will fight against them that
are without senses, whereas to them that have senses it will be a
matter of glory, who can say with the Prophet : " Thou, Lord,
hast made me glad through thy work; I will triumph in the
works of thy hands." ^ "O Lord, how manifold are thy works!
In wisdom hast thou made them all. The earth is full of thy
riches." '^

' Psalms, xcii, 4. * Psalms, civ, 24.

298 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Chaiter II.

ON THE BEHOLDING OF OOD IN lIIS FOOTSTEPS IN THIS SENSIBLE

WORLD.

But since, as regards the mirror of sensible things, we may con-
teniphite God, not only through them, as through footprints, but
also in them, in so far as he is in them by essence, power, and
presence, and this consideration is loftier than the preceding;
wherefore this kind of consideration occupies the second place, as
the second grade of contemplation, whereby we must be guided
to the contemplation of God in all created things, which enter our
minds through the bodily senses.

We must observe, therefore, that this sensible world, which is
called the macrocosm — that is, the long world — enters into our soul,
which is called the microcosm — that is, the little world — throuirli the
gates of the five senses, as regards the apprehension, delectation,
and distinction of these sensible things ; which is manifest in this
way : In the sensible world some things are generant, others are
generated, and others direct both these. Generant are the simple
bodies; that is, the celestial bodies and the four elements. For
out of the elements, through the power of light, reconciling the
contrariety of elements in things mixed, are generated and pro-
duced whatever things are generated and produced by the opera-
tion of natural power. Generated are the bodies composed of
the elements, as minerals, vegetables, sensible things, and human
bodies. Directing both these and those are the s])iritual sub-
stances, whether altogether conjunct, like the souls of the brutes,
or separably conjunct, like rational souls, or altogether separate,
like the celestial spirits, which the ])hilosophers call Intelligences,
we Angels. On tliese, according to the p}iilosopliei*s, it devolves
to move the heavenly bodies, and for this reason the administra-
tion of the universe is ascribed to them, as receiving from the First
Cause — that is, God — that inflow of virtue which they pour forth
again in relation to the work of government, which has reference
to the natural consistence of things. But, according to the theo-
logians, the direction of the universe is ascribed to these same
beings, as regards the works of redemption, with respect to which

The SouVs Progress in God. 299

they are called " ministering spirits sent forth to do service for the
sake of them that shall inherit salvation." ^

Man, therefore, who is called the lesser world, has five senses,
like five gates, through which the knowledge of all the things that
are in the sensible world enters into his soul. For throusi^h sight
there enter the sublime and luminous bodies and all other colored
tilings ; through touch, solid and terrestrial bodies ; through the
three intermediate senses, the intermediate bodies; through taste,
the aqueous; through hearing, the aerial; through smell, the
vaporable, which have something of the humid, something of the
aerial, and something of the fiery or hot, as is clear from the
fumes that are liberated from spices. There enter, therefore,
through these doors not only the simple bodies, but also the mixed
bodies compounded of these. Seeing, then, that with sense we
perceive not only these particular sensibles — light, sound, odor,
savor, and the four primary qualities which touch apprehends — but
also the common sensibles — number, magnitude, figure, rest, and
motion ; and seeing that everything which moves is moved by
something else, and certain things move and rest of themselves, as
do the animals, in apprehending through these five senses the mo-
tions of bodies, we are guided to the knowledge of spiritual mo-
tions, as by an effect to the knowledge of causes.

In the three classes of things, therefore, tiie whole of this sen-
sible world enters the human soul through apprehension. These
external sensible things are those which first enter into the soul
through the gates of the five senses. They enter, I say, not
through their substances, but through their similitudes, generated
first in the medium, and from the medium in the external organ,
and from the external oro;an in the internal oro;an, and from this
in the apprehensive power; and thus generation in the medium,
and from the medium in the organ, and the direction of the appre-
hensive power upon it, produce the apprehension of all those
things which the soul apprehends externally.

This apprehension, if it is directed to a proper object, is followed
by delight. The sense delights in the object perceived through its
abstract similitude, either by reason of its beauty, as in vision, or
by reason of its sweetness, as in smell and hearing, or by reason

' Heb. i, 14.

300 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of its liealthfulness, as in taste and touch, properly speaking. But
all (leli<i::lit is bv reason of pro])ortion. But since species is the
ground of form, power, and action, according as it has reference
to the principle from which it emanates, the medium into which
it passes, or the term upon which it acts, therefore proportion is
observed in three tilings : It is observed in similitude, inasmuch
as it forms the ground of species or form, and so is called speci-
osity, because beauty is nothing but numerical equality, or a cer-
tain disposition of parts accompanieJ with sweetness of color. It
is observed in so far as it forms the ground of power or virtue, and
thus is called sweetness, wlien the active virtue does not dispro-
portionally exceed the recipient virtue, because thQ sense is de-
pressed by extremes and delighted by means. It is observed in so
far as it forms the ground of efficacy and impression, which is pro-
portional when the agent, in impressing, satisfies the need of the
patient, and this is to preserve and nourish it, as appears chiefly
in taste and touch. And thus we see how, by pleasure, external
delightful things enter through similitude into the soul, according
to the threefoUl method of delectation.

After this apprehension and delight there comes discernment,
by which we not only discern whether this thing be white or black
(because this alone belongs to the outer sense), and whether this
thing be wholesome or hurtful (because this belongs to the inner
sense), but also discern wh}^ this delights and give a reason there-
for. And in this act we inquire into the reason of the delight
which is derived by the sense from the object. This happens when
we inquire into the reason of the beautiful, the sweet, and the
wholesome, and discover that it is a proportion of equality. But
a ratio of equality is the same in great things and in small. It is
not extended by dimensions; it does not enter into succession, or
pass with i>assing things ; it is not altered by motions. It ab-
stracts, therefore, from place, time, and motion, and for this reason
it is immutable, uncircumscribable, interminable, and altogether
spiritual. DiscL^-nment, then, is an action which, by purifying
and abstracting, makes the sensible species, sensil)Iy received
through the senses, enter into the intellective power. And thus
the whole of this world enters into the human soul by the gates ot
the five senses, according to the three aforesaid activities.

All these things are footprints, in which we may behold our

The SouVs Progress in God. 301

God. For, since an ai)prehendecl species is a similitude generated
in a mediiun and then impressed upon the organ, and through that
impression leads to the knowledge of its principle — that is, of its
object — it manifestly implies that that eternal light generates from
itself a similitude, or splendor, coequal, consubstantial, and coeter-
nal, and that He who is the image and similitude of the invisible
God, and the splendor of the glory, and the figure of the substance
wdiich is everywhere, generates, by his first generation of himself,
his own similitude, in the form of an object in the entire medium,
unites himself, by the grace of union, to the individual of rational
nature, as a species to a bodily organ, so that by this union lie
may lead us back to the Father as the fontal principle and object.
If, therefore, all cognizable things generate species of themselves,
they clearly proclaim that in them, as in mirrors, may be seen the
eternal generation of the Word, the Image, and the Son, eternally
emanating from God the Father.

According to this mode, the pleasing species — as specious, sweet,
and wholesome — implies that the first speciosity, sweetness, and
wholesomeness are in that first species in which are the highest
proi^ortionality and equality to the Generant Principle ; in which
is virtue gliding into the apprehension, not through phantasms,
but through truth ; and in which is an impression, saving, suffi-
cient, and expelling all want on the part of the a|)])rehen(ler. If,
then, delight is the conjunction of the suitable with the suitable,
and only the similitude of God ibrms the ground of that which is
supremely specious, sweet, and wholesome, and is united accord-
ing to truth, to inwardness, and to fulness tilling all capacity, we
may see clearly that in God alone is fontal and true delight, and
that we are led to seek this by all delights.

But, by a still more excellent and more immediate mode, dis-
cernment leads us to a surer beholding of eternal truth. For, if
discernment is conducted by reason abstracting from place, time,
and mutability, and hence from dimension, succession, and trans-
mutation, l)y reason immutable, uncircumscribable, and intermin-
able — and there is nothing at all immutable, uncircumscribable,
and interminable save the eternal — and all tlie eternal is either God
or in God ; if, therefore, w^e discern by this sort of reason whatever
we discern with clearness, it is plain that He is the reason of all
things, the infallible rule, and the light of truth, in which all

302 The Journal of ISpeculative Philosophy.

things are reflected intulliblv, iiuloliblv, iiulubitably, i rret'nigabl_y%
iiKlijudicablv, uiichangeablj, nneontinably, interniinal)ly, indivisi-
bly, and intellectually. And, therefore, those laws whereby we
judge with certainty concerning all the sensible things which come
under our consideration being infallible and indubitable to the
intellect of the apprehender, indelible from the memory of the
recollector, as being always present, irrefragable, and indijudica-
ble to the intellect of the judger, because, as Augustine says, no
one judges concerning them, but oidy through them, they must
needs be unchangeable and incorruptible, as being necessary ; un-
continable, as being uncircumscribed ; interminable, as being eter-
nal ; and hence indivisible, as being intellectual and incorporeal ;
not made, but increate ; existing eternally in the eternal art, from
which, through which, and according to which all specious or
beautiful things are formed. And, therefore, they cannot with cer-
tainty be judged except by that which was not only the form pro-
ducing all things, but also the form preserving and distinguishing
all things, inasmuch as it is being, which in all things is form,
directive rule, and that wherebv our minds distinguish all those
things that enter them through the senses.

But this speculation is extended according to the consideration
of the seven dift'erences of the numbers bv which, as bv seven
steps, we ascend to God, as Augustine shows in his work " On
True Religion" and in the sixth book of his treatise on "Music,"
wherein he Axes the differences of the numbers that gradually
ascend from these sensible things to the artificer of all, so that
God is seen in all things. He says that there are numbers in
bodies, and especially in sounds and voices, and these he calls-
sonant immbers ; that there are numbers abstracted from these
and received into our senses, and these he calls oceursors ; that
there are numbers proceeding from the soul into the body, as is
shown in gestures and dances, and these he calls progressors ; that
there are numbers in the delights of the senses and in the turning
of the intention to the received species, and these he calls sensual
numbers; that there are numbers retained in the memory, and
these he calls memorial numbers; and, Anally, that there are num-
bers by which we judge concerning all these things, and these he
calls judicial numbers. These, as has been said, are necessarily
above the mind, as being infallible and indijudicable. By these

The Soul's Progress hi God. 303

are impressed upon our minds the artificial numbers, which Augus-
tine does not enumerate among those grades, because they are
connected with tlie judicial numbers ; and from tliese emanate the
progressors, from which are created the beautiful forms of artifi-
cial things ; so that there is an orderly descent from the highest,
through the medial, to the lowest. To these also let us ascend
from the sonant numbers, througii the occursors, the sensual, and
the memorial.

Since, therefore, all things are beautiful and, in a certain way,
delightful, and since beauty and delight are inseparable from pro-
portion, and proportion is primarily in numbers, all things must of
necessity be full of number. For this reason, immber is the chief
exemplar in the mind of the artificer, and in things the chief foot-
print leading to wisdom. Since this is most manifest to all and
most close to God, it leads as most closely and by seven differences
to God, and makes him known in all things, corporeal and sen-
sible. And, while we apprehend numerical things, we delight
in numerical proportions, and judge irrefragably by the laws of
these.

From these first two steps, whereby we are guided to the be-
holding of God in his footprints, after the manner, as it were, of
the two wings descending about the (seraph's) feet, we may gatiier
that all the created things of this sensible world lead the mind of
the contemplant and wise man to the eternal God, and this for
the reason that of this First Princi]>le, mightiest, wisest, best, of
this eternal origin, light and fulness, of this art efficient, exem-
plant, ordinant, they are shadows, echoes, and pictures, footprints,
images, and spectacles, set before us for the beholding of God, and
signs divinely given. These, I say, are, so to speak, exemplars, or
rather examples, set before minds still rude and sensual, so that,
througii the sensible things which they see, they may be trans-
ported to intelligible things which they do not see, as througii
signs to the things signified. And such created things of this sen-
sible world signify the invisible things of the invisible God, partly
because God is the origin, exemplar, and end of all created things
(and every effect is a sign of its cause, an example of its exemplar,
and a path to the end whereunto it leads), partly througii repre-
sentation proper, partly through prophetic prefiguration, partly
through angelic action, and partly through superadded instruc-

3u4 The Journal of Speculative l*hilosoj)hy.

tioii. For every creature is by nature an etHLiy and similitude
of that eternal Wisdom ; but especially so is that creature which in
the book ot" Scripture was assumed by the spirit of prophecy for
the pretiguratiou of spiritual things; more es[)ecially those creat-
ures in whose effigy Clod was willing to appear for the angelic
ministry; and most especially that creature which he was willing
to set forth as a sign, and which plays the part not only of a sign,
as that word is commonly used, but also of a sacrament. From
all this we gather that " the invisible things of God, since the crea-
tion of the world, are clearly seen, being perceived through the
things that are made,'" so that those who will not observe these
things and recognize, bless, and love God in all these things, are
without excuse, since they will not be transported from darkness
to the wondrous light of God.'~ But, thanks be to God, through
our Lord, Jesus Christ, who has transported us from darkness into
His wondrous light, inastnuch as we are disposed, by these lights
given from without, to re-enter the mirror of our minds, in which
the divine things are reflected.

Chapter 111.

on the beholding of god through his image impressed upon

the natural powers.

But, since the two grades above described, leading us to God
by his footprints, M'hereby he is reflected in all created things,
have guided us to the point where we entered into ourselves — that
is, into our minds, in which the divine image is reflected — we
must now, in the third place, enter into ourselves, and leaving, as
it were, the forecourt outside, endeavor, through a mirror, to see
God in the Holy Place — that is, in the forepart of the Tabernacle
— w^herein, as from a candlestick, the light of truth is i-eflected on
the faces of our minds, in which, indeed, is resplendent the image
of the most blessed Trinity.

Enter, therefore, into thvself and see that thv mind loves itself
most fervently, and could not love itself if it did not know itself,
or know itself if it did not remember itself, siiure we seize noth-
ing through intelligence that is not present in our memory. And
hereby thou j)erceivcst, not with the eye of flesh, but with the ej^e

' Rom. i, 2u< » Rom. i, 21.

The SouVs Progress in God. 305

of reason, that tliy soul has a threefold power. Consider, there-
fore, the operations and habits of these three powers, and tliou
wilt be able to see God throup;h thyself, as through a likeness,
and this is seeing liim througli a glass and in a riddle.'

But the operation of memory is retention and re-presentation,
■not only of things present, corporeal, and temporal, bnt also of
things successive, simple, and sempiternal. For the memory re-
tains past things through recollection, present things through sus-
ception, future things through foresight. It retains also simple
things; for example, the principles of continuous and discreet
quantities, as point, instant, unity, without which it is impossible
to remember or to think the things which have these for their
principles. No less does it retain, as sempiternal and sempiter-
nally, the principles and dignities of the sciences, because it can
never so forget them, while it uses reason, that it will not accept
them and assent to them, as soon as it hears them, and this not as if
it perceived them afresh, but as recognizing them to be innate in it-
self and familiar. This becomes clear as soon as we propose to any
one a choice between affirmation and negation with regard to any-
thing, whether "every whole is greater than its part," or whatever
other dignity, being above contradiction, is admitted by reason.
From the first actual retention, therefore, of temporal things — that
is, of things past, present, and future — it receives an image of
eternity, whose indivisible present extends to all times. From the
second it appears that it must not only be informed from without,
through phantasms, but also from above, by taking up and having
in itself simple forms which cannot enter through the gates of the
senses and the phantasms of sensible things. From the third we
learn that it has present in it an unchangeable light, in which it
remembers the unvarying truths. And thus, through the opera-
tions of the memory, it appears that the mind itself is an image
of God, and a similitude so present to him, and having him so
present to it, that it actually grasps him, is potentially capable of
holding him, and may become a partaker in him.

Again, the operation of the intellective power consists in the
percei)tion of the meaning of terms, propositions, and inferences.
But the intellect seizes the meanings of terms when it compre-

' 1 Cot. xiii, 12.

XXI— 20

306 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Lends, by definition, what any particular tliinf^ is. But a defini-
tion can be made only through higher notions, and these have to
be defined by still higher ones, until we arrive at the highest and
most general, without a knowledge of which the lower ones can-
not be definitely understood. Unless, therefore, we know what
being-in-itself is, we cannot know the definition of any special sub-
stance. But being-in-itself cannot be known unless it is known
along with its conditions, which are unity, truth, and goodness.
But, since being can be thought as diminished and as complete, as
imperfect and as perfect, as potential and as actual, as relative and
as absolute, as partial and as total, as transient and as permanent,
as through another and as through itself, as mixed with non-being
and as pure, as dependent and as absolute, as posterior and as
prior, as mutable and as immutable, as simple and as compound —
since the privations and defects can in no degree be known save
through the positions, our intellect, as being purely analytical,
does not attain an understanding of any created entity, unless it be
aided by the understanding of that being which is altogether pure,
altogether actual, altogether complete and absolute, which is sim-
ply and eternally being, in which are the grounds of all things in
their purity. How, indeed, should our intellect know that this
being is a defective and incomplete being, if it had no knowledge
of that being which is without all defect? And so on of the other
conditions above specified. But our intellect is then said to com-
prehend truly the meaning of propositions when it knows with
certainty that they are true ; and to know this is to know, since it
cannot be deceived in that comprehension ; for it knows that that
truth cannot be otherwise. It knows, therefore, that this truth is
unchangeable. But since our minds are changeable, they cannot see
that truth unchangeably reflected except by some other light which
radiates altogether unchangeably, and this cannot possibly be a
mutable, created thing. It knows, therefore, in that light which
lighteth every man as he cometh into the world. ^ This is the true
li<rht, which in the beffinnino: was with God.'^ Our intellect, then,
truly perceives the meaning of an inference when it sees that the
conclusion necessarily follows from the premises. This it sees
not only in necessary, but also in contingent, terms ; as, for exam-

' John, i, 9. ' John, i, 1.

The SouVs Progress in God. 307

pie, in this: If a man runs, a man moves. Again, he perceives
this necessary habit not only in things that are, but also in things
that are not. For example, the affirmation : If a man runs, a man
moves, is equally true whether a man exist or do not exist. Hence
the necessity of this sort of inference does not come from the ex-
istence of the thing in matter, because that is contingent; nor
from the existence of the thing in the soul, because then it would
be a fiction, if it were not in the thing. It comes, therefore, from
the exemplarity in the eternal art, according to which things have
mutually an aptitude and habit for the representation of that
eternal art. Hence, as Augustine says in his treatise on " The
True Religion," the light of every man who reasons truly is lit
by that truth, and endeavors to arrive at that truth ; from which
it is obvious that our intellect is joined to the eternal truth itself,
inasmuch as it can grasp no truth with certainty except through
its teaching. Thou mayest, therefore, of tiiyself see the truth
which teaches thee, if appetites and phantasms do not prevent
thee and interpose themselves, as clouds, between thee and the ray
of the truth.

The action of the power of choice is observed in counsel, judg-
ment, desire. Counsel consists in inquiring which is better — this
or that. By " better " we mean a[)proaching more closely to
the best. But approach implies greater assimilation. No one,
thei'efore, knows whether this is better than that, unless he knows
that it more closely resembles the best. And no one knows that
one thing inore closely resembles another, unless he knows that
other. For I do not know that this man resembles Peter, unless
I know or am acquainted with Peter. Every one, therefore, who
takes counsel is impressed with the knowledge of the highest good.
But any certain judgment with respect to things about which
counsel can be taken must follow some law. And no one judgea
with certainty according to a law, unless he is certain that that
law is right, and that he must not judge it. But our minds judge
with regard to themselves. Since, then, they may not judge the
law according to which they judge, that law is superior to our
minds, and by this they judge according as it has been impressed
upon them. And notiiing is superior to the human mind save
him alone who made it. Therefore, in judging, our deliberative
power ascends to the divine laws, if it analyze with complete

308 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

analysis. Desire, again, is chieflv directed to that which most
dee})ly moves it. But that moves it most deeply which is most
deeply loved ; and that which is most deeply loved is happiness.
Ao^ain, happiness is not possessed except through the highest and
ultimate end. But human desire craves nothing save the highest
good, or what is co-ordinated with it, or what has some resem-
blance to it. Such is the power of the highest good that nothing
can be loved by the creature save through the desire of that good.
The creature is deceived and errs, when it accepts the semblance
and image for the truth.

Behold, therefore, how near the soul is to God, and how mem-
ory leads to eternity, intelligence to truth, and power of choice to
the highest goodness, according to their operations. Again,
according to the order, origin, and habit of these powers, it leads
up to the Blessed Trinity itself; for from memory arises intelli-
gence, as its offspring ; because then we understand, when a
similitude which is in the memorv, results in clearness of Intel-
lect, which is nothing else than the Word. From memory and
intelligence is breathed forth love, as the bond between the two.
These three — the generant mind, the word, and love-r-are in
the soul as memory, intelligence, and love, which are consubstan-
tial, coequal, and coeval, reciprocally passing in each other. If,
therefore, God is perfect spirit, he has memory, intelHgence, and
will ; he has the begotten Word and the breathed Love. These
are necessarily distinguished, since the one is produced by the
other, not essentially, not accidentally ; therefore, personally.
When, therefore, the mind considers itself, it rises through itself,
as through a mirror, to behold the blessed Trinity of Father,
Word, and Love — three persons coeternal, coequal, and consub-
stantial — so that each of the three is in each of the other two,
whereas one is not the other, but these three are one God.

To this beholding of its own principle, three and one, through
the trinity of its own powers, whereby it is the image of God, the
soul is aided by the lights of the sciences, which perfect and
inform it, and in three ways represent the most blessed Trinity ;
for all Philosophy is either natural, or rational, or moral. The
first treats of the cause of being, and therefore leads to the
Power of the Father; the second, of the ground of understand-
ing, and therefore leads to the Wisdom of the Word ; the third.

The SouVs Progress in God. 309

of the order of living, and tlierefore leads to the Goodness of the
Holy Spirit. Again, tlie first is divided into metaphysics, mathe-
matics, and physics. Of these, the first treats of tlie essences of
things, the second of their numbers and figures, the third of their
natures, powers, and diffusive actions. Hence, the first leads to
tlie First Principle, the Father; the second to his Image, the
Son ; tlie third to the Gift of the Holy Spirit. The second is
divided into grammar, which imparts power of expression ; logic,
which imparts perspicacity in argument; rhetoric, which imparts
skill in persuading or moving ; and these, in like manner, involve
the mystery of the Most Blessed Trinity. The third is divided
into monastics, economics, and politics. The first of these in-
volves the innascibility of the First Principle ; the second, the
familiarity of the Son ; the third, the liberality of the Holy Spirit.
But all these sciences have fixed and infallible rules, as lights and
rays descending from the eternal law into our minds. And thus
our minds, being irradiated and superfused with so many splen-
dors, may, if they be not blind, be led through themselves to the
contemplation of that eternal light. And the irradiation and
consideration of this light lifts up the wise into admiration,
whereas it leads the foolish, who do not believe that they may
understand, into confusion, so that the saying of the Prophet is
fulfilled: "Thou shinest wondrously from the eternal hills: all
the foolish were confounded in their hearts." ^

Chapter IV.

ON THE BEHOLDING OF GOD IN HIS IMAGE, AS REFORMED BY GIFTS

OF GRACE.

But since, not only by passing through ourselves, but also with-
in ourselves, we may behold the First Principle, and this vision is
superior to the preceding, this mode of consideration occupies the
fourth grade of contemplation. Strange it seems, when it has
been shown that God is so near to our minds, that so few are able
to behold the First Principle in themselves. But the reason is
not far to seek. The human mind, distracted by cares, does not
enter into itself through memory ; beclouded with phantasms, it
does not return to itself through intelligence ; allured by appe-

* Psalms, Ixxvi, 5, 6.

310 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tites, it does not revert to itself throu2;h desire for internal sweet-
ness and spiritual joy. Wherefore, being totally prostrate among
these sensible things, it cannot enter in into itself, as into the
image of God.

And since a man must lie in the spot where he falls, unless
some one sets to work and helps him to rise, our souls could not
be perfectly raised from these sensible things to the intuition of
itself, and of eternal truth in itself, had not Truth, taking on
human form in Christ, become a stair for it, repairing the former
stair, which in Adam had been broken down. Hence, however
far a man may be illuminated by the light of nature and acquired
science, he cannot enter into himself, to enjoy himself in the Lord,
save through the mediation of Christ, who says : " I am the door ;
by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and
out and shall find pasture." ^ But we do not approach this door
unless we believe in him, hope for him, love him. If, therefore,
we wish to re-enter to the fruition of truth, as into Paradise, we
must go in through faith, hope, and love toward the mediator be-
tween God and man, Jesus Christ, who is, as it were, the tree of
life in the midst of Paradise.

The image of our mind, therefore, must be clothed with the
three theological virtues, whereby the soul is purified, illuminated,
and perfected, and thus the image is reformed, repaired, and made
suitable for the heavenly Jerusalem, and a part of the Church mili-
tant, which, according to the Apostle, is the offspring of the heav-
enly Jerusalem. For he says: "The Jerusalem that is above is
free, which is our mother." ^ The soul, therefore, that believes in,
liopes for, and loves Jesus Christ, who is the Word of the Father,
incarnate, uncreated, inspired — that is, the way, the truth, and the
life — does three things. In believing, through faith, in Christ as
the uncreated Word, which is the word and glory of the Father,
it recovers spiritual hearing and sight — hearing to receive the say-
ings of Christ, sight to behold the glories of his light. In long-
ing with hope to receive the inspired word, through desire and
affection it recovers its spiritual scent. In embracing with love
the incarnate Word, as deriving delight from it, and in passing over
into it through ecstatic love, it recovers spiritual taste and touch.

' John, X, 9. . « Gal. iv, 26.

The SouVs Progress in Ood. 311

Having recovered these senses, and seeing, hearing, smelling, tast-
ing, and embracing its spouse, it is able to sing, like a bride, the
Song of Songs, which was composed for the exercise of contem-
plation in this fourth grade, which no one comprehends save him
who receives it, because it consists rather of affectional experience
than of rational reflection. For in this grade, having recovered
its interior senses, so as to see that which is supremely beautiful,
to hear that which is supremely harmonious, to smell that which
is supremely odoriferous, to taste that which is supremely sweet,
to apprehend that which is supremely delightful, the mind is dis-
posed to mental ecstasies — that is, through devotion, admiration,
and exultation, according to the three exclamations uttered in
the Song of Songs.^ Of these, the first is uttered through super-
abundance of devotion, whereby the soul becomes like a rod of
smoke from the perfumes of myrrh and frankincense. The second
is uttered through excellence of admiration, whereby the soul be-
comes as the dawn, the moon, and the sun, according to that pro-
cess of illuminations which lift up the soul to consider and admire
its spouse.^ The third takes place through superabundance of ex-
ultation, whereby the soul becomes rich in the joys of the sweetest
delight, resting wholly upon its Beloved.^ Having acquired these
things,'* our spirits become hierarchic to ascend aloft, through
conformity to that supernal Jerusalem into which none enters,
unless it first descend into his heart through grace, as John saw
in his Apocalypse.^ But it descends into the heart when, through
reformation of the image, through the theologic virtues, and
through delights of the spiritual senses and upliftings of ecstasies,
our spirits become hierarchic — that is, purged, illuminated, and
perfected. Thus, likewise, it is marked by the grades of the nine
orders, inasmuch as within it are disposed, in due order, annuncia-
tion, dictation, guidance, ordination, invigoration, command, ac-
ceptance, revelation, uniflcation, which, in their grades, correspond
to the nine orders of the Angels, so that the grades of the three
first named have regard to the nature of the liuman soul ; the
three following grades, to its industry ; the last three to grace.
Possessing these, the soul, when it enters into itself, enters the

1 Song of Songs, iii, 6. '^ Ibid., vi, 9. ^ Ibid., viii, 3.

* Sum. Theol., I, q. cviii, art. 1. ^ Rev. xxi, 27.

312 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

supernal Jerusalem, where, considering the orders of the Angels,
it sees in them God, who, dwelling in them, performs all their
actions. Whence Bernard says to Eugenius that God in the
Seraphim loves as charity ; in the Cherubim knows as truth ; in
the Thrones sits as equity ; in the Dominions rules as majesty ; in
the Principalities guides as principle ; in the Powers preserves
as health ; in the Virtues acts as virtue ; in the Archangels re-
veals as light ; in the Angels assists as piety/ From all these
God is seen as all in all, through contemplation of him in those
minds in which he dwells through gifts of the most abounding
charity.

For this grade of speculation the special and principal aid is
the consideration of Holy Scripture divinely inspired, just as
Philosophy was the chief aid for the preceding grade ; for Holy
Scripture deals chiefly with works of reparation ; whence it treats
mainly of Faith, Hope, and Charity, and most especially ot
Charity. Of this the Apostle says : " The end of the charge is love
out of a pure heart and a good conscience, and faith unfeigned." "^
It is the fulfllment of the law,^ as he likewise says. And our
Saviour himself asserts that all the Law and the Prophets hang
upon his two precepts — that is, on love to God and our neighbor.
These two are implied in the one spouse of the Church, Jesus
Christ, who is at once our neighbor and God ; at once our brother
and Lord ; at once the Word increate and incarnate, our former
and reformer. Alpha and Omega. He is also the supreme hierarch,
purging, illuminating, and perfecting his s))ouse — that is, the
whole Church and every hoi}' soul. Wherefore, of this Hierarch
and this ecclesiastical Hierarchy the whole Scripture treats, by
which we are taught to purge, illuminate, and perfect ourselves ;
and this according to the threefold law laid down in it, the natural
law, the written law, and the law of grace ; or, rather, according
to its threefold principal part — viz., the Mosaic law, purging; the
prophetic revelation, illuminating; and the Gospel teaching, per-
fecting; or, still rather, according to its trij)le spiritual meaning,
the tropologic, which purges to honesty of life; the allegorical,
which illuminates to clearness of understanding; the anagogic,
which perfects through mental ectasies and the sweetest participa-

' "De Consideratione," hk. v, chap. v. ^ 1 Tim. i, 5. ' Rom. xiii, 10.

The SouVs Progress in God, 313

tions in wisdom ; accordiiii; to the three theoloj^ical virtues above-
named, the spiritual senses as reformed, the three ecstasies above
mentioned, and the hierarchical acts of the mind, whereby our
minds revert to interior thinjrs, in them to behold God in the
glories of the saints, and on them to sleep and rest in peace, as
on couches, their spouse adjuring them not to stir, until they
please.^

From these two middle steps, over which we pass to the con-
templation of God within us, as in mirrors of created images, and,
as it were, after the manner of winajs outstretched for flight — wino-A
holding the middle place — we may understand that we are led to
divine things through the natural powers of the rational soul, in
accordance with their operations, habitudes, and scientific habits,
as appears from the third grade. We are led, in the same manner,
through the hierarchic acts of human minds — viz., purgation, il-
lumination, and perfection ; by the hierarchic revelations of the
Holy Scriptures, given to us through the Angels, according to the
saying of the Apostle, that " the law was ordained through angels
by the hand of a mediator " ; ^ and, finally, we are led through the
hierarchies and hierarchic orders, which in our minds have to l)e
disposed after the manner of the heavenly Jerusalem. Our
minds, filled full with all these lights, are inhabited by the divine
Wisdom, like houses of God, being made daughters, spouses,
and friends of God, members, sisters, and co-heirs of Christ the
head, and, likewise, temples of the Holy Spirit, founded by faith,
reared by hope, and dedicated to God by sanctity of mind and
body. All this is accomplished by the perfectly sincere love of
Christ, " shed abroad in our hearts through the Holy Ghost which
was given to us,"^ and without which we cannot know the secret
thinirs of God. For, as no one can know the tilings of a man»
save the spirit of man which is in him, even so the things of God
none knoweth, save the Spirit of God.* Let us, therefore, be
rooted and grounded in love, that we may be strong to apprehend,
with all the saints, what is the length of eternity, the breadth of
liberality, the height of majesty, and the depth of judging wisdom.^

1 Song of Songs, ii, 7. ^ Gal. iii, 19. ^ Rom. v, 5.

■* 1 Cor. ii, 11. 6Eph. iii, 17, 18.

314 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Chapter Y.

on the beholding of the divine unity, through its primary

name, which 18 being.

But, inasmuch as we may contemplate God, not only without
us and within us, but also above us — without us, by his footsteps,
within us, by his imaaje, and above us, by the light which is im-
pressed upon our minds (which is the light of eternal truth, since
tliese minds of ours are formed directly by the truth itself) — those
who are exercised in the first have entered the court in front of
tiie tabernacle ; ^ those who are exercised in the second have entered
the Holy Place; while those who are exercised in the third enter
with the High Priest into the Holy of Holies, where above the ark
are the cherubim of glory, overshadowing the mercy-seat.^ These
we understand to mean two modes or grades of contemplating the
invisible and eternal things of God. One of these relates to the
essential attributes of God ; the other to the special attributes of
the (three) persons. The first mode first and chiefiy fixes our vis-
ion upon Being itself, telling us that That which Is is the first
name of God. The second mode fixes our vision upon The Good
itself, telling us that this is the first name of God. The first looks
specially toward the Old Testament, which chiefly proclaims the
unity of the Divine Essence ; whence it was said to Moses : " I
am that am."^ The second looks to the New Testament, which
determines the plurality of the (divine) persons, baptizing in
the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Where-
fore, our master, Christ, wishing to lift up to the perfection of
the gospel the young man who had observed the law, ascribed to
God chiefly and alone the attribute of goodness. He says: "None
is good save one, even God."* Damascenas, therefore, follow-
ing Moses, says that He who Is is the first name of God ; Dio-
nysius, following Christ, says that The Good is the first name of
God.

Let him, therefore, who desires to contemplate the invisible
tilings of God, as regards unity of essence, first fix his eyes upon
being itself, and see that it is so absolutelv certain in itself that it
cannot be thought not to be; because, being absolutely pure, it

' Exod. xxvii, 9. » Exod. xxv, 8-20. » Exod. iii, 14. "» Mark, x, 18.

The SouVs Progress in God. 315

presents itself in the complete absence of non-beinff, just as naught
presents itself in the complete absence of being. Even, therefore,
as pure naught contains naught of being or of its conditions, so, on
the contrary, being contains naught of non-being, either actually,
or potentially, either according to the real truth, or to our esti-
mate. But since non-being is a privation of being, it enters our
intelligence only through being. Being, on the other hand, does
not enter our intellis:ence through anythino; but itself, because
everything that is understood, is understood either as not-being,
or as being potentially, or as being actually. If, therefore, non-
being can be understood only through being, and potential being
only through actual being, and being designates the pure act of
that which is, it follows that being is what first enters the intel-
lect, and this being it is that is pure act. But this is not particu-
lar being, which is limited being, because it is mixed with poten-
tiality ; nor is it analogous being, because this has least of actuality,
being that which in the smallest degree is. It remains, therefore,
that this being is the divine being.

Strange, therefore, is the blindness of the intellect, which does
not consider that which it first sees, and without which it can know
nothing. But as the eye, when intent upon various differences
of colors, does not see the light whereby it sees all other things,
and if it does see it, does not notice it, so the eye of our mind, be-
ing intent upon these particular and universal things, does not
notice that being which is outside all genus, although it first oc-
curs to the mind, and all things are known through it. Hence, it
most truly appears that as the eye of the bat is related to light, so
the eye of our mind is related to the most manifest things of na-
ture. The reason is that, being accustomed to the darkness of be-
ings, and the phantasm of sensible things, when it sees the light
of the highest being, it seems to see nothing (not understanding
that this darkness is the highest illumination of our minds), just as
when the eye sees pure light, it seems to see nothing.

Behold, therefore, this absolutely pure being, if thou canst, and
it will be plain to thee that it cannot be derived from aught else;
and it is necessarily thought as in every respect first, because it
can neither be from nothing nor from anything else. For what
is through itself, if being be not through itself and from itself ?
It will present itself to thee as altogether free from non-being, and.

316 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

hence, as never beginning, never ending, and, therefore, as eternal.
It will likewise present itself to thee as in no way containing
anything hut being itself, and, hence, as not compounded with
anything, but perfectly simple. It will further present itself as
containing naught of possibility, because every possible in some
way contains somewhat of non-being ; hence, it will a])pear as su-
premely and completely actual. It will present itself as contain-
ing no defectibility, and, hence, as absolutely perfect. Finally,
it will present itself as having no diversity, and, hence, as su-
premely one.

The being, therefore, which is pure being, being simply, and
being absolute is being primary, eternal, superlatively simple,
actual, perfect, and one. And these things are so certain that
the opposite of them cannot be thought by him who understands
being. From one of them, likewise, the rest may be inferred.
For, since being is being simple, it is simply first ; because it is
simply lirst, it is not made by aught else, nor could it be made by
itself; therefore, it is eternal. In like manner, since it is hrst and
eternal, it is not composed of other things ; therefore it is perfectly
simple. Again, since it is first, eternal, and perfectly simple, it
contains no possibility intermingled with its actuality ; therefore
it is perfectly actual. Since it is Urst, eternal, perfectly simple,
and perfectly actual, therefore it is altogether perfect; such a
thing neither lacks aught, nor can aught be added to it. Since it
is lirst, eternal, perfectly sim])le, perfectly actual, and altogether
perfect, therefore it is in the highest degree one ; for that w^hich is
called omnifarious superabundance is so called with respect to all
things. Also, that which is called superabundance simply cannot
possibly belong save to one being. Hence, if God is the name for
being, primary, eternal, altogether simple, altogether actual, alto-
gether perfect, it is impossible that he should be thought not to
be, or not to be one, and no more. " Hear, therefore, O Israel !
the Lord our God is one God." ' If thou beholdest this in pure
simplicity of mind, thou art in some sort suftused with the illu-
mination of the eternal light. But thou hast wherewithal to be
uplifted into admiration ; for being is tirst and last; it is eternal
and altogether present; it is most simple and greatest; it is alto-

' Deut. vi, 4.

The SouVs Progress in God. 317

getlier actual and altogether immutable ; it is altogether perfect
and infinite; it is in the highest degree one, and yet in all modes.
If thou admirest these things with a pure mind, thou art suffused
with a greater light, because thou seest, further, that it is last be-
cause it is first. For, because it is first, it performs all things by
reason of itself, whence it must be the ultimate end, the beginning
and consummation, Alpha and Omega. It is most excellent, be-
cause it is eternal. For, because it is eternal, it is not limited by
another; it does fail from itself; it does not pass from one thing
to another. Therefore, it has neither past nor future, but is solely
present. It is greatest, because it is altogether simple. Because
it is altogether simple in essence, it is greatest in virtue; inasmuch
as virtue is the more nearly infinite, the more it is united. It is
altogether immutable, because it is altogether actual. For, be-
cause it is altogether actual, it is pure act, and, because it is such,
it acquires nothing new, and loses nothing which it has; hence it
cannot be changed. It is infinite, because it is altogether perfect.
For, because it is altogether perfect, nothing better, nobler, or
worthier than it can be thought ; hence, nothing greater. And
every such thing is infinite. It is in all modes, because it is in the
highest degree one. For, because it is in the highest degree one,
it is the universal principle of all multiplicity, and, for the same
reason, it is the universal cause of all things — efiicient, formal, and
final — as likewise the cause of being, the ground of understand-
ing, the order of living. It is, therefore, in all modes, not as the
essence of all things, but as the altogether superexcellent, alto-
gether universal, and altogether sufiicient cause of all essences.
Its virtue, because in the highest degree united in essence, is in
the highest degree infinite and manifold in efficacy.

Turning back, let us say : Because being altogether pure and
absolute — that is, being simply — is first and last, it is the origin and
consummating; end of all thino-s. Because it is eternal and alto-
gether present, it includes and pervades all durations, as if it were
at once their centre and circumference. Because it is altogether
simple and greatest, it is wholly within everything and wholly
without everything ; hence it is an intelligible sphere, whose cen-
tre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere. Because
it is altogether actual and immutable, while remaining motionless,
it imparts motion to the universe. Because it is altogether perfect

318 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

and infinite, it is within evervtliing, without being included ; it is
outside of everything, without being excluded ; it is above every-
thing, without being lifted up; it is below everything, without
being cast down. But because it is in the highest deirree one and
in all modes, it is all things in all things, albeit all things are
many, and it is but one. And it is so, because, through its per-
fectly simple unity, its perfectly serene truth, and its perfectly
sincere goodness, there is in it all virtuosity, all exemplarity, and
all communicability ; whence all things are of it, through it, and
u!ito it.^ And this is true because it is omnipotent, omniscient
and in all modes, to behold which perfectly is to be blest ; as it
was said to Moses : " I will make all ray goodness pass before
thee." 2

Chapter VI.

ON THE BEHOLDING OF THE MOST BLESSED TRINITY IN ITS NAME

WHICH IS GOOD.

After the consideration of essentials, the eye of the intelli-
gence must be raised to the contemplation of the Most Blessed
Trinit}', so that the second Cherub may be set up beside the first.
For, as being is the principle of the vision of essentials and the
name whereby other things are known, so the good is the chief
foundation for the contemplation of emanations. Behold, there-
fore, and observe how the Best — which simply is, than which noth-
ing better can be thought, and which is such that it cannot be
thought not to be, because to be is altogether better than not to be
— is in such a way that it cannot be rightly thought unless it be
thought as three and one ; for by the good is meant that which is
self-dift'usive. Therefore the Supreme Good is supremely self-
diffusive. But the highest diffusion cannot be unless it be actual
and intrinsic, substantial and hypostatic, natural and voluntary,
free and necessary, indeficient and perfect. Unless, therefore, there
were eternally in the Highest Good an actual, consubstantial, and
hypostatic production, as noble as that which produces, in the form
of generation and spiration, so as to produce an eternal principle
eternally acting as co-principle, and which shall be beloved and
beloved in company, that is, begotten and breathed forth — that is,
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — it would in no way be the Highest

Rom. xi, 36. * Exod. xxxiii, 19.

The SouVs Progress in God. 319

Good, because it would not be in the liij^hest degree diffused ; for
temporal diffusion in created things is only as a centre or point in
comparison with the infinity of eternal goodness. Hence no diffu-
sion can be thought greater than this, in which the diffuser com-
municates to another his whole substance and nature. It would
not be the Highest Good, if it could lack reality or intellect. If,
therefore, with thy mind's eye, thou canst behold the purity of
goodness — w^hich is tlie pure act of a principle, in charity loving
with a love that is gratuitous, due, and compounded of grace and
duty ; which is the most complete diffusion, in the manner of nature
and of will ; which is a diffusion after the manner of the Word, in
which all things are said, and after the manner of a gift, in which
all other gifts are given — thou mayest see, through the supreme
eommunicability of the Good, that the Trinity of Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit is necessary. In these, by reason of their supreme good-
ness, there must be the highest eommunicability, and through the
highest communicabilty the highest consubstantiality, and through
the highest consubstantiality the highest configurality, and through
these the highest co-equality, and through this the highest co-eter-
nity, and through all tlie aforesaid the highest co-intimity, where-
by one is necessarily in the other through the highest circuminces-
sion, and one acts along with the other through the omnifarious
indivision of the substance, the virtue, and the action of the Most
Blessed Trinity.

But, when thou contemplatest these things, see thou think not
that thou comprehendest the Incomprehensible ; for thou must
needs still reflect upon these six conditions, and this brings the
eyes of our minds mightily into the amazement of admiration.
For here is the highest eommunicability, along with distinction of
persons ; the highest consubstantiality, along with plurality of hy-
postases ; the highest configurality, along with discreet personali-
ty ; the highest co-equality, along with order ; the highest co-eter-
nity, along with emanation ; the highest co-intimity, along with
emission. Who, at sight of these wondrous things, does not rise
up into admiration ? But all these things we most clearly under-
stand to be in the Blessed Trinity, if we lift up our eyes to the al-
together superexcellent goodness ; for, if there are here the highest
communication and true diffusion, there are here true origin and
true distinction. And, since the whole is communicated, and not

320 The Jonrnal of Speculative Philosopky.

the part, that same wliieh is kept is <2;iven, and given entire.
Therefore the emanating and the producing are both distinguished
by properties and are essentially one. Since, therefore, they are
distinguished by properties, they have properties of persons, plu-
rality of hypostases, emanation of origin, order not of posteriority,
but of origin, and emission, not of lojal change, but of gratuitous
inspiration, by reason of the authority of the producer — an author-
ity which the sender exercises over the sent. But, since they are
one substantially, they must have unity in essence, form, dignity,
eternity, existence, and incircumscribability. When, therefore,
thou considerest these things one by one, thou hast wherewithal to
contemplate the truth. When thou comparest them mutually with
each other, thou hast wherewithal to arise to the highest admira-
tion. And, therefore, that thy mind may arise through admira-
tion to admirable contemplation, these things must be considered
together ; for this is indicated by the Cherubim, which looked at
each other.' Nor is it a thing without mystery that they looked
at each other with their faces turned toward the mercy-seat, that
it may be fulfilled, wliich is spoken by the Lord in John : ^ " This
is eternal life, that they should know thee the only true God, and
him whom thou didst send, even Jesus Christ." For we must ad-
mire God's essential and personal conditions not only in them-
selves, but also in comparison with the superadmirable union of
God and man in the person of Christ.

For, if thou art the one Cherub, contemplating the essential
things of God, and wonderest because the Divine Being is at once
first and last, eternal and most present, most simple and greatest
or uncircumscribed, wholly everywhere and comprehended no-
where, most actual and never moved, most ])erfect, without ex-
cess or defect, and yet immeasurable and infinite without bound,
supremely one and yet omnifarious, as containing all things, as
being all power, all truth, all good — look at the mercy-seat and
behold with wonder that therein the first principle is joined to the
last term — God with man formed on the sixth day — the eternal
joined to teniporal man, born of a virgin in the fulness of time;
the most simple with the most composite; the most actual with
the most passive and dead ; the most perfect and infinite with the

' Exod. xxv, 20. * John, xvii, 3.

The SoiiVs Progress in God. 321

modified ; the absolutely one and omnifarious with the ijidividual
composite and distinct from all others, with man, with Jesus
Christ.

If tliou art the other Cherub, contemplating the special attri-
butes of the (three) persons, and wonderest that communicabih't}''
co-exists with property ; consubstantiality with plurality; contigu-
rality with personality; co-equality with order; eternity with pro-
duction ; co-intimity with emission (for the Son is sent [forth] by
the Father, and the Holy Spirit by both, while, nevertheless, he
is always with them and never departs from them), look at the
mercy-seat and behold with wonder how in Christ personal unity
co-exists witli trinity of substances and duality of natures; omni-
farious agreement with plurality of wills ; compredication of God
and man with plurality of properties; co-adoration with plurality
of nobilities ; co-exaltation above all things with plurality of digni-
ties; condomination with plurality of powers. But in this con-
sideration is the perfection of mental illumination ; the mind, as
on the sixth day, sees man made in the image of God. For, if
image is expressive similitude, when our mind contemplates in
Christ, the Son of God (who is by nature the invisible image of
God) our humanity so wonderfully exalted, so ineffably united, see-
ing at once in one the first and the last, the highest and the lowest,
the circumference and the centre. Alpha and Omega, the cause and
the caused, the Creator and the creature — in a word, the book
written within and without — it has already arrived at a certain
perfect thing, arriving with God at the perfection of its illumina-
tions, in the sixth grade, on the sixth day. And nothing more re-
mains but the day of rest, on which, through mental ecstasy, the
perspicacity of the human mind may rest from all the works
which it has performed.

Chaptek VII.

ON MENTAL AND MYSTIC ECSTASY, WHEREIN REST IS GIVEN TO THE
INTELLECT, THE AFFECTION PASSING WHOLLY OVER, THROUGH
ECSTASY, INTO GOD.

After our mind has passed through these six considerations,
which are like the six steps to the throne of the true Solomon,^

' 1 Kings, X, 19.

XXI— 21

322 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

wliereby there is an accent to peace, wherein the true man of peace
repts in a peacefnl mind, as in an inner Jerusalem ; like the six
wino;s of the Cherub, by which the mind of the true man of con-
templation, full of the enliffhtenment of supernal wisdom, may be
able to rise aloft; like the first six days, in which the mind is ex-
ercised, that finally it may attain to the Sabbath of rest — after our
mind has beheld God outside of itself, l)y his footsteps and in his
footsteps; within itself, through his image and in his image;
above itself, by the similitude of the divine light reflected above as,
and in that light, as far as is possible, according to the stage of
progress and the exercise of our mind, when at last, on the sixth
day, it shall have reached such a point as to behold in the first and
highest princi|)le and in Jesus Christ, the mediator between God
and man, those things the like of which can in no desrree be
found in created things, and which go beyond all perspicacity of
the human intellect, it remains that, beholding these things, it
shall transcend and pass beyond, not only this sensible world, but
also itself; in which transition Christ is the way and the door,
Christ is the stair and the vehicle, as the mercy-seat placed above
the ark of God, and the sacrament hidden from before the as:es.
He who looks at this mercy-seat, gazing with his face fully turned
at Him who hangs on the cross, througii fiiith, hope, and charity,
through devotion, admiration, praise, and jubilation, makes the
passover, that is, the transition, with him, so that through the rod
of the cross he passes over the Red Sea from Egypt into the
desert, where he tastes the hidden manna,^ and rests with Christ
in the tomb, being, as it were, outwardly dead, nevertheless feeling,
as far as is possible in the condition of pilgrimage, what was said
on the cross to the robber who clung to Christ: "This day shalt
thou be with me in Paradise."^ This also was shown to the
Blessed Francis, when, in the ecstasy of contemj^lation on the lofty
mountain (where I thought out these things which are written),
there appeared to him a six-winged Seraph, fastened to a cross, as
I and many others heard from a companion of his, who was with
him at the time Avhen he passed over into God througii ecstasy of
contemplation, and was set forth as an example of perfect con-
tem))lHtion, as formerly he had been of perfect action, like a second
Jacob changed into Israel,^ that through him God might invite all

' Rev. ii, n. ^ Luke, xxiii, 43. * Gen. xxxv, 10.

The SouVs Progress in God, 323

truly spiritual men to this kind of trance and mental ecstasy, more
by example than by word. But in this transition, if it is to be per-
fect, all intellectual operations must be left behind, and the whole
apex of affection transferred and transformed into God. But this
is a mystical and most secret thinj^, which no one knows save him
who receives it; and no one receives it save him who desires it;
and no one desires it save him whom the fire of the Holy Spirit,
sent upon earth by Christ, inflames to the very marrow; and
therefore the Apostle says that this mystical wisdom is revealed
by the Holy Spirit.^ Since, therefore, in this, nature can do
nothing, and industry but little, little heed must be paid to in-
quir}^ and much to unction ; little to language and very much to
internal joy ; little to words and writing and the whole to the
gift of God — that is, to the Holy Spirit ; little to created things
and all to the creative essence, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
while we say with Dionysius to God the Trinity: " Superessential
Trinity and Over-God, better than best overseer of Christian
theosophy, direct us to the more than unknown, the superlucent
and supersublime apex of mystical utterances, where the new and
absolute and inconvertible and unchangeable mysteries of theolo-
gy are hid in the superlucent darkness of occult-teaching science,
which is supersplendent in the perfect, supermanifest gloom, in
which all things are reflected, and which overfills the invisible
intellects with the splendors of the invisible overblest." So
much to God. But to the friend, to whom these thino-s are
written, let us say with the same : Do thou, O friend, pro-
ceeding boldly on the way to mystic visions, abandon the senses
and the operations of the intellect ; abandon things sensible
and things invisible, and all non-being and being; and, as far
as possible, unknowingly restore thyself to the unity of Him
who is above all essence and all science. For in rising, by an
immeasurable and absolute ecstasy of pure mind, above thyself
and all thino-s, thou shalt ascend, abandonino- all thino-s and freed
from all things, to the superessential ray of divine darkness. But
if thou wouldst know how these things are done, ask grace, not
learning; desire, not intellect; the groaning of prayer, not the
diligence of reading; the spouse, not the master; God, not man;

1 1 Cor. ii, 10.

324: The Jour'nal of Speculative Philosophy.

darkness, not clearness; not light, but lire totally inflaming; and
transporting into God by excessive unctions and most ardent
affections. Tliis fire, indeed, is God, and his way is toward Jeru-
salem, and it was kindled by the man Christ, in the fervor of his
most ardent passion — a fervor of which he alone truly partakes
who says : " My soul hath chosen strangling and my bones
death." ' He who chooseth this death may see God, because it is
true beyond doubt: "Man shall not see me and live."^ Let us
die, therefore, and enter into darkness. Let us impose silence on
our anxieties, our appetites, and our imaginings. Let us pass
with Christ crucified from this world to the Father, that when the
Father is shown to us we may say with Philip : " It sufhceth us," *
Let us hear with Paul : '' Mv j'race is sufficient for thee."^ Let
us exult with David, saying: " My flesh and my heart faileth ;
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." ^
" Blessed be the Lord for evermore : and let all the people say :
Amen and Amen."®

XOTES AXD DISCUSSIONS.

RANTS ETHICS: THE CLAVIS TO AN INDEX.

[We print the circular issued by Messrs. F. F. Hansell & Brother, an-
nouncing the publication by them of the great storehouse of ctliical
writing collected by Mr. James Edmunds under the above title. — Editor.]

" The undersigned, booksellers and publishers, 28 and 30 Camp Street, New Orleans,
La., controlling the edition of ' Kant's Ethics,' by Prof. Edmunds, and being de-
sirous of placing this monument of philosophical research before the reading and think-
ing people of this country, respectfully call attention to the following notices from
distinguished representative scholars througliout the United States. Before giving these
notices it may be proper to state that the author labored with great zeal, limited means,
and many discouragements for seventeen years in the undertaking, publishing in detail,
page by page, chapter by chapter, until the work was complete. Rescuing this work

' Job, viii, 1 5. ^ g^od. xxxiii, 22. ^ j^^n, xiv, 8.

* 2 Cor., xii, 9. * Psalms, Ixxiil, 26. ' Psalms, Ixxxix, 52.

Notes and Discussions. 325

from obscurity, and placing it before the intelligence of the country, is the object of thia
circular. The work makes about 900 pages octavo, and is bound in full leather. It
will be mailed to any address on receipt of the price, $5.

"Address "E. F. Hassell & Bito.,

" I'ul)Iishers, New Orleans.

"INTRODUCTORY REMARKS BY THE AUTHOR.

"The Philosophical System of Immancel Kant. — A minute and elaborate exhibit
of the philosophical system of the celebrated German metaphysician, Immanuel Kant,
covering both its theoretical and its practical aspects, occupies about 380 pages of The
Clavis.

" Nine Great Philosophical Systems and Religions of Antiquity are fairly and
adequately represented in The Clavis by literal selections from tlie oriirinal sources.
These extracts fill more than 500 papes of The Clavis, and in the case of each religion
or philosophical system they constitute a complete and sufficient exhibition of doctrine,
which may be separately taken and separately studied without any regard whatever be-
ing paid to its place in The Clavis, or to its relation to the remaining contents of The
Clavi,-^.

" The Philosophical System or the Stoics. — The principles of the stoical philoso-
phy, systematically described and illustrated by the greatest philosopher and statesman
of ancient Rome, Marcus TuUius Cicero, occupies 77 pages of The Clavis.

" The Socratic School. — The most brilliant outcome and most enduring develop-
ment of the Socratic School is represented in The Clavis by 100 pages from tlie hand
of the most perfect philosophical writer of the ancient world, Aristotelesof Stageira.

"Philosophy for Young Beginners. — The most agreeable introduction to the study
of philosophy contained in the literature of any nation is represented in The Clavis by
86 pages from Xenophon's faithful Memorabilia of Socrates.

" The Zoroastrian Religion, which dominated the Persian empire at the period of its
greatest extent and power, is represented in The Clavis by 76 pages from the sacred
scriptures of the Mazdayasnians.

" The Buddhist Religion, alleged to have 340,000,000 of adherents at the present
day, is fully represented in The Clavis by more than 20 pages of the undoubted words
of the master himself.

" The Confucian Religion is fully represented in The Clavis by 33 pages from the
hands of his grandson and others of his immediate disciples, authentically recording the
words of the master himself.

" The Mohammedan Religion is fully exhibited in The Clavis by about 50 pages of
extracts from the Koran.

"The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, edited by Prof. William T. Harri*, says
of The Clavis: 'It is an enormous work of industry and erudition, inspired t)y religious
piety and a profound faith in Kant's ethical views, supplemented by a speculative in-
sight into the identity of all ethical doctrines that the sages, east and west, have
taught. ... No earnest student of Kant can afford to be without this book.' "

■o'

[To this circular are appended communications of a commendatory
character, addressed to the author, by Prof. F.Max MiiUer; Presidents
J. H. Seelye, David J. Hill, Alexander Martin. Joseph F. Tnttle, Joseph
Cummings, Franklin Carter, and W. G. Eliot; from Profs. G. 11. Palmer,
Henry E. Robins, R. L. Dabney, and W. T. Harris,]

326 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

1300K NOTICES.

La REvrK Piiii.osophique de la France et de l'Etranger. Paraissant tous les mois.

Dirig6e Par Th. Kibot. Paris : Germer Balliere et Cie.

"La Hevue Pliilosophique " for February, 1888, contained:

" Moral Responsibility in Dreams," by F. Bouillicr. The psychology of dreams is a
subject much more discussed than formerly, the author states, and the continuance of
the moral nature and our degree of responsibility therefore in dreams is thoughtfully
considered by him. lie holds us more or less responsil)le for the character of our
dreams, since dreaming is the image of life, and believes that the physician of the soul
should study dreams to gain a true knowledge for the proper treatment of his subjects.
" The Annihilaliouof Will," by Th. Ribot. "The Origins of Right in their Integrality,"
by J. Joly.

Books examined are :

"The Role of Earth-worms in the Formation of the Vegetable Earth," French trans-
lation from Chai'les Darwin, with a preface by M. Pcrrier. " The Fundamental Problems
of Logic," by J. IJergmann (Ger.). " Ou the Question of the Reform of Logic," Nicholas
Gote (Russian).

" La Revue Pliilosophique " for March, 1883, contains :

"Personality and Memory in Somnambulism," by Charles Richet. "A Critique on
the Idea of Penalty," by M. Guyau. " As the idea of penalty is one of the principles of
human morals, it is also found at the basis of every religion. There is not one which
does not admit a piovidcnce, and providence is only a kind of distributive justice, which,
after having acted incompletely in this world, takes its revenge in another ; this dis-
tributive justice is what moralists mean by penalty or reward." The author discusses
the penalties of defying moral laws, and logical as well as moral consequences. " Con-
temporary Philosophers," M. Lachelicr.

Books examined are :

Max Miiller's " Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, with an Historical Introduction by L.
Noire " (Eng.). " Treatise on Orthophony," by E. Colombat. " Philosophic elliptique du
Latent Operant," by the Marquis de Scoane (Fr.). "Tlie New Contemporary Realism,"
by Cesca (Ital.).

" La Revue Philosophique " for April, 1883, contains :

"Psychological Articles in Favor of Free-will," by A. Fouillee. " The Metaphysics of
Eudemonism, Pessimism, and the Categorical Imperative," h\ Ch. Secrctan. " Reason-
ing in the Perceptions," by A. Binct. " Perception is the result of a certain effort of
the mind." The nature of this effort is fully discussed by this author, and the part that
the senses have in acting upon the mind, and what is external or simply mechanical in
the impressions upon the senses.

Notes and Discussions :

" On the Artificial Modifications of Character in Somnambulism," by M. Guyau.

Books examined are :

" The True Conscience," by F. Bouillier (Fr.). " M. Littre and Positivism," E. Care
(Fr.). " Essay on Philosophic Poesy in Greece," by G. Breton. " Critical History of the

Book Notices. 327

Pedagogical Theories in Relation with Political and Social Sciences," by P. Siciliani

(Ital.).

"La Revue Philosophique" for May, 1883, contains:

" The ^Esthetic Lite," by Ch. Benard. The author questions whether there is an
{esthetic life as there is a moral, political, religious, economic, or industrial life, and
should it have a serious, moral character with its chief end the moral perfection of man,
the softening and ennobling of his manners, or hidden instruction under attractive forms ?
Then it would have gained nothing as to itself; it is confounded with the moral, political,
scientific, or religious life. For it to really exist it should be considered as a special
organ in the total organism of human life, individual and general. Without l)eing iso-
lated from other organs, it should, according to the laws of organism, have its deter-
mined aim and proper function, and no doubt being linked to other organs, receiving
from and furnishing to them what is necessary, preserve in this mutuality or reciprocity,
its entire liberty and vitality in performing the particular function which it is to fill in
its life total. Such is the theory of Karl Kiistlin, whose work on esthetics M. Benard
regards as one of great importance in Germany. He discusses the work and also the
views of Kant on assthetics.

" Moral Obligation from the Intellectual Standpoint," by Fr. Paulhan. " What we
consider as obligatory now," says the author, " is the realization of an ideal which each
of us possesses more or less consciously, and which is certainly not without analogy with
the instincts which determine the acts of animals. M. Taine's theories on the produc-
tions of works of art that certain conditions of existence determine an ensemble of tend-
encies, and certain sentiments are manifested in individuals which are reproduced in
art and literature and are condensed in an ideal personage who is born in each epoch
and varies and changes with the social state, and in morals as well as literature is to be
found this ideal personage.

" The Contradictions maintained by Descartes," by Fonsegrive. The author ex-
amines the conclusions of various philosophers in regard to Descartes, and finds that
they do not study the text of his writings with sufficient thoughtfulness. He finds that
before knowing God, Descartes did not know what God was, and thus he established a
perfect science on an imperfect science, and this is what he has been accused of and
from which he has defended himself.

Notes and discussions :

" The Logical Origin of the Doctrine of Parmenides."

Books examined are :

" Physiology of the Nerves and Muscles," by Ch. Richet. " On the Moral Intention,"
by Vallier (Fr.). "Aristotle's Psychology," by Wallace (Eng.).

Bibliographical notices.

"La Revue Philosophique" for June, 1883, contains:

" Free-will and the Future Contingency," by A. Fouillee. The author treats this
subject as a problem which he examines theoretically and scientifically, also giving the
views of determinists. " On the Comparison of the Time of Reaction for Different
Sensations," by Beaunis, Professor of Physiology at the Faculty of Medicine at Nancy.
"Studies of Ancient Philosophy: Anaximenes and the Unity of Substance," by P.
Tannery. M. Tannery credits Anaximenes with originality and considerable scientific
exactness, and compares his views with those of other men of his time as to heavenly
bodies, scientific facts, etc. " The Contradictions maintained by Descartes " (concluded),
by Fonsegrive.

328 llie Journal of Speculative PhUosophi/.

General review :

"Several Italian Criminal Writers of the New School," by G. Tarde.

Books exan)ino(l are :

"On tlie Will of Animals," by G. H. Schneider. " On the Will of Men from the
Standpoint of Darwinism," l)y G. H. Schneider. " Uupublislied Correspondence of Con-
dorcct and Turgot," by Ch. Henry. Virginia Champmn.

Piiir.osopHV OF Landscape Painting. William M. Bryant. Published by the Au-
thor, St. Louis, Mo., 1882.

Landscape painting is peculiarly a modern form of art. But few works even dealing
with it in a descriptive fashion — historically, and none at all treating of its philosophy,
are extant. Mr. W. M. Bryant's essay, published in a neat little volume of some three
hundred pages, a few years ago, in St. Louis, is the first monograph on the subject which
we remember to have seen. As a pioneer work in a new field — apart from its real value,
which is great — it deserves attention.

The author first traces the development of the i'lca of landscape painting and of the
conditions necessary to its maturity ; then, after establishing beyond much probability of
question that " the modern scientific view of nature, together with its necessary com-
plement, the scientific view of man, must first have been developed before true landscape
art could exist," proceeds to name " the elements, external and internal, which enter
into works of art of this class ; to indicate the relation of landscajje painting to other
forms of art ; and to define and account for the types into which the jiroducts of this
form of art naturally fall." His analysis completed, he establishes his theory by pre-
senting a brief sketch of the actual historical development of landscape painting.

The method pursued, as the autlior distinctly mforms us (page 140), is that enunciated
by Hegel in his great work on tlie philosophy of art {^^dhefik). The fundamental
classification of the various forms of art, (a) symbolic, {!>) classic, (<•) romantic, is re-
tained and applied to the particular form treated, f-andscape painting, like the other
forms, passes through these various phases and may be said to contaiu them all; still,
through its internality — its power of expressing spirituality — it belongs essentially to the
romantic ; but to the advanced stage of the romantic which, for lack of a better name,
might be called the Human.

The author says (page 45) : " It can scarcely have been a mere accident that the
philosophical systems of Descartes and Spinoza should have been developed contem-
poraneously with the sudden and fairly exuberant inifoMingof landscape painting in the
seventeenth century. The philosophical systems on the one hand and the landscape
painting on the other were but two modes of expressing the new conception of the per-
fect unity and harmony of the world, physical and spiritual — the one mode appealing to
the Reason, the other to the Imagination. The one liegins with spirit and finds that
spirit necessarily includes nature ; the other beguis with nature and finds that nature
leads onward and upward to Spirit, as the only possible solution of the world."

But enough has been said to warrant our concluding, in addition to the excellent
treatment of its own special suliject, the plan which is followed in this little book is so
great a one in itself and is so .systematically and thoroiighly developed that such a work
can not fail to be valuable as an introduction to the philosophy of art in general.

Gertrude Garrigdes.

JjooI's Received. 329

BOOKS RECEIVED.

George Eliot and her Heroines. A Study by Abba Goold Woolson. New York
Harper & Brothers. 1886.

Publications of the Washburn Observatory of the University of Wisconsin. Vol. IV.
Madison, Wis.

A Study of the Parliament of Paris, and the other Pailianients of France. A Thesis
presented to the Faculty of the College of Liberal Arts of the Syracuse University, for
the Attainment of the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, by Jane M. Bancroft, of the
Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. 1884.

The Ruling Principle of Method applied to Education. By Antonio Rosmini Serbati.
Translated by Mrs. William Grey. Boston: D. C. Heath & Co., 1887.

Baldwin : Being Dialogues on Views and Aspirations. By Vernon Lee. Boston :
Roberts Brothers. 1 886.

Scraps of Philosophy. For Skeptics. By " Rudolf," Deist. Knoxville, Tenn. :
published by 3. R. Zuberbuehler, Drawer 26. 1887.

Gladstone on the New " Locksley Hall." (Reprinted from the " Nineteenth Centui-y.")
New York : Brentano Brothers. 1887.

Tanglewood Tales. For Girls and Boys. Being a Second Wonder-Book. By
Nathaniel Hawthorne. Part II. Circe's Palace ; The Pomegranate Seeds ; The Golden
Fleece. Boston and New York : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1887.

The Relation of Evolution to Religious Thought. By Prof. Joseph Le Conte, LL.D.
University of California. San Francisco: C. A. Murdock & Co.

Letters to and from Hegel. Edited by Karl Hegel. In two volumes. Volume I,
containing a portrait of Hegel. Leipzig : Duncker & Hurablot. 1887.

On the Physiology of Exercise. By Edward Mussey Hartwell, Ph. D., M. D., Asso-
ciate in Physical Training in the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. (Reprinted from
the " Boston Medical and Surgical Journal" of March 31, and April 7, 1887.) Boston:
Cupples, Upham & Co., publishers. Old Corner Bookstore, 1887.

The Principles of Morals. Part II (being the body of the work). By Thomas Fow-
ler, D. D. Oxford: at the Clarendon Press. 1887.

The Philosophy of Law. An Exposition of the Fundamental Principles of Jurispru-
dence as the Science of Right. By Inunaiuiel Kant. Translated from the German by
AV. Hastie, B. D. Edinburgh : T. & T. Clark. 1887. New York : Scribncr & Welford.

The Foundations of Ethics. By John Edward Maude, M. A. Edited by William
James, Professor of Philosophy in Harvard College. New York : Henry Holt & Co.
1887.

Outlines of ^Esthetics. Dictated Portions of the Lectures of Hermann Lotze. Trans-
lated and Edited by George T. Ladd, Professor of Philosophy in Yale College. Boston:
Ginn & Co. 1886.

330 The Journal of Speculative PhilosopJiij.

The Conception of the Infinite, and the Solution of the Mathematical Antinomies:
A Study in Psychological Analysis. By George S. Fullerton, A. M., B. D., Adjunct
Professor of Philosophy in the University of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia : J. B. Tiip-
pincott, Co. 1887.

Grammar and Language. An Attempt at the Introduction of Logic into Grammar.
By Ed. L. Starck. Boston : Clarke & Carruth. 1887. Price $2.50. Edition limited
to 600 copies.

Nineteenth Century Sense : The Paradox of Spiritualism. By John Darby. Phila-
delphia : J. B. Lippincott Co. 1887.

A Review of Edmund Gosse's " From Sliakespear to Pope." By Henry E. Shep-
herd, LL. D;, President of the College of Charleston, Charleston, S. C.

The Perfect Way: or the Finding of Christ. By Anna Bonus Kingsfoid and
Edward Maitland. New York: Scribner & Welford. 1887. (Revised and Enlarged
Edition.)

Rules of Conduct, Diary of Adventure, Letters and Farewell Addresses by George
Washington. With Introductions and Notes. Boston and New York : Houghton,
Mifflin & Co. 1887.

The Succession of Forest Trees and Wild Apples. By Henry D. Thoreau. With a
Biographical Sketch by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Boston and New York : Houghton,
Mifflin & Co. 1887.

Economic Essays. By Walter S. Waldie. Philadelphia. 1886.

Henry George and his Land Theories. With an Appendix. By Rev. Jlenry A.
Brann, D. D. (Reprinted from "The Catholic World " for March, 1887.) New York:
The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1887.

The Problem of Municipal Government in the United States. An Address given
before the Historical and Political Science Association of Cornell University, March 16,
1887, by Seth Low. Ithaca, N. Y. : Andrus & Church.

Post-Graduate Course of Lectures. In Abstract. Eighth Year, 1886-7. St. Louis
University, St. Louis, Mo. Series II. Part I.

The Mutual Relations of the Colleges and Academies. A Paper read before the
University Convocation at Albany, July 6, 1886. By Prof. Waterman Thomas Ilewett,
of Cornell L'niversity.

Possible Limitations of the Elective System. II. By G. II. Palmer. (Reprinted
from the " Andover Review " for Jimuary, 1887.)

How to improve our Classical Training. By Prof. Andrew F. West, of Princeton
College.

The Watseka Wonder. By PL W. Stevens. Mary Reynolds, a Case of Double
Consciousness. By Rev. William S. Plummer, D. D.

The Poems of Emerson. C. C. Everett. (Reprinted from the " Andover Review "
for March, 1887.)

The Genesis and Descent of the System of Civil Lnw prevailing in Loui-iiana. An
Address delivered at Tulane University of Louisiana at the Commencement, on Satur-
day, May 15, 1886. By Cliarles "E. Fenner, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of
Louisana. New Orleans: L. Graham & Son. 1887.

Books Received. 331

Thought Transference. A Rdsuine of the Evidence. By Morton Prince, M. D., Phy-
sician for Nervous Diseases, Boston City Hospital. (Reprinted from the " Boston Medi-
cal and Surgical Journal" of February 3, 188*7.) Boston : Cupples, Upham & Co. 1887.

The 01(1 South Historical Work. (Reprinted from " Education,'" December, 1886.)
Boston : Edwin D. Mead. 1887.

Socialism and the Church ; or, Henry George va. Archbishop Coni-ian. By Rev. Willi-
bald llackner. Priest of the Diocese of La Crosse, Wis. New York : The Catholic Pub-
cation Society Co. 1887.

The Golden Legend. By Henry W. Longfellow. With Notes by Samuel Arthur Bent,

A. M. Parts I and H. Boston and New York : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1887.

Outlines of Psychology. Dictated Portions of the Tjectures of Hermann Lotze. Trans-
lated and Edited by George T. Ladd, Professor of Philosophy in Yale College. Boston :
Ginn & Co. 1886.

Outlines of Logic and Encyclopaedia of Philosophy. Dictated Portions of the Lectures
of Hermann Lotze. Translated and Edited by George T. Ladd, Professor of Philosophy
in Yale College. Boston : Ginn & Co. 1887.

I Am That I Am. The Philosophic Basis of the Christian Faith. A Metric d Essay
in Three Parts and Nine Cantos. By E. A. Warriner. Boston : Cupples, Upham &
Co. 1887.

Human Psychology. An Introduction to Philosophy. Being a Brief Treatise on In-
tellect, Feeling, and Will. By E. Janes, A. M. Revised Edition. Oakland, Cal. : W.

B. Hardy. 1885.

Life of Antonio Rosmini Serbati, Founder of the Institute of Charity. Edited by
William Lockhart, Graduate of Oxford, Exeter College. Procurator of the Order in
Rome, Rector of St. Etheldreda's, London. In two volumes. London : Kegan Paul,
Trench & Co. 1886.

Introduction to Psychological Theory. By Borden P. Bowne, Professor of Pliilosophy
in Boston University. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1887.

The Principles of Morals. (Introductory Chapters.) By John Matthias Wilson, B. D.,
and Thomas Fowler, M. A. Oxford. 1886.

Beitrag zur Loesung der Frage uel)er die Bcitragspflicht zur Unterhaltung der Elemen-
tarschulen. Von Dr. Charles De Garmo, aus Normal, Illinois, U. S. A. Jena : Verlag
von Gustav Fischer. 1886.

Destiny ; or, Man's Will-means and Will-ends. A New Critic and Logic. By Arthur
Young. London : Houlston & Sons.

A Plea for the Introduction of Responsible Government and the Representation of
Capital into the United States, as Safeguards against Communism and Disunion. By
Van Buren Denslow, LL. D. Springfield, 111. : John C. Hughes. 1879.

Vortraege herausgegeben vom Deutschen Gesellig-Wissenschaftlichen Verein von
New York. No. 14. Walt Whitman. By Karl Knortz. New York : Hermann Bartsch.
1886.

Festrede zur fuenfhundert jachrigen Jubelfeicr der Ruprecht-Kurls-lIochschule zu
Heidelberg, gehalten in der Ileiliggeistkirche den 4 August, 1886, von Dr. Kuno Fischer.
Heidelberg : Carl Winter. 1886.

332 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

On Small DilTerences of Sensation. By C. S. Peirce and J. Jastrow. A Paper read
before the National Academy of Sciences, October 17, 1884.

Studies of Rhytlini. By Prof. G. Stanley Hall and Joseph Jastrow. (Reprinted from
"Mind," vol. xi, No. 41.)

Yorlesuniien iieber Metaphy.'iik mit besonderer Bezielinng auf Kant, von Dr. Jtdius
Bergmann. Berlin : Ernst Siegfried Mittler & Sohn. 1880.

The Subjection of Hamlet : An Essay toward an Explanation of the Motives of
Thoufibt and Action of Shakespeare's Prince of Denmark. By William Leighton. With
an Introduction by Joseph Crosby, Hon. 51. R. S. L. Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott &
Co. 1882.

Philosophical Realism. By William I. Gill, A. M. Bo.ston : Index Association.
1886.

Photography the Servant of Astronomy. By Edward S. Holden. (Reprinted from
" The Overland Monthly," November, 1886.)

Moneta: A Study. By Patterson Du Bois. Printed for Private Circulation. 1884.

The Consolations of Science, or Contributions from Science to the Hope of Immor-
tality, and Kindred Themes. By Jacob Straub. With an Introduction by Hiram W.
Thomas, D.D. Chicago: The Colegrove Book Co. 1884.

The Preparatory Schools and the Modern Language Equivalent for the Greek. By
Chailes E. Fay. (Reprinted from " Education," vol. v. No. 6, 1885.) Boston, Mass.

Lost Israel found : or, the Promises made to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, all
fulfilled in the Anglo-Saxon Race. Established by History, verified by PropHecy. By
E. P. IngersoU. Topeka : Kansas Publishing House. 1 886.

Ueber Bilder und Gleichnisse bei Kant. Eiu Beitrag zur Wuerdigung des Philosophen,
von Rudolf Eucken.

Die Philosophie als Idcalwissenschaft und System. Zur Eiuleitung in die Philo.-^ophie
von J. Frohschammer, Professor der Philosophie in Muencheu. Mucnchcn : Adolf
Ackermann. 1884.

Grundzuege der Metaphysik, von Dr. Konrad Dieterich. Freiburg und Tuebingen :
J. C. B. Mohr. 1885.

Reasons for dissenting from the Philosophy of M. Comte. By Herbert Spencer.
Loudon and Edinburgh : Williams & Norgate. 1884.

Lectures on the Philosophy of Law, designed mainly as an Introduction to the Study
of International Law. By William Galbraith Miller, M. A., LL. B. London : Charles
Griffin & Co. 1884.

The .Vuthorship of Shakespeare. By Nathaniel Holmes. In two volumes. Boston
and New York: Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. 1886.

Emanuele Kant, per Carlo Cantoni, Professore di Filosofia all' Universita di Pavia.
Volume Terzo. La Filosofia Religiosa, La Crltica del Giudizio, e le Dottrine Minori.
Milaiio: Ulrici lloepli. 1884.

Saggi di Pedagogia. H Probloma dell' Educa/.ione Morale. II Problema dell' Edu-
cazione della Donna. Di N. R. D'Alfonso. Torino, Roma, Milano, Firenze : G. B.
Paravia e C. 1883.

Books Received. 333

An Essay on the Philosophy of Self-Consciousness. Containing an Analysis of Rea-
son and the Rationale of Love. By P. F. Fitzgerald. Cincinnati : R. Clarke & Co.
1883.

Logik, von Dr. Friedrich Harm?. Ans dcm Handschriftliclien Nachlassc des Ver-
fassers. Herausgegeben von Dr. Hcinrieli Wicse. Leipzig: Th. Grieben. 1886.

The Religious Aspect of Philosophy. A Critique of the Bases of Conduct and of
Faith. By Josiah Royce, Ph. D. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1885.

Saint Austin, and his Place in the History of Christian Thought. By W. Cunningham,
B. D. London : C. J. Clay & Sons. 1886.

The Great Poets as Religious Teachers. By John H. Morison. New York : Harper
& Brothers. 1886.

The Story of Religion in England. A Book for Young Folk. By Brooke Herford.
Loudon: The Sunday School Association. 1884.

Ein Beitrag zur Beurteilung Condillacs. Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung der
philosophischen Doctorwuerde, auf der Universitaet zu Jena, von Konrad Burger.
Altenburg : Oskar Bonde. 1885.

Ideal Human Expression : An Essay toward a Rational Study of Audible and Visible
Eloquence. By Josephine Ellery Davis. Boston: J. S. Gushing & Co. 1883.

Culture of the Spiritual Sense. By Brother Azarias, of the Brothers of the Christian
Schools. President of Rock Hill College, Maryland. New York : E. Steiger & Co.
1884.

^neas. A Drama. St. Louis: Charles Gildehaus. 1884.

The Philosophy of a Future State. A Brief Demonstration of the Untenabllity of
Current Speculations. By C. Davis English. Philadelphia : Edward Stern & Co.
1885.

Who and what is God ? Discourses by the Rev. J. Longland. London : Hamilton,.
Adams & Co.

Philosophy and Experience. An Address delivered before the Aristotelian Society,
October 26, 1885. By Shadworth H. Hodgson, President. London: Williams and
Norgate. 1885.

Das Gleichgewicht in der Bewegung. Philosophische Betrachtungen von Christian.
Friedrich Gonne. Dresden: R. v. Zahn & Emil Jaensch. 1882.

An Account of the Progress in Astronomy in the year 1883. By Professor Edward S
Holden. From the Smithsonian Report for 1883. Washington: Government Printing-
Office. 1884.

Spencer's Philosophy and Theism. By Oscar Craig. New York : Anson D. F. Ran-
dolph & Co. (Reprinted from the " Presb}'terian Review," July, 1883.)

The Anatomical and Physiological Basis of the Kinesio-Neuroses of Infancy and
Childhood. By Grace Peckham, M. D. (Reprinted from the " Journal of Nervous and
Mental Disease," vol. xi. No. 3.)

Stages of Faith, or Traces of Divine Mediation in Human Intelligence: A Tract for
Christians on the Transitional Nature of Imperfect Knowledge. By Richard Randolph.
Philadelphia: Central News Company. 18V9.

834: The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Einleitcnde Bomerkunpen zu einer Untersuchung ueber den Wert der Naturphilos6phie
des Epikur. Von Dr. Paul von Gizyckl. Berlin : R. Gaertner. 1884.

The Logic of Religious Belief. By Professor Borden P. Bowne. (From the " Metho-
dist Quarterly Review," October, 1884.)

The Benefits which Society derives from Universities. An Address by D. C. Oilman,
President of Jolms Hopkins University. Baltimore. 1885.

The Gates of the Church ; a Sermon preached in the United Church, in New Haven,
November 22, 1885. Statement of Belief: Read before installing Council called by the
United Church, November 19, 1885, by Rev. T. T. Munger, D. D.

Ueber die Geistesfreiheit vulgo Willensfreiheit. Psychologischer Nachweis von H.
Thoden van Yelzen. Dr. Theol. zu Jena. Leipzig: Fues's Verlag. 1886.

Le Donne dei Vangeli (Frammento). N. D'Alfonso. Firenze. 1881.

Bulletin of the Spelling Reform Association. No. 21. May, 1886.

How to help the Spelling Reform.

La Disrispettabilita {sic) Grammaticale e Morale. Risposta di L. Bombicci ed E.
Caporali. Roma: D. Ripamonti. 1885.

Mind as a Social Factor. By Lester F. Ward. (Reprinted from " Mind : A Quarterly
Journal of Psychology and Philosophy," No. 36.)

The Place of Missionary Literature in the Conversion of the World. A Paper read at
the Annual Meeting of the American Missionary Association. 1883. By Rev. George
M. Boynton.

The Process of Thinking. A Paper read before the St. Louis Society of Pedagogy,
December 19, 1884, by T. H. ^ickroy, A. M., Ph. D.

Psychology. By John Dewey, Ph. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1887.

The Church and the Age. An Exposition of the Catholic Church in View of the
Needs and Aspirations of the Present Age. By Very Rev. L T. Hecker. New York :
Office of the Catholic World. 1887.

Outlines of the Science of Jurisprudence. An Introduction to the Systematic Study
of Law. Translated and Edited from the Juristic Encyclopaedias of Puchta, Fried-
laender, Falck, and Ahrens. By W. Hastie, M. A. New York : Scribner & Welford,
Edinburgh : T. & T. Clark. 1887.

Essays : Selected from the Writings, Literary, Political, and Religious, of Joseph
Mazzini. Republished by the special permission of Madame E. A. Venturi, and Edited,
with an Introduction, by William Clarke. London : Walter Scott. 1887. Camelot
Series. Edited by Ernest Rhys.

Notes on the Early Training of Children. By Mrs. Frank Malleson. Third Edition
Boston : D. C. Heath & Co. 1887.

Types of Ethical Theory. By James Martineau, D. D., LL. D. Vols. I and II. Ox-
ford: At the Clarendon Press. 1885.

American State Constitutions. A Study of their Growth. By Henry Hitchcock,
LL. D. New York and London: G. P. Putnam's Sons. 1887.

La Philosophic Religieuse en Angleterre depuis Locke jusqu'a nos jours. Par Ludo-
vic Carrau. Paris : Ancienne Librairie Germer Bailliere et Cie. Felix Alcan, Editeur.
1888.

Books Received. 335

Poems. By David Atwood Wassou. Boston : Lee & Shepard. 1 888,

Louis de la Forge und seine Stellung ini Occasionalismus. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte
der Philosophic. Von Dr. Ilelnrich Seyfarth. Gotha: Verlag von Emil Behrend.
1887.

The Tail of the Earth; or the Location and Condition of the " Spirit World." By
William Danmar. Published by William Danmar, P. 0. Station E, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Programma : Paradoxa Mathematica. Mensura Speculativa sive Systema Metricum
ejusque Consequentias et Extremitates. Ab Emanuel Hualgren. Warberg : Ex-OiTicina
Typographica J. P. Nyberg. 1887.

Preliminary Report of the Commission appointed by the University of Pennsylvania
to investigate Modern Spiritualism ; in accordance with the request of the late Henry
Seybert. Philadelphia : J. B. Lippiucott Co. 1887.

Protection vsi. Free Trade. The Scientific Validity and Economic Operation of De.
fensive Duties in the L'nited States. By Henry M. Hoyt. New York : D. Appleton &
Co. 1886.

The Logic of Introspection ; or, Method in Mental Science. By Rev. J. B. Went-
worth, D. D. New York : Phillips & Hunt. 1886.

Love and Theology. A Novel. By Celia Pai-ker Woolley. Boston : Ticknor & Co.

1887.

The Waters above the Firmament ; or the Earth's Annular System. By Isaac N.
Vail. Cleveland : Clark & Zangerle.

Kant's Ethics. A Critical Exposition. By Noah Porter. Chicago : S. C. Griggs &
Co. 1886.

Hegel's Philosophy of the State and of History. An Exposition. By George S. Mor-
ris. Chicago : S. C. Griggs & Co. 1887.

Philosophy of Theism. By Borden P. Bowne. New York : Harper & Brothers.
1887.

The Monks before Christ : their Spirit and their History. By John Edgar Johnson.
Boston: A. Williams & Co. 1870.

Agamemnon's Daughter. A Poem by Denton J. Snider. Boston : James R. Osgood
&Co. 1885.

An Epigrammatic Voyage. By Denton J. Snider. Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1886.

Scripture Studies on the Origin and Destiny of Men. By Anne Eugenia Morgan.
Wellesley College. 1887.

Three Americans and Three Englishmen. Lectures read before the Students of Trin-
ity College, Hartford. By Charles F. Johnson, A. M. New York : Thomas Whittaker.
1886.

The Hidden Way across the Threshold; or, the ^Mystery which hath been hidden for
Ages and from Generations. By J. C. Street, A. B. N. Boston: Lee & Shepard. 1887.

Whatever Is, Was. By George A. Young. San Francisco : A. J. Leary. New
York : Legget Brothers. 1887.

Mary Pryor. A Life Story of a Hundred Years Ago. By the Author of " Consecrated
Women," " Faithful Service," etc. Second Edition. Philadelphia : H. Longstreth.

336 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

An American Four in Hand in Britain. By Andrew Carnegie. New York : Charles
Scribner's Sons. 1886.

Transactions of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences and Letters. "Vol. VI. 1881-
'83. Madison, Wis. 1886.

Studies in tlie Pliilosophy of IIi.story and the New Science of Sociology. By J. M.
Long, A. M. Memphis: 8. C. Toof & Co. 1884.

Arbitration and its Relation to Strikes. An Essay read at the National Conference
of Unitarians at Saratoga, September, 1886. By William B. Weeden. Boston : George
H. Ellis. 1887.

Proceedings of the Pacific Coast Liberal Christian Conference held at San Francisco,
November, 1885. San Francisco: C. A. Murdock & Co. 1886.

La Circulation dcs Forces dans les "fitres Animes. Essai de P.sychologie Scientifique
par Ic Docteur Louis Natanson. Paris: Bureau des Deux Revues. 1886.

Pensiero e Linguaggio. Per N. R. D'Alfonso. Torino: Ermanno Loescher. 1887.

Ludwig Uhland. Vortrag von W. H. Rosenstengel. Madison, Wis.

Hegel's Offenbarungsbegriff. Ein Religionsphilosophischer Yersuch. Yon Dr. Jo-
hannes Werner. Leipzig: Druck und Yerlag von Breitkopf & Hartel. 1887.

Wahrheit aus meinem Leben. Yon Carl Ludwig Michelet. Berlin : Nicolai'sche
Yerlags-Buchhandlung. R. Strieker. 1884.

God known by his Works. A Sermon preached by the Rev. Thomas Hill, D. D.
May 15, 1887. Portland, Me. : William M. Marks. 1887.

n Problema Risoluto Saggio per I'Avvocato Vincenzo Amicarelli. Libri Quattro.
Libro Primo ; Parte Prima. Trani : V. Vecchi e C. 1887.

Memoires et Documents Scolaires. Publics parleMus6e P6dagogique. Fascicule No,
20. Paris : Imprimerie Nationale. Hachctte et Cie. Ch. Dclagrave. 1887.

Memoires et Documents Scolaires. Publics par le Mus6e Pedagogique. Fascicule
No. 17. Paris : Librairie Chaix. 1886.

Services in honor of Samuel Joseph May held in the May Memorial Church, Syracuse,
N. Y. On unveiling a monument to his memory upon the anniversary of his birth, Sun-
day, Sept. 12, 1886. Boston : George H. Ellis. 1886.

The Development of Time-Keeping in Greece and Rome. A Paper read before the
Anthropological Society of Washington, April 5, 1887. By Franklin A. Seeley, M. A.
Washington: Judd & Detweiler. 1887.

Ideal Substitutes for God. By James Martineau, D. D., LL. D. American Unitarian
Association. Boston.

H Nostro Ideale nell' Educazione. Prelezione al Corso di Pedagogia nella R. Uni-
versity di Bologna per I'anno scolastico, 1886-'87. Roma : Tip. Delia R. Accademia
dei Lincei. 1887.

Midsummer Night's Dream. An Address delivered by Rev. R. A. Holland, S. T. D.,
at the Commencement of the Academical Department of the University of Louisiana,
June 14, 1884. New Orleans : Garcia & Fauche. 1884.

The Word as God's Presence with Men. An Address by Frank Sewall. Chicago :
Western New-Church Union. 1886.

THE JOURNAL

SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHT

Vol. XXI.] October, 1887. [No. 4.

LEIBNITZ'S CRITIQUE OF LOCKE.

TRANSLATED PROM THE FRENCH BT ALFRED G. LANGLEY.

new essays on human understanding.

Book IL — Ideas.
Chapter I.

Which treats of Ideas in General^ and examines hy the Way
whether the Mind of Man always thinks.

§ 1. Ph. Havincr examined the question of Innate Ideas, let us
consider their nature and their differences. Is it not true that
the Idea is the object of thouo;ht ?

Th. [I admit it, provided that you add that it is an immediate
internal object, and that this object is an expression of the nature
or the qualities of thinp;s. If the idea were the form of the
thouijjht, it would spring- up and cease with the actual thought to
which it corresponds ; but being the object it ma}' exist previous to
and after the thoughts. External sensible objects are only media
because they cannot act immediately upon the soul. God is the
only external immediate object. You may say that the soul also
is its own immediate ititernal object ; but it is this in so far as it
contains ideas, or what corresponds to things. For the soul is a
little world, where distinct ideas are a representation of God, and
where confused ideas are a representation of the universe.]

§ 2. Ph. We who suppose that at the beginning the soul is a
XXI— 22

338 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

tahula rasa, void of all characters and without an idea, ask how
it comes to receive ideas, and by what means it acquires this
prodigious quantity of them ? To that question the reply in a
word is : From experience.

Th. [This tahula rasa of which you speak so much, is in my
opinion only a fiction which Nature does not admit, and which
is based only upon the imperfect notions of philosophers, like
void, atoms, and the repose, absolute or relative, of two parts
of a whole, or like primitive matter which is conceived as with-
out form. Uniform tilings and those wiiich contain no variety
are always only abstractions, like time, space, and the other en-
tities of pure mathematics. There is no body whatever whose
parts are at rest, and there is no substance whatever which has
not what may distinguish it from every other. Human souls dif-
fer, not only from other souls, but moreover among themselves,
although the difference is not at all of the kind called specific.
And, according to the proofs which I believe we have, every sub-
stantial thing, be it soul or body, has its own characteristic rela-
tion to every other ; and the one must always differ from the
other by intrinsic connotations. Not to mention the fact that
those who speak so frequently of this tahula rasa after having
taken away the ideas cannot say what remains, like the scholastic
philosophers, who leave nothing in their primitive matter. You
may perhaps reply that this tahula rasa of the philosophers means
that the soul has by nature and originally only bare faculties.
But faculties without some act, in a word the pure powers of the
school, are also only fictions, which Nature knows not, and whicii
they obtain only by the process of abstraction. For where in the
world will you ever find a faculty whicli shuts itself up in the
power alone and does not besides perform some act ? There is
always a particular disposition to action, and to one action rather
than to another. And besides the disposition there is a tendency
to action, of which tendencies there is always an infinity in
every subject at once; and these tendencies are never without
some purpose. Experience is necessary, I admit, in order that
the soul be determined to such or such thoughts, and in order that
it take notice of the ideas which are in us ; but by what means
can experience and the senses give ideas? Has the soul windows,
does it resemble tablets, is it like wax? It is plain that all who
so regard the soul, represent it as at bottom corporeal. You op-

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 339

pose to me this axiom received by the philosophers, that there is
nothing in the soul which does not come from the senses. But you
must except the soul itself and its affections.

Nihil est in intellectii^ quod nonfuerit in sensu, excipe: nisi
ipse intellectus. Now the soul comprises being, substance, unity,
identity, cause, perception, reason, and a multitude of other no-
tions which the senses cannot give. That sufficiently agrees with
your author of the Essay, who seeks the source of a good part of
ideas in the spirit's reflection upon its own nature.

PA. [I hope, then, that you will agree with this skillful author
that all ideas come through sensation or through reflection^
that is to say, from observations which we make either upon
objects exterior and sensible or upon the inner workings of our
soul.

Th. [In order to avoid a discussion upon what has delayed us
too long, I declare to you in advance, sir, that when you say that
ideas come to us from one or the other of these causes, I under-
stand their actual perception, for I think I have shown that they
are in us before they are perceived so far as they have any dis-
tinct character.

§ 9. Ph. [In the next place let us inquire when we should say
that the soul begins to perceive and actually to think of ideas. I
well know that there is an opinion which states that the soul
always thinks, and that actual thought is as inseparable from the
soul as actual extension is from the body. § 10. But I cannot
conceive that it is any more necessary for the soul always to think
than for the body always to be in motion, perception of ideas be-
ing to the soul what movement is to the body. That appears to
me very reasonable at least, and I would gladly know your view,
sir, thereupon.

Th. You have uttered it, sir. Action is no more connected
with the soul than with the body, a state without thought in the
soul and an absolute rest in the body appear to me equally con-
trary to Nature, and without example in the world. A substance
once in action, will be so always, for all impressions continue and
are merely mingled with otiier new ones. Striking a body you
arouse or determine rather an inflnity of vortices as in a liquid,
for at bottom every solid has a degree of liquidity and every
liquid a degree of solidity, and there are no means of stopping
entirely these internal vortices. Now you can believe that if the

340 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

body is never at rest, the soul, which corresponds to it, will never
be without perception either.]

I*h. But it is, perhaps, a privilege of the author and con?erver
of all things, that beino; infinite in his perfections, he never slum-
bers nor sleeps. This is not granted to any finite being, or at
least not to such a being as is the soul of man.

Th. [It is certain that we slumber and sleep, and that God is
exempt from both. But it does not follow that we have no per-
ception while asleep. The proof rather turns out altogether the
contrary, if you consider it carefully.]

Ph. There is something in us which has the power to think;
[but it does not thereby follow that it is always in action.]

Th. [Real powei-s are never simple possibilities. They have al-
ways tendency and action.

Ph. But this proposition — the soul always thinks — is not self-
evident.

111. I do not say it is. A little attention and reasoning is
necessary to discover it ; the common people perceive it as little
as they do the pressure of the air or the roundness of the earth.]

Ph. I doubt if I thought last night; this is a question of fact,
it must be decided by sensible experiences.

Th. [It has been decided as it has been proved, that there are
imperceptible bodies and invisible movements, although certain
persons treat them as absurd. There are also perceptions little
noticed without number, which are not sufficiently distinguished
to enable one to perceive or remember then), but they become
known through certain consequences.]

Ph. There was a certain author who raised the objection that we
maintain that the soul ceases to exist, because we are not sensible
of its existence during our sleep. But this objection can arise
only from a strange prepossession, for we do not say that there is
no soul in man because we are not sensible of its existence during
our sleep, but only that man cannot think without being aware
of it.

Th. [I have not read the book which contains this objection,
but you would not have been wrong if you had merely raised the
oljjection that it does not follow because the thought is not per-
ceived, that it ceases for that reason ; for otherwise you could as-
sert for the same reason that there is no soul during the time in
which you are not aware of it. And to refute this objection it is

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 341

necessary to point ont in particular the tliought which it is essen-
tial that you be aware of.]

§ 11. Ph. It is not easy to conceive that a thing can think and
not be conscious that it tliinks.

Th. There is, doubtless, the knot of the affair and the difticnlty
which has embarassed scholars. But here are the means of extri-
cating ourselves therefrom. You must consider that we think of
a quantity of things at a time, but we attend only to the thoughts
which are most distinct, and the process cannot go on otherwise,
for if we should attend to all we would have to think attentively
of an infinite number of things at the same time, all of which we
feel and which make an impression upon our senses. I say even
more : there remains sometliing of all our past thoughts, and none
can ever be wholly effaced. Now when we sleep without dream-
ing and when we are stunned by some blow, fall, or other ac-
cident, an infinite number of little confused feelings take form
within us, and death itself can produce no other effect upon the
souls of animals, who ought, doubtless, sooner or later, to acquire
distinct perceptions, for all goes on in an orderly way in Nature.
I admit, however, that in this state of confusion, the soul will
exist without pleasure and without pain, for these are notable
perceptions.

§ 12. Ph. Is it not true that those with whom we have at pres-
ent to do, \i. e., the Cartesians, who believe that the soul always
thinks], grant life to all animals, differing from man, without giv-
ing them a soul which knows and thinks ; and that these same
(Cartesians) find no difficulty in saying that the soul can think
independently of a body ?

Th. [For myself, I am of another opinion, for although I agree
with the Cartesians in their affirmation that the soul thinks
always, I am not agreed with them in the two other points. I
believe that the beasts have imperishable souls and that human
and all other souls are never without some body. I hold also
that God alone, as being an actus jpurus. is wholly exempt there-
from.]

Ph. If yoii had been of the opinion of the Cartesians, I should
have inferred therefrom, that the bodies of Castor or Pollux could
be sometimes with, sometimes without a soul, though being
always alive, and the soul having the ability also to be sometimes
in such a body and sometimes elsewhere, you might suppose that

342 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Castor and Pollux had onlv a sina;le soul, which was active alter-
natelj in the body of these two men sleepinj^ and awake by turns ;
thus it would be two persons as distinct as Castor and Pollux
could be.

Til. I, in my turn, will make you another supposition, which
aj^pears more real. Is it not true that 3'ou must always allow that
after some interval or some great change, you may fall into a
state of general forgetf ulness ? Sleidan (they say), before dying,
forgot all he knew ; and there are many other examples of this sad
event. Suppose that such a man became young again and learned
all anew, will he be another man on that account ? It is not then
memory which, properly speaking, makes the same man. How-
ever, the fiction of a soul which animates ditiferent bodies in turn,
\vithout concerning itself in one of these bodies with that which
happens to it in the other, is one of those fictions contrary to the
nature of things which arise from the imperfect notions of philoso-
phers, as space without body and body without motion, and which
would disappear if it were searched a little deeper ; for you must
know that each soul ])reserves all j)receding impressions, and can-
not divide itself equally in the manner you have just mentioned ;
the future in each substance is perfectly united to the past ; this
is what makes the identity of the individual. Memory, however,
is not necessary, nor even always possible, because of the multi-
tude of present and past impressions which co-operate in our
present thoughts, for I do not believe that there are in man
thoughts of which there is not some eifect at least confused or
some remnant mixed with subsequent thoughts. You can easily
forget things, but you can also remember them long after if you
would recall them as is needful.]

§ 13. Pli. Those who chance to sleep without dreaming can
never be convinced that their thoughts are active.

TJi. [One is feebly conscious in sleep, even when it is dreamless.
The process of waking up likewise shows this, and the easier you
are awakened the more you are conscious of what goes on with-
out, although this consciousness is not always strong enough to
cause you to awake.]

^ 14. Ph. It appears very difficult to conceive that the soul is
thinking at this moment in a sleeping man and the next in one
awake, without remembering its thoughts.

77<. [Not only is that easy to conceive, but also something like

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 343

it is observed every day that you are awake ; for we always have
objects which strike our eyes and ears, and, as a result, the soul is
touched also, without our taking notice of it, because our attention
is bent upon other objects, until this object becomes strong enough
to draw it to itself, by redoubling its action or by some other
means ; it would be like a particular sleep with reference to that
object, and this sleep becomes general when our attention ceases
to regard all objects together. Division of attention, in order to
weaken it, is also a means of putting yourself to sleep.]

Ph. I learned from a man, who in his youth had applied him-
self to study and had a tolerably felicitous memory, that he never
had a dream until he had had the fever, from which he had just
recovered at the time he spoke with me, aged about twenty-iive or
twenty-six years.

Th. [Some one has also spoken to me of a student, more ad-
vanced in years, who never had a dream. But it is not upon
dreams alone that you must base the perpetuity of the soul's per-
ception, since I have shown how, even while asleep, it has some
perception of what goes on without.]

§ 15. Ph. To think frequently and not to recollect your
thought, is to think in a useless manner.

Th. [All injpressions have their eflect, but all effects are not
always perceptible ; when I turn to one side rather than to the
other, it is very often through a series of small impressions which
I do not notice, and which render one movement a little more un-
comfortable than another. All our unpremeditated actions are the
result of a concurrence of little perceptions, and even our customs
and passions, which influence so nmch our decisions, come there-
from ; for these halnts grow little by little, and, consequently,
witliout the little perceptions, we should not arrive at these nota-
ble dispositions. 1 have already remarked that he who would
deny these effects in the sphere of morals, should imitate the badly
taught class who deny insensible corpuscles in physics ; and mean-
while I see that among those who speak of liberty are some who,
taking no notice of these unperceived impressions, capable of in-
clinino; the balance, imagine an entire indifference in moral action,
like that of tlie ass of Buridan equally divided between two
meadows. Concerning this we shall speak more fully later. I
admit that these impressions incline without necessitating action.

Ph. Perhaps we might say that in the case of a man awake

344 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

■\vlio thinks, his body counts for something and that memory is pre-
served by means of marks in the brain, but when he is asleep the
soul thinks apart by itself.

Th. I am very far from saying that, since I believe that there
is always an exact correspondence between the body and the soul,
and since I employ the impressions of the lx>dy which are not per-
ceived, whether awake or asleep, in order to prove that the soul
has in itself similar ones. I maintain even that sometliiiig goes
on in the soul which corresponds to the circulation of the blood
and to all the internal movements of the viscera, which are, how-
ever, never perceived, just as those who live near a water-mill do
not perceive the noise it makes. In fact, if there were impressions
in the body during sleep or waking hours, by which the soul was
not touched or in any wise affected, limits would be given to the
union of the soul and of the body, as if corporeal impressions re-
quired a certain form and size in order for the soul to perceive
them ; which is not at all tenable if the soul is incorporeal, for
there is no relation between an incorporeal substance and such or
such a modification of matter. In a word, it is a great source of
error to believe that there is no perception in the soul besides
those of which it is aware.'

§ 16. Ph. The greater part of the dreams which we remember
are extravagant and incoherent. We should then say that the
soul owes the power of rational thought to the body, or that it re-
tains none of its rational soliloquies.

Th. [The body responds to all the soul's thoughts, rational or
not, and dreams have also their marks in the brain as well as the
thoughts of those who are awake.

§ 17. Ph. Since you are so sure that the soul is always actually
thinkino-, I wish vou would tell me what the ideas are which are
in the child's soul before it is united to the body, or just at the
time of its union, before it has received any idea by means of
sensation.

Th. It is easy to satisfy you by our principles. The soul's per-
ceptions correspond always naturally to the constitution of the
body, and when there are a multitude of movements confused and
little distinguished in the brain, as happens in the case of those

' French is: " guUl n't/ a aucune perception datis Vainc qne cel/es dont elk swapper foit."
Perhaps it would be better to translate " besides those which it perceives," and preserve
the similarity of expression. — Tr.

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke. 345

who have little experience, the sours thoughts (following the order
of the things) would not be more distinct. However, the soul i&
never deprived of the help of sensation, because it always expresses
its body, and this body is always impressed by its surroundings' in
an infinite number of ways, but which often give only a confused
impression.

§ 18. Ph. But there is still another question which the author of
this Essay asks. I very much wish (says he) that those who main-
tain so confidently that the soul of man or (what is the same
thing) man thinks always, would tell me how they know it ?

21i. [I do not know but that more confidence is necessary to
deny that anything goes on in the soul of which we are not con-
scious ; for'' the remarkable thing is that, though destined to be
composed of parts which have no existence, nothing can spring
into being at once, thought as well as motion. In short, it is as if
some one should ask to-day how we know the insensible corpuscles.

§ 19. Ph. I do not remember that those who tell us that the
soul always thinks ever say that man always thinks.

Th. [I think that is because they understand their statement of
the separated soul, and yet they voluntarily admit that man al-
ways thinks during the union. For myself, who have reasons
for holding tliat the soul is never separated from the entire body^
I believe that you can state absolutely that man always does and
will think.]

Ph. To say that the body is extended without having parts, and
that a thing thinks without being conscious that it thinks, are two
assertions which would appear equally unintelligible.

Th. [Pardon me, sir ; I am obliged to tell you that when you
advance the statement that there is nothing in the soul of which
it is not conscious, you beg the question which has already pre-
vailed in all our former discussion, or you have been desirous
to use it to destroy innate ideas and truths. If we agree to this
principle, in addition to the fact that we believe it contrary to

' Gerhardt's text reads : "_/r«/)pe par les ambians (Tune infinite de manieres, mais qui
souve7it ne donnent qu'une impressions confuse^'' (Vol. V., p. 107). Erdmann reads:
'■'■frappe par les mitres, qui ^environment, de une infinite de manures, mail qui souvent
ne font qu'une impression confuse'''' (p. 226, a).

* Book II., Chap. 1., § 18. Th. Erdmann's Ed., p. 226, a, ad med: " Car ce qui est
remarquable doit etre compose de parties, qui ne le sont pas, rieti ne sauroit naitre tout
d^U7i coup, la pensee nonplus que le mouvement,"

346 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

experience and reason, we should surrender without reason to
our feelinfj, wliich, I believe, I have rendered sufhciently intelli-
gible. Hut besides the fact that our opponents, skilful as they
are, have brou«i^ht no proof of that which they urge so often and
80 positively, it is easy to show them the contrary; i. <?., that it
is impossible always to think expressl}' upon all our thoughts '■>
otherwise, the spirit would reflect upon eacli reflection to infinity
without ever being able to pass to a new thought. For example,
in my consciousness of some present feeling, I should always think
that I think, and still think that I think of my thought, and thus
to infinity. But it is very necessary I cease reflecting upon all
these reflections, and that there be [at length some thought which
is allowed to pass without thinking of it; otherwise, you would
dwell always upon the same thing.]

Ph. But would there not be as good ground for maintaining
that a man is always hungry, by saying that he can be hungry
without feeling it ?

Th. There is just the difference; hunger has particular reasons
which do not always exist. However, it is true also that even
when you are hungry you do not think of it every moment ; but
when you do think of it you feel it, for it is a very marked dis-
position ; there is always irritation in the stomach, but it is
necessar}' for it to become very strong to cause hunger. The
same distinction ought always to be made between thoughts in
general and remarkable thoughts. Thus, what appears to put a
ridiculous construction upon our opinion, serves to confirm it.]

§ 23. Ph. One can now ask, AVhen man begins to have ideas
in his thought? And it seems to me that the reply should be,
AVhen he has some sensation.

Th. [I am of the same opinion ; but it is by a principle a little
peculiar, for I believe that we are never without thoughts, and
also never without sensation. I distin<i|;uish only between ideas'
and thoughts; for we always have all pure or distinct ideas inde-
pendently of the senses; but thoughts always correspond to some
sensation.]

§ 25. But the spirit is passive only in the perception of simple
ideas, which are the rudiments or materials of knowledge, while
it is active when it forms complex ideas.

' Erdmann reads: "Je didingue seulemerU entre sensations et pensees" (p. 226. b.) ;
Gerhardt reads : " Je distingue seulement entre les idees et les pensies " (p. 108, mi fin.).

Leibnitz's Critique of Locke, 347

Th. [How can it be that the spirit is passive only with regard
to the perception of all simple ideas, since, according to your own
admission, there are simple ideas whose perception comes from re-
flection, and (how can it be) that the spirit (at least) ' gives itself
also thoughts from reflection, for it is itself who reflects ? Whether
it can refuse these is another question, and doubtless it cannot (re-
fuse them) without some reason, which turns it aside from them,
when some occasion presents them.]

Ph. [It seems that hitherto we have discussed exprqfesso.
Now that we are going to come to the detail of ideas, I hope that
we shall be more agreed, and that we shall differ onlv in some
particulars.]

Th. [I shall be delighted to see scholars adopting those views
which I hold to be true, for they are adapted to improve them
and to show them in a good light,]

Chapter II.
Simjjle Ldeas.

§ 1. Ph. I hope then that you will admit that there are simple
and complex ideas ; thus heat and softness in wax and cold in
ice furnish simple ideas, for the soul has a uniform conception of
them, which is not distinguishable into different ideas.

Th. [I believe that you can affirm that these sense-ideas are sim-
ple in appearance, because, being confused, they do not give the
mind the means of distiuirnishino; their contents. In like manner
distant things appear round, because their angles cannot be dis-
cerned, although some confused impression of them is received.
It is manifest, for example, that green arises from a mixture of
blue and yellow; thus it is possible to believe that the idea of
green is also composed of these two ideas. And yet the idea of
green appears to us as simple as that of blue or that of warmth.
So you are to believe that the ideas of blue and warmth are not
as simple as they appear. I readily consent, however, to treat
these ideas as simple ideas, because at least our apperception does
not divide them, but it is necessary to proceed to their analysis by
means of other experiences and by reason, in proportion as they

' Erdmann reads : " et qu'au moins Vesprit se donne" (p. 226, b., ad Jin) / Gerhardt :
■"e< que Vesprit se donne" (p. 108, ad Jin).

348 21ie Journal of Speculative Philosophy .

can be rendered more intelli2;il)le.' And" it will be seen thereby
that there are perceptions of which we are not conscious. For
the perceptions of ideas simple in appearance are com])osed of
perceptions of parts whose ideas are complex, without the mind's
perceiving it, for these confused ideas appear simple to it.]

Chapter III.
Of Ideas which come to us hy One Sense only.

Ph. Now you can arrange simple ideas according to the means
by which we perceive them, for that is done, 1, by means of one
sense only ; 2, by means of more than one sense ; 3, hy reflection ; or
4, by all the ways' of sensation as well as by reflection. Thus of
those which enter by a single sense which is particularly adapted
to receive them, light and colors enter only by the eyes ; all kinds
of noises, sounds, and tones enter by the ears; the different tastes
by the palate ; and odors by the nose. These organs or nerves
carry them to the brain, and if any one of these organs chance to
be disordered, these sensations cannot be admitted by any artifi-
cial gate. The most considerable qualities belonging to the touch
are cold, heat, and solidity. The otliers consist either in the con-
figuration of the sensible parts, as smooth and rough, or in their
union, as compact, hard, soft, brittle.'*

111. [I quite agree, sir, with what you say, although I may re-
mark that, according to the experience of the late M. Mariotte
concerning the defect of vision with regard to the optic nerve, it
seems to me that the membranes receive the sensation rather than
the nerves, and there is some artificial entrance for the hearing
and the taste, since the teeth and the vertex assist in causing any
sound to be lieard, and that tastes make themselves known to
some extent through the nose, by reason of the connection of these
organs. But all that makes no change in the foundation of things

' Erdmann'rt and Jiicijues's texts of Chap. II end here. — Tr.

' Gephardt's text addc the following: " Et Von voit encor par Id qu'il y a des percep-
tion* dord on ne g'apperfoit point. Car les perceptions des idees simples en apparence sont
componees dm jterreptiom des jxir/ies dont ces idees sont composees, sans que Vesprii s^en ap-
perfoive, car ces idees con/uses luy paroisseni simples.]

^ Locke's expression. Bohn's edition, Vol. I, p. 227. — Tk.

* Locke uses these forms, instead of the more common abstract forms ending in -ncss.
Hence I have used them in the translation. — Tr.

The Spiritual Sense of Daniels ^^Divina Coinmediar 349

as regards the explication of ideas. As for the qualities belong-
ing to tonch, you can say that smoothness or roughness, hardness
or softness, are only moditications of resistance or solidity.]

THE SPIRITUAL SENSE OE DANTE'S "DIYINA COM-

MEDIA."

BY W. T. HARRIS.

PREFACE.

To this essay on the spiritual significance of the " Divina Corn-
media" I prefix a few words, interesting only to the few who
study works of literature for spiritual insight. Such insight is of
very slow growth, and though I cannot be permitted to claim any-
thing more than a very feeble approach to it in the reflections
which I bring forward here, yet I know that the theme dignifies
the writer, and that the circumstances of a struggle to attain a
high object are worthy of mention, even if the success of the
struggle is not great.

My first reading in Dante began as early as 1858, and continued
at intervals for four years, by which time I had completed only
the " Inferno," studying it superficially in the original and using
Carlyle's translation as a sort of dictionary and general guide to
its meaning — perhaps better described in college slang as a " pony "
or " crib." I read also the translations of Wright and Cary of the
" Purgatorio " and " Paradiso" at tliis time.

The poem had attractive poetic passages for me at the time, but
as a vision of the future state of any portion of mankind I could
not accept it. Its horrors repelled me. After this I began to
look for some point of view whence I could see a permanent truth
in the poem. The possibility of an inner meaning that would
reconcile me to the outer form of a work of art I had already
learned in 1861 by studying landscape painting and afterward by
a like study of Beethoven's masterpieces and, more especially, of
Schumann's "Pilgrimage of the Rose" and Mendelssohn's "Song
of Praise."

The " Last Judgment," by Michel Angelo, I had begun to

350 The Journal of Speculative PhUosojyhy.

study as early as 18t«8 in an outline engravin*;, and by 1865 a per-
manent meaning had begun to dawn upon me. I saw that the
picture presented symbolically the present condition of the saints
and sinners, not as they seen) to themselves and others, but as they
are in very truth. It placed them under the form of eternity, to
use the expressive phrase of Spinoza, ^^ Sub specie ceternitatis.^''
At once Dante's " Inferno " also became clear, as having substan-
tially the same meaning. I saw that the great sculptor and painter
had derived his ideas from the poet. The ideas of Thomas Car-
lyle, in his chapter on "Natural Supernaturalism " in the " Sartor
Resartus," seemed to me to offer a parallel thought to the " Last
Judgment." Remove the illusion of time, and thus bring together
the deed and its consequence, and you see it under the form of
eternity. So, too, paint the deed with colors derived from all its
consequences, and you will picture its final or ultimate judg-
ment. This interpretation I wrote out in 1868 and read to a circle
of friends, sometimes called " The St. Louis Art Society," and it
was published in the April number of the " Journal of Specula-
tive Philosophy'' for 1869, under the title ''Michel Angelo's Last
Judgment." I quote below the passage in which I connec.ted the
views of the sculptor and the poet.

It was about this time (1869) that it occurred to me that there
is a threefold view of human deeds. First, there is the deed
taken with the total compass of its effects and consequences — this
is the picture of the " Inferno."

Secondly, there is the evil deed seen in its secondary effects by
way of reaction on the doer — a process of gradual revelation to
the doer that his deed is not salutary either for himself or for
others. The evil doer at first does not see that his being is so
closely connected with the being of society that if he does injury
to his fellows, thinking to derive selfish benefit at the expense of
others, he always works evil to himself sooner or later. He thinks
that his cunninc; is sufficient to secure the good to himself, and
at the same time to avoid the reaction of evil on himself. But
the real process of reaction which comes with time teaches him
the lesson of the impossibility of divorcing the individual doer
from the consequences of his deeds. This secondary process of
reaction is a purifying process in so far as it teaches this lesson to
the evil doer. He cannot escape purification to the extent that he
becomes enlightened by the wisdom of this experience.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante- a ^'���Divina CommediaP 351

If he sees that he has to receive the co)ise(juences of his deeds,
he must needs acquire the habit of considering^ the ultimate effects
of actions ; he will renounce deeds that can end only in pain and
repression of normal growth.

Hence a third aspect of human deeds becomes manifest — the
purified action which emits only such deeds as build up the social
whole affirmatively, and consequently return upon the doer to
bless him continually. The purified human will dwells in the
" Paradiso," while during the process of purification it is in the
" Purgatorio," It is in purgatory so long as it is in the state of
being surprised by the discovery that its selfish deeds invariably
bring their punishment upon the doer, and so long as the individ-
ual still hesitates to renounce utterly and entirely the selfish deed.
This renunciation, of course, takes place when the soul has thor-
oughly accustomed itself to seeing the selfish deed and its conse-
quences in one unity ; then its loveliness has entirely departed.
The taste of a poison may be sweet to the mouth of a child, but
it soon produces painful gripes. The child learns to associate the
sweet taste and the gripes with the mental picture of the poison,
and now the very sight of it becomes loathsome. When tempta-
tion is no longer possible, the child is purified as regards this
danger.

From 1870 to 1880 every year brought me seemingly valuable
thoughts on some part of Dante's great work. I presented these
views in lectures to audiences from time to time. In the summer
and fall of 1883 I made new studies on the whole poem, and gave
a course of ten lectures to a St. Louis audience in 1884 (January
to March). The present paper, which was written in 1886 for the
Concord School of Philosophy, is a summary of the St. Louis
course, with marginal notes added at this time.

In 1886 I came into possession of a copy of Scartazzini's essay,
" Ueber die Congruenz der Slinden in Dante's Holle," and discov-
ered that many of the conjectures as to the relation between sins
and punishments in the " Inferno " which I had set forward in
these lectures were already the property of the Dante public
through that distinguished scholar's paper in the Annual of the
German Dante Society (" Jahrb. d. deutschen Dante Gesellschaft,"
vol. iv, 1877). In this very valuable article Scartazzini frequent-
ly quotes with approval the interpretations of Karl Graul, who
seems to have suggested many happy explanations of the sym-

352 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

holism.' One would wish to see this work of Graiil reproduced
iu Eiiijlish. Meanwhile I expect to publish in the next number
of this Journal the essay of Scartazziui, which lias been trans-
lated by Miss Thekla Hernays, of St. Louis, for the purpose.

Had I met with GrauTs work twentv-five years aijo, when I first
beojan to see the inner menninj^ of the poem, I should have adopted
it as my guide. GrauTs volume bears the imprint of lS-i3 ; but
Scartazzini's essay did not appear until 1877, or after my views
Jiad taken sha])e.

In matters of interj)reting myths and symbols there is so wide
a margin for arbitrary exercise of fancy that it must be regarded
as a strong evidence of the probable truthfulness of a theory when
two entirely independent readers arrive at the same results in de-
tail. At least I have been much strenijthened in mv own views,
and have gained in respect for my own way of studying the poem
on reading the thoughts of the greatest of living Dante scholars
and finding so many coincidences.

^From an Essay on Michel Angelo's " Last Judgment " in the "Journal of Speculative

Philosophy" for April, 1869.)

"Michel Angelo passes by all subordinate scenes and seizes at
once the supreme moment of all Sistory — of the very world itself
and all that it contains. This is the vastest attem])t that the
Artist can make, and is the same that Dante has ventured in the
^ Divina Commedia.'

" In Religion we seize the absolute truth as a process going on
in Time: the deeds of humanity are judged 'after the end of the
world.' After death Dives goes to torments, and Lazarus to the
realm of the blest.

" The immense significance of the Christian idea of Hell as com-
pared with the Hades of (rreek and lioman Mythology we cannot
dwell upon. This idea has changed the hearts of mankind. That
man by will determines his destiny, and that ''between right and
wrong doing there is a difference eternally fixed " — this dogma has

' In the " Harvard University Bulletin," " Biopraphioal Contributions, Edited by Jus-
tin Win<l:=or, No. 7, tiie Dante Collections in Harvard College and Boston Public Libra-
ries, Part I, by William Coolidgc Lane, 1885," I find the work of (iraul named under
No. 208 : " Gottliche Komoedie in's Deutsche uebertragen, und historisch, aesthetisch
und vornehmlich theologisch erlautert von Karl Graul. Leipzig, 1843." Only the "In-
ferno " published.

The Spivitucd Sense of Dante's ^^Divina CommediaP 35Jf

tamed the fierce barharian blood of Europe and is the producer of
what we have of civilizsition and freedom in the present tin)e.
In the so-called heathen civilizations there is a substratum of fate
presupposed under all individual character which ]>revents the
complete return of the consequences of individual acts upon their
author. Thus the citizen was not made completely universal by
the laws of the state as in modern times. The Christian doctrine
of Hell is the first appearance in a conceptive form of this deep-
est of all comprehensions of Personality; and out of it have
grown our modern humanitarian doctrines, however paradoxical
this may seem.

" En this supreme moment all worldly distinctions fall away, and
the naked soul stands before Eternity with nauij;ht save the pure
essence of its deeds to rely upon. K\\ souls are equal before God
so far as mere worldly eminence is concerned. Their inequality
rests solely upon the degree that they have realized the Eternal
•will by their own choice.

"• But this dogma as it is held in the Christian Religion is not
merely a dogma ; it is the deepest of speculative truths. As such
it is seized by Dante and Michel Angelo, and in this universal
form everv one must recoo-nize it if he would free it from all nar-
rowness and sectarianism. The point of view is this: The whole
world is seized at once under the form of Eternity ; all things are
reduced to their lowest terms. Everv deed is seen throu<rh the
perspective of its own consequences. Hence every human being
under the influence of any one of the deadly sins — Anger, Lust,
Avarice, Intemperance, Pride, Envy, and Indolence — is being-
dragged down into the Inferno just as Michel Angelo has depicted.
On the other hand, any one who practises the cardinal virtues —
Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Fortitude — is elevating him-
self toward celestial clearness.

" If any one will study Dante carefully he will find that the
punishments of the ' Inferno ' are emblematical of the very states
of mind one experiences when under the influence of the passions
there punished.

"To find the punishment for any given sin, Dante looks at the
state of mind which it causes in the sinner, and gives it its appro,
priate emblem.

" The angry and sullen are plunged underneath deep putrid
mud, thus corresponding to the state of mind produced by anger.
XXI— 23

354: The Journal of Speculative Philosojjluj.

It" Me try to nnderstand a profound truth, or to <ijet into a spirit-
ual i'ranie of mind, when terril)ly enrap;ed, we shall see ourselves
in putrid mud, and hreathiui^ its thick, suffocating exhalations.
So, too, those who yield to the lusts of the flesh are blown abimt
in thick darkness bv violent winds. The avaricious carry heavy
weights; the intemperate suffer the eternal rain of foul water,
hail, and snow (dropsy, dyspepsia, delirium tremens, gout, apo-
plexy, etc.).

" So Michel Angelo in this picture has seized things in their
essential nature : he has pierced through the shadows of time, and
exhibited to us at one view the world of humanity as it is in the
sight of God, or as it is in its ultimate analysis. Mortals are there,
not as they seem to themselves or to their companions, but as they
are when measured by the absolute standard — the final destiny of
spirit. This must recommend the work to all men of all times,
whether one holds to this or that theological creed, for it is the
Last Judgment in the sense that it is the ultimate or absolute esti-
mate to be pronounced upon each deed, and the question of the
eternal punishment of any individual is not necessaril}' brought
into account. Everlasting punishment is the true state of all who
persist in the commission of those sins. The sins are indissolubly
bound up in pain. Through all time anger shall bring with it the
' putrid-mud ' condition of the soul ; the indidgence of lustful pas-
sions, the stormy temj)est and spiritual night; intemperance, the
pitiless rain of hail ami snow and foul water. The wicked sinner
— so far forth and so long as he is a sinner — shall be tormented
forever, for we are now and always in Eternity. ' Every one
of us,' as Carlyle says, ' is a Ghost. Sweep away the Illusion of
Time ; glance from the near moving cause to its far-distant mover ;
com])ress the threescore years into three minutes — are we not spir-
its that are shaped into a body, into an A])pearance, and that fade
away again into air and invisibility!' We start out of Nothing-
ness, take figure, and are apparitions ; ■round us, as 'round the
veriest spectre, is Eternity; and to Eternity minutes are as years
and seons.'

" Thus by the Divine Purpose of the Universe — by the Abso-
lute — every deed is seen in its true light, in the entire compass of
its effects. Just as we strive in our hunum laws to establish jus-
tice by turning back upon the criminal the effects of I'lis deeds, so,
in fact, when placed 'under the form of Eternity,' all deeds do

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '■^Divina Commedia.'''' 355

return to tlie doer; and this is the final adjustment, the 'end of
all tliinfjs' — it is the Last Judgment, And this judgment is now
and is always the only actual Fact in the world."

(From an article on " The Relation of Religion to Art," " Journal of Speculative

Philosophy," April, 1876.)

" This first great Christian poem (Dante's ' Divina Com-
media ') is regarded by Schelling as the archetype of all Christian
poetry. . . . The poem embodies the Catholic view of life, and
for this reason is all the more wholesome for study by modern
Protestants. The threefold future world — Inferno, Purgatorio,
Paradiso — presents us the exhaustive picture of man's relation to
his deeds. The Protestant 'hereafter' omits the purgatory but in-
cludes the Inferno and Paradiso. What has become of this miss-
ing link in modern Protestant Art? we may inquire, and our in-
quiry is a pertinent one, for there is no subject connected with
the relation of Religion to Art which is so fertile in suggestive
insights to the investigator. . . .

"One must reduce life to its lowest terms, and drop away all
consideration of its adventitious surroundings. The deeds of man
in their threefold aspect are judged in this ' mystic, unfathomable
poem.' The great fact of human responsibility is the key-note.
Whatever man does he does to himself. If he does violence, he
injures himself. If he works righteousness, he creates a paradise
for himself.

"Now, a deed has two aspects: First, its immediate relation
to the doer. The mental atmosphere in which one does a deed is
of first consideration. If a wrong or wicked deed, then is the at-
mosphere of the criminal close and stifling to the doer. The
angry man is rolling about suffocating in putrid mud. The incon-
tinent is driven about by violent winds of passion. Whatever
deed a man shall do must be seen in the entire perspective of its
effects to exhibit its relation to the doer. The Inferno is filled
with those whose acts and habits of life surround them with an at-
mosphere of torture.

"One does not predict that such punishment of each individual
is eternal ; but one thing is certain : that with the sins there pun-
ished, there is such special torture eternally connected. . . .

"Wherever the sin shall be, there sliall be connected with it the

356 The Journal of Speculative PJdlosophy.

atmosj)liere of the Inferno, which is its punishment. The doer of
the sinful deed ])hinj:^es into the Inferno on its commission.

"But Dante wrote the ' Pur<;atorio,' and in this portrays tlie
secondary effect of sin. The inevitable punishment bound up
with sin burns witli i>urifvin<>; flames each sinner. The iiimiediate
el^ect of the deed is the Inferno, but the secondary effect is purifi-
cation. Strugglini; up the steep side of purgatory mider their
]>ainfal burdens go sinners punished for iucontinence — lust, glut-
tony, avarice, anger, and other sins that find their place of punish-
ment also in the Inferno.

"Each evil doer shall plunge into the Inferno, and shall scorch
over the flames of his own deeds until he repents and struggles up
the mountain of i)urgatorv.

"In the 'Paradiso' we have doers of those deeds, which, lieing
thoroughly positive in their nature, do not come back as punish-
ment upon their authors.

"The correspondence of sin and ]mnishment is noteworthy.
Even our jurisprudence discovers a similar adaptation. If one
steals and deprives his neighbor of property, we manage by our
laws to make his deed glide oft* from society and come backon the
criminal, and thus he steals his own freedom and gets a cell in
jail. If a murderer takes life, his deed is brought back to him,
and he takes his own.

" The dei)tli of Dante's insight discovers to him all human life
stripped of its wrappings, and 'every deed coming straight back
upon the doer, inevitably flxing his place in the scale of happiness
and misery. It is not so much a ' last judgment ' of individual
men as it is of deeds in the abstract, for the brave man w'ho sac-
rifices his life for another dv.'ells in paradise so far as he contem-
plates his participation in that deed, but writhes in the Inferno in
so far as he has allowed himself to slip, through some act of in-
continence.

"If we return now to our (piestion, AVhat has become of the
])urgatory in modern literature ? a glance will show us that the
fundamental idea of Dante's purgatory has formed the chief
thought of Protestant, 'humanitarian,' works of art.

"The thought that the sinful and wretched live a life of reac-
tion ajjainst the eflects of their deeds is the basis of most of our
novels. Most notable are the works of Nathaniel Hawthorne in
this respect, ilis whole art is devoted to the portrayal of the

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ^^Divina CommediaP 357

purgatorial effects of sin or crime upon its authors. Tlie con-
sciousness of the deed and tlie consciousness of the verdict of one's
fellow-men continually burn at the heart, and with slow, eating
fires, consume the shreds of selfishness quite away. In the
* Marble "Faun' we have the spectacle of an animal nature be-
trayed by sudden impulse into a crime; and the torture of this
consciousness gradually purities and elevates the semi-spiritual
being into a refined humanity.

" The use of suffering, even if brought on by sin and error, is
the burden of our best clviss of novels. Georo;e Eliot's ' Middle-
march,' 'Adam Bede,' ' Mill on the Floss,' and ' Romola' — with
what intensity these portray the spiritual growth through error
and pain !

" Thus, if Protestantism has omitted Piiro-atory from its Relio;-
ion, certainly Protestant literature has taken it up and absorbed
it entire."

§ 1. Introduction.

That a poem should possess a spiritual sense does not seem to
the common view to be at all necessary to it. It must have a
poetic structure; but does a poetic structure involve a spiritual
sense? It is essential that a poem should be built out of tropes
and personification. Its real i^oetic substance, in fact, is an in-
sight into the correspondence that exists between external events
and situations on the one hand and internal ideas and movements
of the soul on the other. Rhyme and rhythm are less essential
than this. The true poet is a creator in a high sense, because he
turns hitherto opaque facts into transparent metaphors, or because
he endows dead things with souls and thus personifies them. The
poet uses material forms, so that there glows a sort of morning
redness throuu'h them.

There is something symbolic in a poem, but there is quite as
much danger from symbolism and allegory in a work of art as
from philoscjphy. It' the poet can think philosophic ideas in a
philosophic foi-m he will be apt to spoil his poem by attempting
to introduce them into its texture. An allegory is repellent to
the true poetic taste. The music of a verse is spoiled by the evi-
dence of a forced rhyme. So the glad surprise of a newlj' discov-
ered correspondence between the visible and invisible is unpleas-
.antly suppressed by an intimation that it is a logical consequence

358 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

of a previously assumed comparison or metaplior. To force a
symbol into an allegory necessarily demands the sacrifice of the
native individuality of the facts and events which follow in the
train of the primary event or situation. They must all wear its
livery, whereas fresh poetic insight is fain to turn each one into
a new and original revelation of eternal beauty.

Keither philosophy as such nor allegory can be the best feature
of a genuine poem. Nevertheless, there are certain great poems
which owe their supreme pre-eminence to the circumstance that
they treat themes of such universal significance that they reflect
tiie operation of a supreme principle and its consequences in the
affairs of a world, and hence exhibit a ])hilosophy realized, or in-
carnated, as it were. Their events and situations, too, being uni-
versal types, may be interpreted into many series of events within
the world order, and hence stand for so many allegories. Such
poems may be said to have a spiritual sense. Homer's " Iliad,"
and more especially his "Odyssey," contain a philosophy and
many allegories. Goethe's " Faust " contains likewise a philoso-
phy, and its poetic types are all allegoric, without detriment to
their genuine poetic value.

But of all the great world-poems, unquestionably Dante's " I)i-
vina Commedia" jnay be justly claimed to have a spiritual sense,
for it possesses a ])hilosophic system and admits of allegorical
interpretation. It is par excellence the religious poem of the
world. And religion, like philosophy, deals directly with a first
prineii)le of the universe, while, like poetry, it clothes its uni-
versal ideas in the garb of special events and situations, making
them types, and hence symbols, of the kind which may become
allegories.

Homer, too, shows us the religion of the Greeks, but it is an
art-religion, having only the same aim as essential ])oetrv — to turn
the natural into a symbol of the spiritual. Dante's theme is the
Christian religion, which goes beyond the problem of transfigur-
ing nature and deals with the far deeper problem of the salvation
of man. For man, as the summit of nature, transfigures nature,
at the same time that he attains the divine. The insight into the
divinediuman nature of the highest princi[)le of the universe, and
the consequent necessity of human immortality and possibility of
human growth into divine perfection, includes the Greek principle
as a subordinate phase.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '•^Divina Commedia,'''' 359

It is proper, therefore, to study the spiritual sense of the great
poem of Dante, and to inquire into its philosophy and its allegory.
What is Dante's theory of the world and what manner of world-
order results from it? Not that we should expect that the philo-
so])hic thought of a poet would be of a conscious and systematic
order; that would not promise us so much. It is rather his deep
underlying view of the world — so deep a conviction that he knows
of no other adequate statement for it than the structure of his
poem. If an artist docs not feel that his work of art utters more
completely his thought than some prosaic statement may do it, he
is not an artist.

In fact, a poet may introduce a theory of the world into his
poem which is not so deep and comprehensive as that implied in
the spiritual sense of his ])oem. This, we shall see, is often true
in the case of Dante — that his poetic vision has glimpses of a
higher world-view than is contained in his interjDretation of the
pliilosophy of the school men ; and his poetic discrimination of the
states of the soul under mortal sin is deeper and truer than the
ethical scheme which he borrowed from that philosophy.

Moreover, although allegory is the favorite vehicle for religious
revelation, and we have in this, the most religious of poems, a pre-
dominating tendency toward it, yet his allegory does not cover (or
discover) so deep a spiritual sense as the genuine art-structure of
Ills poem reveals.

In the beofinnina- let us call to mind the fundamental distinc-
tion between Christianity and Eastern religions. In the latter the
Absolute or Supreme Principle is conceived as utterly without form
and void. It is conceived as entirely lacking in particularity, ut-
terly devoid of attributes, properties, qualities, modes, and distinc-
tions of any kind whatever. Such is the Brahm of the Hindoo or
the subjective state of Nirvana of the Buddhists. Such is the
western reflection of this thought at Alexandria and elsewhere in
the doctrines of Gnosticism and Neo-Platonism. Basilides and
Yalentinus, Proclus and Jamblichus, all hold to an utterly indeter-
minate, formless first principle. As a result, it follows that they
are obliged to resort to arbitrary and fanciful constructions in or-
der to explain the origin of a world of finite creatures.

Quite different is the Christian view of the Absolute. It holds
that the Absolute is not formless, but the very essence of all form —
pure form, pure self-distinction, or self-consciousness, or reason.

360 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

For conscious personality is form in the liio^liest sense, because its
energy is creative of form ; it is self-distinction, subject and object,
and hence in its very essence an activity ; an unconditioned en-
ergy — unconditioned from without but self- conditioned from
within.

Jn this great idea, so radically differing from the Oriental thought,
Christianity has a twofold support — the intuition of the Jewish
prophets and the philosophy of the Greeks.

The survey of the entire realm of thought by Plato and Aris-
totle has settled the question as to the possibilities of existence.
There can be no absolute wliicli is utterly formless. Any absolute
whatsoever must be thought of as self-determining; as a pure self-
active energy, of the nature of thinking reason, although in degree
more comprehensive than human reason and entirely without its
intermittencies and eclipses.

An Absolute which is absolute forni — and this means self-forina-
tive, self-distinguishing, and hence self-particularizing, living, or,
what is the same, conscious personal being — is essentially a Cre-
ator. Moreover, its creation is its own self-revelation, and, accord-
ing to this, God is essentially a self-revealing God. Hence .Cliris-
tianity is in a very deep sense a " revealed religion," for it is the
relia'ion not of a hidden God who is a formless absolute, but of a
God whose essence it is to reveal Himself, and not remain hidden
in Himself.

In the first canto of the " Paradiso" Dante reports Beatrice as
layiui:: down this doctrine of form :

'^AU things collectively have an order among themselves, and
this is form, which makes the universe resemble God."" '

Christianity has united in its views the Jewish intuition of holy
personality with tlie Greek ]>hilosopliic conception of absolute Rea-
son. It has not 2>^('i tltese ideas together — so to speak — but has
reached a new idea which includes and transcends them. More-
over, the deepest thought of Roman national life is in like manner
subsumed and taken uj). While the Greek has theoretically
reached this highest princijde of essential form and the Hebrew
has discovered it through his heart, the Roman has experienced it
throu'di his will or volition. He has discovered that the highest

' Le cose tutte quante Hann' ordine tra loro ; e questo e forma Che runiverso a Die
fa simidiaiite.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante'^s '"''Divina Commediay 361

form in the universe is pure will. And this again is onl}' a new
way of naming pure self-determination, pure reason, or pure per-
sonality. It sees the absolute form from the standpoint of the
will. According to this, all activity of the will returns to the doer.
AVhatever man as free will does, he does to himself. Here is the
root of Dante's Divine Comedy.

Dante is a Roman, although he has Teutonic blood in his v^eins.
The Roman world-view preponderates in Italy to this day. Ac-
€ording to the view of the absolute first principle as Will, each
being in acting acts upon itself and thereby becomes its own fate.
It creates its environment. The responsibility of the free agent
is infinite. If it acts so as to make for itself an environment of
deeds that are in harmony with its freedom, it lives in the " Para-
diso." If it acts so as to contradict its nature, it makes for itself
the " Inferno." All acts of a free will that do not tend to create an
external environment oi freedom will, of course, result in limiting
the original free will and in building up around it walls of hostile
fate. Fate is only a "maya" or illusion produced by not recog-
nizing the self-contradiction involved in willing in particular what
is contrary to the nature of will in general.

Since the Absolute is free will, it energizes creatively to form a
nniverse of free wills. But it cannot constrain wills to be free.
A created being's will is free to contradict its own essence and to
defy the absolute Free Will of God.

Here is the problem which exercised Paul and St. Augustine —
and Calvin. What is the mediation between the free will of the
Creator and the free will of the creature? There can be no con-
straint of the free will except thi-ough itself. It makes for itself
its own fate. But can it relieve itself from its fate also by its own
act? Here is the all-important question.

The creature is a part of creation — each man is only a member
of humanity. His will utters deeds that ailect for good or ill his
fellow-men. He in turn is aiFected in like manner by the deeds
of his fellows. Here is the secret of the method of the return
of the deed upon the doer. The individual acts upon his fellow-
men, and they react upon him according to the quality of his
deeds.

Hence the individual man by his will creates his environment
through and by means of society, so that his fate or his freedom
is the reflection of what he does to his fellow-men. Onlv it is not

362 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

returned upon him bv liis own mi^lit, but by the freedom of his
fellow-members of society-
Here is tlie clew to the question of salvation. The circle of a
man's freedom includes not only his own deeds, but also the reac-
tion of society. Inasmuch as the whole of society stands to the
individual in the relation of infinite to finite (for he cannot meas-
ure its power), the return of his deed to him is the work of a
liio;her ])owcr, and his freedom is tlie work of srace and not the re-
sult of his own stren<j!;tli. This is the conception of grack as it
occurs in the Christian thouc-ht of the world. Man is free throuorh
gi'ace, and he perfects himself throui^li grace, or indeed sutt'ers evil
throuojh tjrace ; for this conception of Grace includes Justice as one
of its elements.

Deeds, then, are to be judired by their effect upon society,
whether they re-enforce the freedom of others or curtail that
freedom. Man as individual combines with his fellows, so as
to reap the results of the united effort of the whole. The individ-
ual thus avails himself of the entire species, and heals his imper-
fections.

Looking; at human lite in this wav. Dante forms his v.iews of
the deeds of men, and slowly constructs the framework of his three
worlds and fills them with their people. His classification and
gradation of sins in accordance with their effect on society fur-
nishes the structure of the first and second parts of the poem.
His insight into the subjective efi'ects of these sins — both their
immediate effect in producing a mental atmosphere in which the
individual l)reathes and lives his spiritual life, and their mediate
effect, \\'\\\^t\\ comes to the individual after the social whole reacts
upon him by reason of his deed — his insight into these two efi'ects
on the individual gives him the poetic material for painting the
sufferings of the wicked and the struggles of the penitent.

There is in many respects an excess of pLilosphic structure in
the " Divine Comedy." That there should be three parts to the
poem does not suggest itself as a formalism. But that there
should be exactly thirty-three cantos in each part and, adding the
introductory canto, exactly one hundred cantos in the whole, seems
an excess in this respect. So, too, when we are told that the triple
rhyme suggests the Trinity, we find that the suggestion is a vague
and trivial one, approaching a vulgar superstition. So, too, the
fact that thirty-three years suggests the years of Christ's earthly

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '■''Divina Commediar 363

life. In the second Treatise (Ciiapter I) of his "(Jonvito" Dante
tells us that it is possible to understand a book in four different ways.
There is in a poem a literal, an allegorical, a moral, and a mystical
sense {litterale^ allegorico^ morale^ anagogico cio^ sovra senso).
As the leading of Israel out of Egypt should signify, besides its
literal meaning, mystically (anagogically) or spiritually the soul's
liberation from sin — the exodus of the soul, as it were. He says
the literal must go first, because yon cannot come to the allegori-
cal except through the literal ; it is impossible to come to that
which is within except through tlie without. "The allegorical
is a trnth concealed under a beautiful untruth." The moral sense
of a book is its practical wisdom — what it contains useful for prac-
tical guidance {a uiilitd di loro). But, in spite of all his in-
genuity, we must all, I think, confess that Dante's elaborate syn-
tactical analyses of his love poems in the " Vita Nuova," as well
as his disquisitions in the" Convito," seem much too artificial, and
that they become soon repugnant to us. They seem a sort of
trifling in comparison with the grim earnest which the "Divine
Comedy " shows. And yet they furnish, after a sort, a key to be
kept in hand while we accompany our poet on his journey.

Two things strike us most forcibly after we have begun to ]>ene-
tf ate the inner meaning of Dante — namely, his fertility of genius
in inventing external physical symbols for the expression of in-
ternal states of the soul, and, secondly, his preternatural psycho-
logical ability in discerning the true relation between acts of the
will and the traits of character that follow as a result of the subse-
quent reaction. But our first impression of the poet must be one
of horror at the malignancy of a soul who could allow his imagi-
nation to dwell on the sufferings of his fellow-men, and permit Ins
pen to describe them with such painstaking minuteness. We see
more of a fiend than a man on our first visit to Dante. But even
thus early we are struck, in a few instances, with the apt corre-
spondence between the punishments of the " Inferno " and the
actual state of mind of the sinner on committing the sin. On a
second acquaintance these instances increase, and the conviction
gradually arises that Dante has done nothing arbitrary, but all
things through a deep sense of justice and truth to what he has
actually observed in the world about him. After we have come to
this view we soon go further and begin to note the tenderness and
divine charity of this world-poet, and finally we are persuaded

30* The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

that we see liis loving kindness in the very instances in which at
first we could see only malignant spite or heartless cruelty.

I. TuE "Inferno."

§ 2. Dante turns from Politics to lAteratxire.

In the year 1300, at the age of thirty-five, Dante found himself
in the midst of a gloomy wood of terrestrial trials, his city,
Florence, hopelessly divided between factions, and Italy itself in
the midst of the terrible struggle between the secular and spiritual
powers. The growing power of France, jealous of the Holy
lioman Empire, wishes to keep Germany out of Italy. The
Pope, likewise, seems obliged to find his interest in siding with
France, at least temporarily. The Church seems to have no re-
course for the safety of its spiritual interests except in grasping at
civil power. The Crusades have brought immense wealth to the
cities of Italy, which lie on the way between the East and the
AVest. The ni)start wealtliy families in those cities contest the su-
premacy of the impoverished families of the old nobility. There
is no solution of these evils. Each faction, if suppressed within
the city, at once ai)peals to one of the parties into which Italy is
divided. It obtains the aid of the Poy)e and France on the one
hand, or of the Emperor on the other, and, thus aided, regains its
power in Florence. Bloody retaliations, confiscations, conflagrations
ensue. What can Dante as Prior of a city like Florence do? He
banishes the leaders of both factions. But these factions are not
isolated, local matters. They are merely symptomatic manifesta-
tions of the universal discord — the two political parties of Chris-
tendom — and cannot be cured bv local surgerv. France ap-
proaches to aid one of tlie l)anished parties, and the Pope, to whom
Dante turns for aid, betrays his intention to take advantage of
internal factions and foreign intervention in order to weaken the
power of the Empire in Italy. The Church, having small political
power in the way of direct control over large territories, is obliged
to retain its influence through the next means — to wit, money and
intrigue. It is evident enough that there is no honorable career
lelt for Dante in his native city. He looks up to the lofty and
shining heights of success, a worthy object for the ambition of a
young man of ability, and sees in his way before him three ob-
stacles. A leopard with spotted hide, white and black spots —

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ''•Divina Commediar 365

symbolic of the black and white factions of Florence ' — impedes his
waj, so that he is minded to go back and give up his worthy am-
bition to reacli the shining heights, but rather to seek safety in
the ol)scurity of private Hie. But his youtli, the hour of the
morning, and the sweet season fill him with hope that he shall be
able to capture the leopard with his spots and bring peace and
good government to his native city, when, lo ! a lion, the sym-
bol of France and French interests,^ approaches with head erect
and furious with hunger. The very air quakes. He turns away
from before the lion, but only to meet a she wolf (the wolf of the
capital at Home, symbolic of that city, and hence suggesting the
papal court),^ full of all cravings in her leanness, grasping for
money and political power. Dante cannot ascend on that road to
the glorious summit of a successful and honorable life. He turns
from politics to literature. Yirgil meets him and informs him
that he must take another road if he would attain his object. He
must try to make himself useful to his age by holding up to it its
true image, as world-poet. He must collect and classify all man-
ner of human deeds and all manner of states of the human soul
(antecedent and consequent on those deeds) and paint a vast pict-
ure-gallery of characters for the education not only of his native
city, nor even of all Italy, but of all Europe and of nations vet
unborn.

' Symbolic of much else also, as commentators have shown: "Symbolic of worldly-
pleasure with its fair outside," and the quiet citizen life checkered with its small joys
and alternating cares ; symbolic of sensuality ; also of the business of private life. The
chief point is that the '■'■ gaietta pelle " distracts him from the ascent and impedes him so-
that he is often minded to return. The wolf and lion terrify him. But lie hopes (" In-
ferno," xvi, 106-108), to capture the leopard with his girdle. He thought that he could,
with the girdle of his own strength, conquer the factions of Florence, up to the time
when he saw that these were backed by the wolf and the lion. Or does the girdle hint
at a contemplated entrance of the order of Franciscans in order to overcome his passion,
for carnal pleasure ? If for la we read alia gaktta pelle, the leopard should be overcome
as something hostile and impeding ; if la, then it is one of the causes of good hope — but
hope of what ? Certainly not of ascent of the hill ! — But this will be discussed further
in another note.

' The lion should be ambition or pride, according to commentators. But it is not am-
bition in general that Dante encountered, but the special instance of it in French inter-
ference.

"* So the wolf means avarice, but not avarice in general ; it is only the special instance
of it that Dante met when he applied to the papal court for aid in suppressing civil war
in his native city. Note that the wolf will be chased into hell by the greyhound, so as
to no more block the way to the shining heights.

366 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Accompanied by Virgil, or the genius of literature, he comes to
the Inferno and the Purgatory. Accompanied thereafter by the
divine science '• First Philosophy," in the person of Beatrice,
he passes the terrestrial and celestial paradises. Although his life
seems at first a failure, in that a public career is closed for him,
yet it proves in the event a success in a far higher sense, for his
service to mankind ))roves to be more enduring than he had
planned. The Celestial Powers have overruled his counsels, led
him through Eternal Places, and given him a more important
place on the lofty hill whose shoulders were clothed with the rays
of the celestial sun.

§ 3. In lohat sense Hell is Eternal.

Over the gate of the Inferno he reads the solemn words :
"Through me is the way into the doleful city ; through me the
way among the people lost. Justice moved my High Maker;
Divine Power made me, Wisdom Supreme, and Primal Love.
Before me were no things created, but eternal; and eternal I en-
dure. Leave all hope, ye tiiat enter." — (J. C.),' iii, 1-9.

The Christian doctrine of Hell and everlasting punishment, at
first so repugnant to the principle of divine charity and grace
which is the evangel of the highest religion, needs philosophic in-
terpretation in order that we may endure to accompany Dante
further. In the tirst place, we remark that the doctrine of Ilell^
as opposed to the heathen notion of Hades, expresses the insight
into the complete freedom of the human will. In the heathen
view there is always a substratum of fate which limits man's free-
dom and prevents the complete return of his deed upon himself
It is in Christianity that religion, for the first time, conceives
man as perfectly responsible, perfectly free — a spiritual totality.
Hence, too, with Cliristianity there is possible now a doctrine of
immortality that has positive signiticance; Before Christianity,
immortality had not been " brought to light " — /. ^., no immortality
worth liavinu:. Accordiniir to Christianitv, man nuiv go forward
forever into knowledge and wisdom and mutual brotherly help-
fulness in the universe, lifting up others, and himself lifted up by
all the influences of an intinite Church, whose spirit is the Holy
Spirit and God Himself.

' John Carlyle's translation is marked (J. C).

The Spiritual Sense of Dantis '"''Divina CornTnediaP 367

Tf man can determine liimself or choose freely liis tliouirlits
and deeds, he can join himself to the social whole, or he can sun-
der himself from it. He, on the one hand, can mediate himself
throno'h all men, placing his personal interest at the most distant
part of the universe and seeking his own good through first
serving the interest of all others ; or he can seek his selfish inter-
est directly and before that of all others and in preference to
theirs. Thus he can make for himself one of two utterly different
worlds — an Inferno or a Paradiso.

We are come to one of these places, as Virgil now informs
Dante :

" We are come to the place where 1 told thee thou shouldst see
the wretched people who have lost the good of the intellect." —
(J. C), iii, 16-18."

The " good of the intellect " refers to Aristotle's ethical doctrine
of the highest good, which is that of the contemplation of God —
the vision of absolute Truth and Goodness. The wicked do not
see God revealed in the world of nature and human history. To
them God is only another fiend more potent than the fiends of
Hell. They are conquered, but not subdued into obedience. To
them the good seems an external tyrant, oppressing them and in-
flicting pain on them. This state is Hell. But even Hell is the
evidence of Divine love, rightly understood. For it was made not
only by "Justice and Divine Power," but also "by Wisdom Su-
preme and Primal Love." Recall the doctrine already stated in
regard to Form. A formless Al)solute cannot create real creatures.
They cannot participate in his substance, because thvit which is
flnite and limited can have no substance if God is without form
and distinctions. With the Christian idea God has distinctions
and self-limitations — pure form. With this idea the flnite can
])articipate in the divine substance without annihilation. Were
this blessed doctrine not true, there could be no existence for flnite
creatures, even in Hell. For, unless the flnite can subsist as real
and true substance, there can be no free will and no rebellion of
the individual against the species. Rebellion against the divine
world-order would at once produce annihilation under the heathen
doctrine of a formless God. Even imperfection without i-ebellion
would produce annihilation.

But in Dante's Hell there is alienation from God as a free act
of the sinners. But God's hand is under the sinner holdino- him

368 The Journal of Speculative Ph'dosophij.

back irom annihilation. Altliongli you rebel against Me, yet 3*011
shall not drop out of My band into the abyss ot' Nothingness, and
My haiul shall sustain you and give you participation in the di-
vine substance. My hand shall sustain you, l)nt it will burn you
if you sin and so long as you sin, l)ecau3e your freedom is used
against itself in the act of sin.

•'Before me,'' says the inscription, " were no things created, but
eternal; and eternal 1 en(hn-e." Tliat is to say, with the crea-
tion of finite things Hell is created, because substance, actual di-
vine substance and intinitude, is given to finite things. Ilence^
even their limitations are made to have essential being, and thus
Hell is made by the very act of creating. It will exist, too, as
long as the finite is created — that is, eternally.

A doctrine of the ultimate annihilation of the wicked is a sur-
vival of heathenism — a doctrine com])atible only with the doctrine
of a formless God. So, too, is the doctrine of the end of proba-
tion for the sinners in Hell. Hell signifies the continuance of free
will supj)<)rted by Divine Grace. Let free will cease, and Hell
ceases. Let free will cease, and individual immortal being lapses
out of spiritual l)eing into mere physical existence, or at least into
lower forms of life, and annihilation has taken effect, and the
Christian idea of God as pure form, pure personality, at once be-
comes impossible.

Free will, tlierefore, necessarily remains to all people in Hell,
and so long as Hell itself endures. Hence, also, probation lasts
forever. But probation does not mean enforced salvation. That
were equally impossible, and itself also the destruction of the
Christian idea of God as pure form. Hell is the shadow of man's
freedom ; salvation is the substance of man's freedom. No sinner
can be compelled to repent. He must be converted through his
freedom and not against it.

The state of Hell is a state of rebellion against the divine
world-order. The individual seeks his selfish good before the good
of his fellow-men and instead of their good. Accordingly, he
wills that liumanit}' shall be his enemies. He is in a double state
of self contradiction — first, within himself he contradicts his own
universality or his own reason ; secondly, he contradicts his spe-
cies as living in the world. This contradiction exists for him in
the shape of pain and unhappiness — hellish torment. But this very
torment is an evidence of grace. Were he unconscious of his con*

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '•^Divina Commodiar 369

tradiction, h(3 were free from torment. I>nt such freedom from
torment would be annihilation of his personality, for personality
— let us define it — is individualitv which feels its own individu-
ality and at the same time its participation witli all other indi-
viduals. Ail manner of a])petite and desire even is the feeling of
one's identity with some external or foreio-n beinfj. Within the
depths of one's self he feels that other. So pain is the feeling of
the identity of the self with what is not one's particular self. It
is the feeling of identity of the little self which we have really
become, with that larger self which we are potentially but have
not as yet become. Hence pain — spiritual pain — is evidence of
capacity for growth that is not exercised.

Here we may see the difference between the state of Hell and
the state of Purgatory, The sinner is in Hell when he looks
upon his own pain, not as produced by his own freedom, but as
thrust upon him undeserv'edly from without. His case is hope-
less, because he must continually get more bitter by the contem-
plation of his own pain and its undeservedness. Could he by any
means get an insight into the world-order and see it truly, he
would see that his pain all comes from his own act of freedom
— from his opposition to the social whole ; then he would welcome
his pain as the evidence of his own snbstantial participation in
his race and in the Divine Being. Then at once he would be
in Purgatory. All his pain then would become purifying instead
of hardening to his soul. He would have arrived at the good of
the intellect or the perception of the divine hnman nature of
God. In Hell the individual looks upon himself as the absolute
centre and measure of all things. In Purgatory the individual
looks upon society as' the centre and measure, and strives to rid
himself of his selfishness. He strives to ascend from his little
self to his greater self. He struggles against the lusts of the flesh
and the pride and envy of his soul. Such lusts and passions now
seem to him horrible when they arise wn'thin him, and this is the
torment ofPurgatorj^

In Purgatory nothing can happen to the individual that is
amiss, for all pain and inconvenience, all the ills of the flesh and
of the soul, are made means of purification, means of conquest
over selfishness.

It is obvious that to any sinner in Hell there ma}' come this in-
sight into his relation to his own misery, especially if the mission-
XXI— 2-t

370 The Journal of Speculative Pli'ilosophy.

ary spirit in true St. Francis form comes to him and demonstrates
its sincerity by its efforts to relieve him of his pain by sharing it
or bearinii; it vicariously.

The eternal occupation of the spirits of the just made perfect is
here indicated. The}' must sustain themselves in their perfection
or attain higiier degrees of perfection bv humbly assisting the
souls in Hell to see their true condition and thus get inj;o Purga-
tory.

The characteristic mood of those in Hell is described by Dante
in the third canto:

'' Here sighs, plaints, and deep wailings resounded through the
starless air ; it made me weep at first. Strange tongues, horrible
outcries, words of pain, tones of anger, voices deep and hoarse, and
sound of hands among them, made a tumult, which turns itself
unceasing in that air forever dyed, as sand when the whirlwind
breathes."— (J. C). iii, 22-30.

§ 4. T/ie Puiiishment of the Pusillaniinous.

Within the gate of Hell upon a dark plain he sees a vast crowd
of people running furiously behind a whirling flag and sorely
goaded by wasj)S and hornets. These were the souls of those
who lacked will-[)Ower sufKcient to decide for themselves. They
were the pusillanimous who would not undertake anything for
themselves, l)ut were the sport of circumstances, external events
stinging tliem to do things and to pursue some aimless giddy flag
of a cause. These were not admitted to Hell proper, because they
had not developed their free-will or power of choice, but yielded
to fortune or fate.

§ 5. TIT'y Infants and Heathen Sages are in the Limbo.

Across the river xA.cheron we come to —

"... the flrst circle that girds the abyss. Here there was no
plaint that could be heard, except of sighs, which caused the
eternal air to treinlde. And this arose from the sadness, without
torment, of the crowds that were many and great, both of children
and of women and men.'' — (J. C), iv, 24-30.

These had not sinned, but oidy failed to enter the Christian
faith through the portal of Baptism. Many persons, indeed, had
])een taken out of this circle and carried to heaven by a " Crowned
Mighty One," and we see therefore the limitation implied to the

The Spiritual Sense of Dante\s '■'•Divina Commediar 371

words over the gate: "Leave all hope ye who enter." Here are
left, liovvever, the noble heatlien souls and the souls of unbaptized
infants. AVe ask ourselves, What is the meaning of all this?
Dante weighed carefully the state of mind of the Greeks and
Romans as heathen. AVith all their enlightenment they had yet
failed to see the world of humanity as divine-human and with a
future like that portrayed in the " Paradiso." For them there was
no ''Paradiso" yet revealed, and hence no Purgatory or transition
to it.

])ante truly paints for us the actual world-view as it stood in
the Greek mind. It was neither sad nor joyful. " We came," he
says,

" to the foot of a Noble Castle, seven times circled with lofty
AValls, defended round by a fair Rivulet. This we passed as
solid land. Through seven gates I entered with those sages. AVe
reached a meadow of fresh verdure. On it were people with eyes
slow and grave, of great authority in their appearance. They
spoke seldom, with mild voices. We retired to one of the sides,
into a place open, luminous, and high, so that they could all be
seen. There direct, upon the green enamel, were shown to me
the great spirits whom I glory within myself in having seen." — -
(J. C), iv, 106-120.

Dante's love of the symbolic thus leads to this allegoric descrip-
tion of his university life (at Bologna ?), when he came to the study
of literatnre, and passed over its fair rivulet of speech and entered
through the seven gates of the trimum (grammar, rhetoric, and dia-
lectic) and quadrivrnm (astronomy, music, arithmetic, and geome-
try) through the lofty walls of learning. These heathen were not
sinful, not to blame for their lack of insight into the Christian view
of the world. Indeed, many of them, like Plato and Aristotle,
had worked nobly to make the Christian view possible, as Scholas-
ticism, even in Dante's writings, plainly manifests. But the fact
remains that they had not fully attained its point of vision. Their
state of mind only is indicated here, and not their eternal condi-
tion, unless Christianity rejects its doctrine of human freedom.
This, too, is the state of mind of the " unbaptized " children. All
children, whether baptized or unbaptized, are heathens up to the
time when they can appreciate the world-view of Christianity in
some shape — until they can see nature and human history as a
revelation of Divine Reason.

372 The Journal of Speculative Pidlosophy.

§0, The Punishments of the Incontinent.

AVithin the real hell of rebellious spirits, beyond the eonrt of Mi-
nos, we enter first upon the circles — the second to the fifth circles —
in which sins of incontinence are punished — "• those who subjii«ji;ate
reason to appetite," as Dante tells us. In the second circle, which
is the first of the " Inferno" pro]>er, the lustful are driven through
the darkened air, a lontj; streak of them, borne on the blast like a
flock of cranes. Tlieir ]>jissions darken the intellectual vision and
drive thcjn about "hither, thither, up, down" — tossed on that
strife of windy gusts of passion. The punishment is a realistic
symbol of the soul filled with lust. It cannot see truth nor do
works of righteousness, for its sky is dark with clouds and tem-
pests. The gluttonous are in

" the third circle— that of the eternal, accursed, cold and
heavy rain. Its course and quality is never new ; large hail,
and turbid water, and snow — it pours down through the dark-
some air. The ground on which it falls emits a putrid smell.
( 'erberus, a monster fierce and strange, with three throats, barks
dog-like over those that are immersed in it. His eyes are red,
his beard gory and black, his belly wide, and clawed his hands.
He clutches the spirits, flays, and piecemeal rends them. The
rain makes them howl like dogs. AVitli one side they screen
the other; they often turn themselves, the impious wretches." —
(J. C), vi, 7-21.

This description of the actual state of the intemperate in this
life enables us to recognize the punishments which their sin brings
on them. We see the diseases of the flesh personified in Cerberus
— dyspepsia, gout, dropsy, delirium tremens, and what not. In-
temperance is utterly hostile to the good of the intellect or to any
sort of good whatever, and it steeps the soul in its turbid waters
and dren(rhes it with its chilly snows or racks it with fevers. In
the fourth circle we meet the avaricious:

"As does the surge, there above C-harybd is, that breaks itself
afjainst the surge wherewith it meets, so have the people here to
counter-dance. Here saw I, too, many more than elsewhere, both
on the one side and on the other, with loud bowlings, rolling
weights by force of ciiest. They smote against each other, and
then all turned upon the spot, rolling them back, shouting, ' Why
holdest thoi ?' and 'Why throwost thou away?' Thus they

The Spiritual Sense of Dant^s ^^Divina CoinmediaP 3Y3

returned throngli the hideous circle, on either hand, to tlie oppo-
site point, shoutin<^ always in their reproachful measure. Then
every one, when he had reached it, turned through his semicircle
toward the other joust.'' — (J. C), vii, 22-35.

The avaricious and prodigal are devoted entirely to the unsj)ir-
itual occupation of heaping up pelf — they roll the weights by force
of chest first one way and then another. Think of the human
labor given to property as an end merely and not as a means !
The struggle to gain property and save it — the absorption of time
and attention required — suggested to Dante the exertion required
to roll heavy weights. The wealthy must needs exert constant
pressure to hold together their property ; upon the slightest relaxa-
tion, the forces that act continually for the dissipation of wealth
will gain the ascendancy and all will go speedily. The avaricious
are engaged in resisting those who wish to have their property to
spend for the gratification of want. Property can be gained and
saved only by- continual sacrifice of the appetite for creature com-
fort both in one's self and in others. But the longing for propert}'
in order to gratify desires has the same limiting effect on the soul
as the struggle to save wealth for its own sake. In both cases it
subordinates spiritual interests to the service of material things.
" Cosi co7ivien die qui la gente riddiP It is the struggle of" tlie
hoarding propensity with the propensity to outlay for the gratifica-
tion of present appetites which produces the vortex in which the
avaricious and prodigal are punished. Ill-giving and ill-keeping
{inal dare^ e mal tener) has deprived them of the fair world — the
Paradiso. Dante knows well the uses of property, as we shall see
by the numerous punishments in the "Inferno" that relate to its
abuse. Property or private ownership is one of the two instru-
mentalities of free will by which man achieves his freedom. In
the circle of the v-iolent, therefore, we see squanderers, robbers, and
speculators punished; in the circles of fraud are punished simony,
bribery, theft, and counterfeiters. There are seven punishments
in all devoted to sinners against the sacredness of property rights
and uses.

§ 7. The Relation of Sloth to Anger' among the Mortal Sins.

In the fifth circle we come upon the river Styx and encounter
the souls of the wrathful and melancholy.

" We crossed the circle to the other bank, near a spring, that

374 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

boils and pours down throngli a cleft which it has formed. The
water was dai'ker far than ])erse. And we, accompanyin<i; the
dusky waves, entered down hy a stran<jje path. This dreary
streamlet makes a marsh that is named Styx when it has de-
scended to the foot of the ^ray maliixnant shores. And I, who
stood intent on looking, saw muddy ])eople in that bog, all naked
and with a look of anger. They were smiting each other, not
with hands only, but with head and with chest and with feet,
maiming one another with their teeth, piece by piece. . . . There
are people underneath the water, who sob and make it bubble at
the surface, as thy eye may tell thee, whichever way it turns.
Fixed in the slime, they say : Sullen were we in the sweet air,
that is gladdened by the Sun, carrying lazy smoke within our
hearts; now lie we sullen here in the black mire. This hymn they
gurgle in their throats, for they cannot speak it in full words." —
(J.b.), vii, 100-12G.

The seven mortal sins should be lust, gluttony, avarice, sloth,
anger, envy, and pride. In the " Purgatorio" (where each mortal
sin aj^pears as an inner tendency or incitement, but is not allowed
to come to external acts or deeds) these seven sins are expre^sly
enumerated and assigned each to its separate circle. But sloth is
not assigned to a separate round of the " Inferno," nor indeed is
envy or |)ride. These are punished in what the Scholastic theo-
logians call the daughters of these mortal sins — that is to say, in
their results.

But St. Thomas Aquinas names six daughters to sloth {accidla —
tt/c?y8eta)— malice, rancor, pusillanimity, despair, torpor, and wan-
dering thoughts. Hence slothfulness is punished in its effects in
suUenness and rancor, and also in the round of suicides in the
circle of the violent, who take their own lives through desj^air.
Moreover, its daughters pusillanimity, torpor, and scatter-brains
are not admitted into Hell proper, but are pursuing the aimless,
giddy flag around the shores of Acheron. Anger is punished
directly in itself, in so far as it is a wrathful state of mind, by the
muddy state of the soul which it engenders and by the thick, lazy
smoke it causes in the heart. The wrathful is thus far removed
from the celestial state of the soul, which discerns truth and wills
the good.

Th.e daughters of anger are punished in the rounds of violence be-
low — the violent against God, against self, against one's neighbor.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ^^Divhia Cominediay 375

The spiritual state of the soul under the influence of anger is
well symbolized by iuitnersion in the muddy pool, sobbing and
bubbling; the comparison of a sullen disposition to a lazy smoke
{acoidhso fummo), which obscures the light of day and disin-
clines to all acts of duty, is felicitous. Anger is indeed the muddy
state of the soul. No insight into truth or into reasonable prac-
tical works can exist in the angry soul.

§ 8. What Form of Heresy is a Daughter of Sloth f

To our surprise we come here, before reaching the circle of vio-
lence, upon heretics burned in tombs.

" As at Aries, where the Rhone stagnates, as at Pola near the
Quarnaro Gulf, which shuts up Italy and bathes its confines, the
se])nlchres make all the place uneven ; so did they here on every
side, only the manner here was bitterer. For among the tombs
were scattered flames, whereby they were made all over so glow-
ing hot that iron more hot no craft requires. Their covers were
all raised up, and out of them proceeded moans so grievous that
they seemed indeed the moans of spirits sad and wounded. . . ,
These are the Arch-heretics with their followers of every sect :
and, much more than thou tluTikest, the tombs are laden. Like
with like is buried here ; and the monuments are more and less
hot."— (J. C), ix, 112-131.

" In this part are entombed with Epicurus all his followers, who
make the soul die with the body." — (J. C), x, 13-15.

Is heresy a daughter of sloth ? It is supposed to be a daughter
of the opposite of sloth — namely, of intellectual violence — and in
that case it belongs to the progeny of anger. But it is not heresy
in general that we have here in the sepulclires, but the heresy of
disbelief in tlie immortality of the soul. Perhaps, however, this
seemed in Dante's eyes the effect of intellectual sloth. To them
who believe that the soul dies with the body this earth is only
one vast tomb in which they are slowly consumed. So long
as they live they sit and feel themselves wasting in tombs with
the lids raised. At death the lids are to close forever upon them.
Dante accurately depicts the spiritual state of the soul in this life
when possessed of the conviction that materialism produces.
He supposes this to be the doctrine of Epicurus— namely, that
we die with the body. The sin itself is its own ]Hinishment.

376 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Moreover, even tlie view that he takes of the world is to the ma-
terialist his hell.

A point of interest is found in the discourse of Farinata to
the effect that spirits who can foretell particulars of Dante's exile
jet do not know the present. Spirits, on separation from their
bodies, it would seem, lose the instrument by which they read
the processes goiui^ on upon the earth. They know the total pos-
sibility of all thinu's, but do not know exactly where tlie present
has broui^ht the process of unfolding it. This is the doctrine of
the Scholastics (and of Homer as well). After time — /. e., after
all possibility is unfolded — the portals of experience are closed
(because there is nothing new any more to become event).

§ 9. The Punishinent of the Violent.

The first round of the circle of violence contained'murderers,
tyrants, and robbers, quite as we should expect to find them, im-
mersed in blood up to their eyebrows.

x\ext, the gloomy wood of self-murderers, the fruit of despera-
tion chiefly caused by careless use of property. The suicides are
pursued by hell-hounds, importunate creditors, no doubt, and the
cares and worries that attend on povert3\ With striking poetic
justice those who slay themselves are placed, not in animal bod-
ies, but in trees. Their punishment is to need their bodies. This
also hints at the vegetative state — a sort of paralysis of will and
sensibilities, of feeling and locomotion — of the soul which has
come under the influence of settled melancholy.

In the third round of violence are punished the violent against
God — the blasphemers.

'' Over all the great sand, falling slowly, rained dilated flakes of
fire, like those of snow in Alps without a wind. As the flames
which Alexander, in the hot regions of India, saw fall upon his
host, entire to the ground — whereat he with his legions took care
to tramp the soil, for the fire was more easily extinguished while
alone — so fell the eternal heat, by which the sand was kindled,
like tinder beneath the flint and steel, redoubling the pain. Ever
restless was the dance of miserable hands, now here, now there,
shaking off tlie (flaktss) fresh burning."— (J. C), xiv, 2S-42.

Fierce arrogance, like that of Capaneus, attacks the divine me-
diation in the world in so far as it appears as benign influences,
and this hostility turns such iiiflncnees into tormenting flames.

The Spiritual Sense of Daniels "Divi7ia Commediay 377

This will be lull.y evident in considering the sin of Pride later on.
In fact, it is not easy to distinguish the sin of Pride from this of
violence against God. In fact, Dante makes Virgil speak of the
pride of Capaneus (Z« tua su2>erhia, xiv, 64) as that which chiefij
punishes him.

The souls punished in the outermost verge of the seventh circle
(xvii, 43-78) are the violent against art ; they are usurers and injuri-
ous extortioners, or, perhaps, better designated now as speculators
in the necessaries of life — those who try to make fortunes by cor-
nering the food and clothing of the market, and not cajiitalists
who put their money to good uses. These usurers are not to be
recognized by their faces, but solely by their money-bags and ar-
morial bearings, behind which they are hidden. They sit crouched
up on the burning sand quite subordinate to the pelf Ihey are ac-
cumulating. Tiiey have lost human semblance, or their humanity
has shrunk behind their nefarious occupation.

§ 10. The Daughters of Envy : Ten Species of Fraud.

The daughters of Envy, according to Dante, are ten species of
fraud. These sins are punished in " malebolge," or evil ditches.

Horned demons scourge the seducers and panders. The flatter-
ers walbw in tilth. They are engaged in destroying the rational
self-estimate of those that thev flatter'bv callino:o;ood evil and evil
good, and producing a confusion between clean and unclean. The
Simonists buy and sell the gifts of the Church for money, and are
plunged, like coin, head first into round holes or purses, while
flames scorch the soles of their feet. As others follow them, they
sink toward the bottom of the earth, gravitating toward pelf.
Their deeds directly destroy the spiritual by making it subservient
to money and material gain ; they invert the true order of the
spiritual and material, and symbolically place the head where the
feet should be.

In the fourth ditch come the diviners, soothsayers, astrologers,
or fortune-tellers, who make a trade of a knowledge of the future.

"Through the circular valley I saw a people coming, silent and
weeping, at the pace which the litanies make in this world. When
my sight descended lower on them, each seemed wondrously dis-
torted from the chin to the commencement of the chest, so that
the face was turned toward the loins ; and they had to come back-
ward, for to look before them was denied. Perhaps by force of

378 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.'

palsy some liave been thus quite distorteJ ; but 1 have not seen,
nor do I believe it to be so." — (J. C), xx, 7-18.

AVliether the knowledjjfe of the future be real or only pretended,
it is all the same, for the effect of foretelling what will happen in
the future is to utterly paralyze the human will. What is fated
to happen cannot be helped. He who divines his own future
learns to depend on luck and chance and external fortune and
not on his own reason and will. Moreover, the one who knows
the future knows it as already ha])pened, and hence turns all
events into something that has already happened — that is to
say, into a past. For him there is no present or future; all is
past time. Ilence the meaning of the ])unishment by twisting
the head around so as to look backward. They look at all as past,
instead of standing like rational beings between the ])ast and
future and, on the basis of the accomplished facts of the ])ast,
building new possibilities into facts by the exercise of their wills.

In the fifth ditch are punished the sinners who sell public offices
for money. They sell justice, too, for money, thus confusing all
moral order. They are plunged in boiling pitch and tormented
by demons with long forks. Dante is actually diverted at the
punishment of these mischief-makers, with whom he has become
so well acquainted through the politics of his time.

The nature of bribes and bartery is likened to ])itch, because it
never leaves the person free. A bargain is never closed, but gives
occasion for an indefinite succession of demands for blackmail
afterward — it is of so sticky a character.

The hypocrites are in the sixth circle.

" There beneath w^e found a painted people, who were going
around with ste])s exceeding slow, weeping, and in their look tired
and overcome. They had cloaks on, with dee]) hoods before their
eyes, made in the shape that they make for the monks at Cologne.
Outward they are gilded, so that it dazzles; but within all lead,
and so heavy, that Frederick's compared to them were straw.
Oh, weary mantle for eternity !" — (J. C), xxiii, 58-67.

This device of gilded cloaks of lead and deep hoods, all so heavy
that they who wear them are tired and overcome, is a s_ymbol
ready to suggest itself to a poet. These hy])Ocrites assume forms
of disiiuise — wear assumed characters — not their own natural,
spontaneous characters, but they impersonate chara'iters that they
wish to seem. This requires special effort, an eternal nu>ke-be-

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ''^I)ivina Commediay 379

lieve, continual artificial effort to do what ought to require no
effort, Tliej are punished by their very deeds in this weary
manner.

The seventh ditch is full of thieves turning into serpents. Con-
tinual metamorphoses are going on — serpents into men and men
into serpents, the thief nature taking possession of the man by fits
and starts. Thievery destroys property and tlie thieves have their
very persons stolen from them — even their bodies and personal
features — and are obliged to assume others. We have here a
symbol of manifold significance, hinting especially at the disguise
which the thief assumes in order to peri)etrate his crimes.

Evil counsellors in the eighth ditch are wrapt in tongues of
flame, the symbol of their own evil tongues, causing flames of dis-
cord in the world.

In the ninth ditch are the schismatics, those who have divided
religious faith ^ being cloven asunder ; those who have produced
schism in the State are mutilated about the head, to symbolize the
place of their injury to society, while the one who foments schism
in the family carries his severed head in his hand — he has severed
the head of the family from its limbs.

In the tenth ditch or chasm we have the falsifiers m four classes :
The alchemists who make base metals resemble gold are punished
by cutaneous diseases, symbolic of the superficial efi'ects of their
alchemy on the base metals. The simulators of persons are man-
gled by each other, so as to symbolize the violence done to person-
ality by counterfeiting it. Those who have conterfeited the coin,
swelling it up to due weight by alloy, are themselves swollen
with dropsy, their blood alloyed with water. The liars and false
witnesses reek with fever that produces delirium or double con-
sciousness, for " the liar must have a good memory." lie nmst
carry a double consciousness — one, a current of thoughts corre-
s})onding to events as they are, and the other current feigning
another order of events consistent with the lies he has told, thus
creating within himself a sort of delirium.

' Mahomet is regarded by Dante as a pervcrter of Christian doctrine and not as a re-
former of the religion of his countrymen. It is interesting in this connection to read
Sprenger's great work (" Das Leben und die Lehre des Mohammad," Berlin, 2d ed., 1869
— see vol. i, 70-90), wherein it is shown how Mahomet derived his first impulse of
his career from Ebionitic Christians, who preached in Arabia substantially the doctrine
of Islam.

380 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

§ 11. The Circles of Treachery^ the Daughter of Pride.

Envy is distinguished from Pride by the philosophers in a manner
somewhat different from Dante's poetic treatment. Even Dante
himself, defining as a philosopher, does not quite agree with him-
self as poet. One would say that Dante as poet conceives pride
to indicate absolute selfishness, or rather concentration on self.
Pride says, in fact, to the universe: "I do not want you or any
of your good ; I want no participation with you ! " While envy
■wants the good of others, but wishes evil to be given to them in its
stead. Thus, envy has some sociality about it, though of a nega-
tive sort. It is still interested enough in its fellows to wish them
evil and to covet their good. As ordinarily defined, it would be
easy to classify most of the instances of pride under envy.

Just as in the case of sloth, anger, and envy, so here pride is
represented by its daughters, which are four species of treachery
— treachery toward one's blood relatives in the family, treachery
toward one's native country, treachery toward one's friends, and
treachery toward one's masters or benefactors. Caina, named
from Cain, holds the first ; the Antenora (from Antenor, who be-
trayed Troy to the Greeks) holds the second class ; the Ptolen)iea,
named from the captain of Jericho, who betrayed Simon, the
high-priest, holds the third class, while the Judecca, named from
Judas, holds the fourth class — Judas, Cassius, and Brutus being
crunched in the three mouths of the monster traitor, Lucifer.

The entire circle of treachery is covered with ice, to symbolize
the isolating and freezing character of the crime of treachery, the
daughter of Pride. This sin alone completely isolates each man
from every other. All the others attack the social boTid, but are
inconsistent, because they seek the fruits of society, though aim-
ing a blow at its existence. Pride is consistent selfishness, because
it makes itself sole end and sole means. It is frozen and it freezes
all others.

The next branch of our subject is the new view of these mortal
sins from the inner or subjective standpoint. After repentance
begins there is no more sin uttered in deeds, but there yet remains
the pain that comes from the repressed proclivity within. Hence
a series of torments belong to the Purgatory, but essentially dif-
ferent from those of the Inferno.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante'' s ^^Divina ComviediaP 381

II. The Pukoatoky.
§ 12. The Spiritual Sense of Purgatory.

Tlie chief tlionglit that lias guided us in our interpretation of
the " Inferno " is this :

Dante describes each punishment in such a manner that we are
to see the essential condition produced in the soul by the sin. The
sin itself is belield as punishment, for each sin cuts off in some
peculiar manner the individual from participation in the good that
flows from society. In the social whole all help each and each
helps all. Each one gives his mite to the treasury of the world,
and in return receives the gift of the whole — he gives a Unite and
receives an infinite. Now, each one of the seven mortal sins ob-
structs in some way this participation.

Let us only look upon the mortal sin with wise illumined
eyes — with a spiritual sense, as it were — and we see that the
sin makes an atmosphere of torment and embarrassment within
the soul, and an environment of hatred between the soul and
society.

Dante, therefore, has only to look into the state of the soul un-
der sin and describe by poetic symbols its condition. It is not the
remote etiects of the seven mortal sins, but their direct immediate
presence that furnishes the punishments of the Inferno. The
effects of sinful deeds return to the doer, and pain comes from
this, too. But Dante has elaborated in symbolic description the
internal state which constitutes the sin as being the state of tor-
ment. There are two attitudes of the soul, however, in the pres-
ence of sinful thoughts, and we have arrived at the second — at
Purgatory.

We must read the "Divina Commedia" with this thought in
mind : Punishment is not an extraneous affair that may be inflict-
ed after sin, and on account of it. Such external infliction is not
divine punishment. That is of a different sort; the punishment
is the sin itself.

§ 13. The Entrance to Purgatory.

On emerging from the dark and gloomy depths of the Inferno,
Dante and his guide again behold the stars.

382 The Journal of ^Speculative Philosophy.

" Of oriental sapphire that sweet blue

AVhich overspread the beautiful serene
Of the pure ether, far as eye could view

To heaven's first circle, brifjhtened up my mien,
Soon as I left that atmosphere of death

Which had my heart so saddened svitli mine eyes:
The beauteous planet which gives love new breath

With lauijhino: \\(A\i cheered all the orient skies,
Pimmino- the Fishes that her escort made:

Then, turning to my right, I stood to scan
The southern pole, and four stars there surveyed —

Save the tirst people, never seen by man.
Heaven seemed rejoicing in their blazing rays."

— (T. W. Parsons' Transl.), i, 15-25.

The two poets liave now come to a realm of hope and growth
and morning-redness, on the dawn of Easter-day — a festival sym-
bolic of the rise of the soul out of the Hell of sensuality. Tliey
meet Cato, the guardian of the place, his face illuminated by the
holy lights of the four bright stars of the southern cross. These
symbols of the four cardinal virtues — temperance, justice, ])ru-
dence, and fortitude — flamed thus in the morning sky of the south-
ern heavens, wdiile the three great stars syaibolizing the three
celestial virtues — faith, hope, and charity — will be seen later, in
the evening sky, as mentioned in the eighth canto. Directed by
Cato, they proceed toward the shore of the sea, and after Virgil
has washed the tear-stained cheeks of Dante with the purgatorial
dews, he girds him with a smooth rush, the symbol of humility
under chastisement. Dante had thrown his girdle of self-riglit-
eousness ' into the pit of fraud on his descent. An angel appears,

' Carlyle suggests this mcaninf; for tlio girdle which was thrown to tlie monster Ge-
ryon. He had ouce thought to catch tlie ieopanl witii the painted skin by its aid —

'' E con essa pensai alcuna volta
Prender la lonza alia pelle dipinta."
It must be noted that there is a vast abyss scjiarating the, up])er hell of incontinence
from the lower hell of fraud and treachery — the hell of natural impulse and desire from
the hell of considerate, calculating selfishness, which is conscious of the spiritual bond
of society, ami deliberately sacrifices it for selfish ends. It is the difference between
the special or particular and the universal. Incontinence seeks the particular object of
gratification, and simply neglects the social bond that would forbid it. But Envy, with
its daughters, the ten species of fraud, does not attack the individual directly, but
through and by means of the social bond itself. It uses the social bond as though it
were not a means of existence for the social whole, but as though it were a means for

The Spiritual Sense of Dante s '"''Divina Commediar 383

pilotint>- swiftly over the waves a bark laden with si)irits chanting
the psalm of deliverance, "When Israel went out of Egypt, the
house of Jacob from a ])eople of strange language," celebrating
their es('a])e from the bondage of sin.

The iirst terrace of the steep mountain of Purgatory is devoted
to the souls who procrastinated their repentance. Manfred tells
them that one who dies in contumac^y of the holy church must
stay on the plain that surrounds the ascent for a period thirty
times as long as the period of his presumption. And Belaqua,
who has attained the first terrace, is obliged to wait, as we learn,
on the tirst terrace a duration equivalent to the time he lost in his
earthly life by procrastination. But it seems that the time of

the individual to use in seeking liis private and exclusive ends. So, too, Pride, with
treachery, its daughter, attacks the four forms of the social bond, directly seeking to
put the individual in place of the social whole, and to set aside the social bond entirely.
Now, the principle of this nether hell is not an animal or natural one, a yielding to na-
tive impulse, but a peculiarly human hell (xi, 25, " Ma perche frode e dell' ucm proprio
male "), a hell made by using the social bond against itself (fraud) or by seeking to de-
stroy it utterly (treachery). The girdle (of self-righteousness, as Carlyle interprets it,
following the hints of older commentators) might then be taken to signify the principle
of Dante's actions — the aim of life which united or girded up his endeavors while a
yoiing man looking to wealth and luxury — creature comforts — individual happiness, in
short. It was the principle of thrift that considers the pleasures which the sins of in-
continence seek, to be legitimate ends for the put suit of the soul. The love of sex, of
food and drink, of money, of pure individual will (anger is based on this), is the object
for which the girdle of thrift unites one's endeavors — it is a selfish aim, and while it
may be ever so legitimate in its use of means for gratification, yet it is, after all, akin to
envy, and this mortal sin is attracted to it and hopes to prevail upon it. The girdle of
legitimate self-seeking, therefore, attracts Geryon, the monster of hypocrisy and kindred
vices. Dante has recently seen the nature of these objects of gratification, and is ready
to yield up to Virgil this girdle. Scartazzini, in his commentary (Nota A, Inf., xvi,
106), holds that the cord is not a mere symbol, but also a real cord — the cord of the
Franciscan order, with which Dante had once (according to old tradition) girded himself
in the habit of a novice, thinking to tame the appetites of the flesh (prender la lonza).
" The cord has become superfluous since Dante has left behind the circles wherein lux-
ury is punished." This cord is used merely to excite the attention of Geryon ; or does it
suggest to Geryon the approach of an apostate from the Franciscan order — one who has
discarded his girdle of renunciation, a hypocritical I'ranciscan, secretly unfaithful to the
rules of his order (as suggested by Philalethes in his commentary) V This is certainly
better than the interpretation of those who take the girdle as a symbol of fraud, or of
some virtue opposed to fraud, unless the leopard signifies Florence, and its spots denote
the white and l)lack parties, in which case the girdle may mean fraud in the sense of
stratagem, or virtue in the sense of justice, or vigilance, or impartiality, as suggested by
commentators. But the leopard doubtless suggests JTorence and quiet citizen life, and
also sensuous pleasure or luxury, and perhaps the factions of Florence also. Gayety
and liveliness are emphasized in the beast. It is a complex symbol.

384 The Journal of Speculative Philosopfiy.

delay may be shortened by the prayers of pious people still on the
earth.

Here we note a. striking contrast between the souls that desire
purification and those who peopled the rounds of the Inferno, The
spirit of those in Hell is that of bitterness against others. They
do not look for help from co operatiou. Having attacked society
by mortal sin, they find their deeds returned or reflected back
upon them as pain and liuiitation. They curse their fellow-men
and do not wish co-operation. But if it has attained the "good
of the intellect,"" which is the recognition of the principle of grace
(or beneticence) as the supreme principle of the universe, and its
corollary of human freedom and responsibility, the soul is in Pur-
gatory. It now sees all pain and inconvenience to be angels in
disguise — to be, in fact, the necessary means of purification and
progress. This mountain of purification is indeed the steepest as-
cent in the world, but, as Virgil assures Dante, " the more one
mounts, the less it pains him," and '' when it becomes as pleasant
and easy to clind) as it is to float down stream in a boat," then
one has surely arrived at the end of his journey. He has rooted
out not only the habits of sinning, but also all the proclivities and
tendencies to it, and tliere is no longer any danger of temptation
because the full light of the intellect enables him to see the true
nature of all deeds, and he loves the good and hates the evil quite
spontaneously.

The divine charity that prays for others and seeks their eternal
good with missionary zeal avails to help them up the mountain of
purification. As the souls who are detained on the fii*st circle on
account of their procrastination long for the time when they may
enter ui)on their purgation, they chant the " Miserere," the Fifty-
first Psalm, full of longing for ]Mirification : " Wash me thorough-
ly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I
acknowledge my transgressions."

§ 14. Church and State.

Dante's poem differs from all other works of art in the fact
that he does not limit himself to the development of a single
event or a single colli>ion of an individual, but shows us in a
threefold series more than half a thousand tragic and epic charac-
ters, so foreshortened in the perspective of the divine purpose of
his poem as to be seen each at one glance of the eye as we pass on

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '■^Bivina Commedia.'''' 385

onr way. His supreme artistic power in this respect appears in
his ability to trace all the essential outlines of a character in the
fewest strokes. Examples of this abound throughout the poem.
The picture of Bordello, as they met him on the first terrace, on
the evening of the first day, is noteworthy, especially because of
the fact that it betrays the pride of Dante's character in his loving
description of the pride of another :

" But yonder, look ! one spirit, all alone,

By itself stationed, bends toward us his gaze :
The readiest passage will by him be shown.

We came up toward it : O proud Lombard soul !
How thou didst wait, in thy disdain unstirred,
And thy majestic eyes didst slowly roll !

Meanwhile to us it never uttered word.

But let us move, just giving us a glance.
Like as a lion looks in his repose."

— (T. W. P., Tr.), vi, 58-66.

The apostrophe to Italy that follows describes the civil factions
and is one of many in which Dante proclaims his doctrine of the
necessity of separation of Church and State, or say, rather, the co-
ordination and independence of the two institutions. Human de-
fect as sin must be adjudged and recompensed differently from
human defect as crime. Sin is rebellion against the divine world-
order, and cannot be atoned for by a finite measure of punish-
ment, but may be escaped only by complete repentance, complete
internal change. Sin is essentially internal, while crime consists
essentially in the overt act. Crime must be measured and pun-
ished — measured by itself, and the deed or its symbolic equivalent
returned upon the criminal. For one tribunal to take cognizance
of both phases of defect is to confuse the standards of religion and
civil justice. To treat sin as crime, and teach that it may be
measured and condoned by some external fine or penance, destroys
the religious consciousness. To treat crime as sin makes every
slightest dereliction incur the last penalty of the law, and estab-
lishes the code of Draco. For the sinner is a rebel or traitor
against God. He attacks his own essence, and if permitted to
carry out his will would actually destroy his individual being. To
return his act upon him is to inflict infinite punishment on him.
Hence justice — i. e., a formal return of the deed — cannot save the
XXI— 25

386 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

sinner. But there is grace., which forgives the sin upon genuine
repentance. The Church must look to the state of the heart — tliat
is to say, to the disposition of the man. The civil })Ower must
look to the deed. If the Church administers the State, it looks
too much toward the dis])osition, and makes too small account of
the overt act. In correcting its procedure and in adapting itself
to the needs of civil justice, it soon comes to neglect its divine
functions, and reduce religion to an external ceremonial by de-
grading the idea of sin to the idea of crime, or external act. These
thoughts weighed much upon the mind of Dante, and he often
recurs to this theme.

The vale of the princes to which the three poets come on the
close of the first day is in many respects the most charming scene
in the "Divina Commedia," although its intent appears to be the
reproof of secular potentates for their hesitation, their procrastina-
tion, in asserting their divine co-ordination with the spiritual po-
tentate, aud thus bringing to an end the distraction of Italy. This
suggestion also occurs in the psalm, "Salve Regina," which the
princes intone as they sit on the green turf amid flowers. It calls
upon the Mother of Pity to save us ])oor exiles dwelling in this
vale of tears — exiles also from our rightful thi'ones.

Moreover, the poem hints at the pathos, for Dante, himself an
exile, on account of this ptrocrastination of the princes to assume
rightful authority and bring peace to the Italian cities.

" 'Twixt steep and level went a winding path
Which led us where the vale-side dies away
Till less than half its heijjht the margin hath.

Gold and tine silver, ceruse, cochineal,

India's rich wood, heaven's lucid hlue serene.
Or glow that emeralds freshly broke reveal,

Had all been vanquished by the varied sheen
Of this bright valley set with shrubs and flowers,

As less by greater. Nor had Nature there
Only in painting spent herself, but showers

Of odors manifold made sweet the air
With one strange mingling of confused perfume,

And there new spirits chanting, I descried,
* Salve Regina ! ' seated on the bloom

And verdure sheltered by the dingle side."

— (T. AV. r., Tr.), vii, 70-84.

Tlie Spiritual Sense of Dante's ^^Divina Comm.edia.''^ 387

Tlie sun goes down, and here no step can be taken with safety-
after the darkness comes on. The sun of righteousness shines
intermittently on this round of ante-Purgatory, and strictest care
must be taken to guard against the temptations that come up from
the memories of the old life during the night intervals of the soul.

" 'Twas now the hour that brings to men at sea,

Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,
Fond thoughts and longing back with them to be ;

x\nd thrills the pilgrim with a tender spell
Of love, if haply, new upon bis way,

He faintly hear a chime from some far bell.
That seems to mourn the dying of the day ;

When I forbore my listening faculty
To mark one spirit uprisen amid the band

Who joined both palms and lifted them on high
(First having claimed attention with his hand)

And toward the Orient bent so fixed an eye
As 'twere he said, ' My God ! on thee alone

My longing rests.' Then from his lips there came
'Te lucis ante,' so devout of tone.

So sweet, my mind was ravished by the same ;
The others next, full sweetly and devout,

Fixing their gaze on the supernal wheels,
Followed him chanting the whole Psalm throughout.

Now, reader, to the truth my verse conceals
Make sharp thy vision ; subtle is the veil,

So tine 'twere easily passed through unseen."

— (T. W.^R, Tr.), viii, 1-21.

This hymn for the close of day prays for guardianship during
the night of the soul from dreams, phantasms, and from the ene-
my. Temptation has for it the world-renowned symbol of the
Serpent in the Garden of Eden.

" I saw that gentle army, meek and pale,
Silently gazing upward with a mien
As of expectancy, and from on high

Beheld two angels with two swords descend
Which flamed with fire, but, as I could descry,
They bare no points, being broken at the end.'

' The guardian angels, whose swords of divine justice are blunted with mercy through
the death of the Redeemer. — Lombardo, quoted by Scarlazzini.

388 Tlie Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Green robes, in hue more delicate than spring's

Tender new leaves, they trailed behind and fanned
With gentle beating of their verdant wings.

One, coming near, just over us took stand ;
Down to tir opponent bank the other sped.

So that the spirits were between them grouped.
Full well could I discern each flaxen head;

But in their faces mine eyes' virtue drooped,
As 'twere confounded by excess and dead.

* From Mary's bosom they have both come here,'
Bordello said — 'this valley to protect

Against the serpent that will soon appear.'"

— (T. W. P., Tr.), viii, 22-39.

The compline hymn prayed for protection, and it has been an-
swered. Now the " enemy " appears.

" Sordello to his side
Drew Virgil, and exclaimed : ' Behold our Foe ! '

And pointed to the thing Avhich he descried ;
And where that small vale's barrier sinks most low

A serpent suddenl}"^ was seen to glide,
Such as gave Eve, perchance, the fruit of woe.

Through flowers and herbage came that evil streak.
To lick its back oft turning round its head.

As with his tongue a beast his fur doth sleek.
I was not looking, so must leave unsaid

"When first they fluttered, but full well T saw
Both heavenly falcons had their plumage spread.

Soon as the serpent felt the withering flaw
Of those green wings, it vanished, and they sped

Up to their posts again with even flight."

— (T. W. P., Tr.), viii, 95-108.

Within Puri]!;atory proper we are told that there is no longer
any temptation. The serpent appears no more after passing be-
yond the terrace of ante-Purgatory.

§ 15. The Purgatorial Stairs.

Dante is carried in sleep by Lucia (Divine Grace) to the gate of
Purgatory, and on the morning of the second day he sees

"... a gate, and leading to it went
Three steps, and each was of a different hue ;
A guardian sat there keeping the ascent.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ^^Divina Commediar 389

As yet he spake not, and as more and more
Mine eyes I opened, on the topmost stair

I saw }iim sitting, and the look he wore
Was of snch brightness that I could not bear.

The rays were so reflected from his face
By a drawn sword that glistened in his hand

That oft I turned to look in empty space."

— (T. W. P., Tr.), ix, 76-84.

" We therefore came and stood
At the first stair, which was of marble white,

So clear and burnished that therein I could
Behold myself, how I appear to sight.

The second was a rough stone, burnt and black
Beyond the darkest purple ; through its length

And crosswise it was traversed by a crack.
The third, whose mass is rested on their strength.

Appeared to me of porphyry, flaming red.
Or like blood spouting from a vein."

— (T. W. P., Tr.), ix, 94-102.

In the " Surama Theologica " of St. Thomas Aquinas (ill, 90)
Penitence, which is the theme of Purgatory, is defined as having
three parts, contrition^ confession^ and satisfaction. Dante places
the stair of confession first. It mirrors the individual as he appears.
Contrition calcines the soul with humility and renunciation, and
makes cross-shaped fissures in it where the human passions and
appetites are burnt out. Satisfaction or penance is the third part
of penitence, and is defined as, first, alms; second, fasting; and
third, prayer. Satisfaction consists, therefore, in the repression
of selfishness, and especially in the practical seeking for the good
of others. Hence the third ste{^ flames red with the color of
love.

Two keys, golden and silver, the latter of discernment of the
heart and tlie former of authority to give absolution, are in the
hands of Peter, the symbol of the power of the Church. Seven
p^s are inscribed on the forehead on entering Purgatory ; one of
these seven mortal sins {peccata) is to be purged away on each ter-
race of the mountain.

In the " Inferno" the seven mortal sins were not all punished di-
rectly in their abstract form as passions or appetites, but rather in
their fruits; for example, "the daughters of anger, of envy, of

390 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

pride." Here, however, sin is not permitted to triuinpli and come
to its fruitage ; naj, it is not permitted even to fill the desires.
It can only appear in the soul as an element of struggle in which
the will for holiness is victorious.

In purgation from sin, therefore, the sin appears directly in its
proper form, and the soul discerns it in its true character as em-
barrassment and hindrance to its higher life.

§ 16. The First Terrace : Pu?'ification from Pride.

On the lowest terrace souls are purified from pride. To the
soul enlightened by the good of the intellect, selfish pride seems to
convert human beings into caryatids or corbels bent to the earth
by their loads. The soul that makes itself the centre of the uni-
verse and strives to live on that principle finds on his shouldei's
the entire weight of the world.

" As, to support a floor or roof by way of corbel, one sometimes
sees a figure join the knees to the breast, the which, out of its un-
truth, causes a true discomfort in who sees it, thus saw I these
shaped, when I well gave heed. True is it that they were more
and less drawn together, according as they had more or less on
their backs ; and he who had most endurance in his mien, weep-
ing, seemed to say, ' I can no more.' " — (A. J. Butler, Tr.), x, 130-
139.

These proud souls, thus bowed down beneath the weight of the
universe, chant the Lord's prayer — the prayer taught as the model
of true humility in contrast to the prayer of the proud Pharisee.
Dante's version of this prayer is not only a w^onderful paraphrase,
but, at the same time, a high order of commentary on its meaning.

Images of humility are sculptured on the cornice of the wall
where those who are bent with pride have the greatest difficulty
in seeing them. Ideals of humility are not easily formed in the
soul when it is first resisting its inclinations to pride. It can then
see only the eifects of pride. Hence on the floor beneath their
feet are sculptured the examples of pride brought low. These
they can see readily when bowed to the earth. AVlien they have
recovered a more erect position they may see the examples of hu-
mility. The souls of this terrace feel the true relation of pride to
the good of the intellect. They chant the hymn Te Dewm Lauda-
mus, recognizing God as infinitely exalted above them, while

The Spiritual Sense of Dante''s ''''Divina Commedia?'' 391

the proud in tlie Inferno would not recognize God except by
blasphemy and violence. At the holy stairs the poets hear the
beatitude sunj; " Blessed are the poor in spirit," symbolizing the
victory over pride.

§ 17. Second lerrace : Purification from Envy.

On the next terrace the rock has the livid hue of envy. The
souls lean one upon another like blind men. " For in all of them
a thread of iron bores the eyelid and sews it in such wise as is
done to a wild falcon because he remains not quiet." — (A. J. B.,
Tr.), xiii, YO-72.

These souls perceive the spiritual effects of envy to be the blind-
ing of the soul to all true and just estimate of their fellow-men.
Whereas in the Inferno each envious soul rejoiced in his superior
craft and tried to break the social bond by fraud, here they mu-
tually support and are supported, and are conscious of their blind-
ness.

As their sight is taken away, they do not behold sculptures, but
hear voices in the air, first reciting examples of generosity and
next examples of the dreadful fruits of envy.

On entering the stairway to the next terrace they hear the beati-
tude directed against envy : " Blessed are the merciful." Blessed
are they who are considerate of the welfare of others. In spiritual
things the more participation, the more each gives to all, the more
all give to each, and the greater is the share of each, because the
good that is enjoyed by one's fellows is reflected back from them
{E come specchio Viuio all? altro rende), so that the individual is
blessed by all the spiritual good possessed by the whole of society.
Herein is contained the doctrine of " the Good of the Intellect " as
regards the sin of envy.

§ 18. Third Terrace : Dante^s Purification from Anger.

On the third terrace, within Purgatory proper, takes place the
purification from anger. Dante himself has given us examples of
anger, as we saw in the Inferno, for instance, in his treatment of
Bocca degli Abati, whose hair he pulled so cruelly. In the round
of anger, and still more in the round of treachery, he seemed to
give way to anger. He made some eifort to justify himself symboli-
cally on the ground that it was his hatred of the sins that made

392 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

him mistreat the sinners. Even Virgil approves (Inf., viii, 44,
45) of his rage against Filippo Argenti, formerly an arrogant per-
sonage {persona orgogliosa) but now weeping {vedl che son un che
2nango). Why should he l)e spiteful toward some of the sinners
in the Inferno and ]>itiful toward others? His own weaknesses
and proclivities are painted by his sympathies and aversions. On
this third terrace, however, he seems to confess his own sin and
suffers the pain of purification like the other penitents.

"We were soingr throuo-h the eveninjij, gazinoc onward, as far as
the eyes could reach, against the late and shining rays, and beheld
little by little a smoke draw toward us, as the night obscure ; nor
from that was there place to withdraw one's self ; this took from us
our eyes and the pure air." — (A. J. B., Tr.), xv, 139-145.

"Gloom of hell, and of a night bereft of every planet mider a
])oor sky, darkened all that it can be by cloud made not to my
sight so thick a veil as that smoke which there covered us, nor of
so harsh a texture to feel ; for it suftered not the eye to stay open ;
wherefore my learned and faithful escort moved to my side and
offered me his shoulder. Just as a blind man goes behind his
guide in order not to stray, and not to stumble against augh.t that
can harm him or maybe slay him, I was going through the bitter
and foul air listening to my leader, who said only : ' See that thou
be not cut off from me.' I began to hear voices, and each ap-
peared to be praying for peace and mercy to the Lamb of God who
takes away sins. Only Agnus Dei were their preludes ; one word
in all there was, and one measure, so that there appeared among
them all concord." — (A. J. B., Tr.), xvi, 1-15.

In this terrace examples of meekness, and of anger, its opposite,
flash before the mind in visions as they walk onward through the
stifling smoke. Dante listens eagerly to another discussion of the
separate functions of Church and State and of the bad government
in that State where " the shepherd who goes before may chew the
cud, but has not the hooves divided." The leader ruminates {i. e.,
chews the cud), or theorizes and comes to know divine wisdom as
a teacher, but does not discriminate in temj^oral affairs and divide
good from evil conduct {discretionem honiet mali^ as St. Augus-
tine suggests).

At the close of the second day they reach the stairway and
hear the beatitude directed against anger: "Blessed are the
Peace-makers ! "

The Spiritual Sense of Dante'' s ^^Divina Commediar 393

§ 19. Fourth Terrace : Sloth and its Relation to the other Mortal

Sins.

On the fourth terrace Virgil explains to Dante the relation of
the seven mortal sins to each other, newly deliiiing them all.
Love is the common ground. Love remiss is sloth, the mortal sin
purged away on this terrace. Love perverted hy selfishness, be-
<jomes love of evil to one's neighbor, and forms the essence of the
three sins — pride, envy, and anger. Love excessive is the basis of
the three sins of incontinence — lust, gluttony, and avarice.

These sins are called mortal or deadly because they attack the
conditions of spiritual life, or, what is the same thing, the founda-
tions of the institutions of civilization. Pride, the most deadly
of the seven, strikes not only against the fruits of social union,
but also ao'ainst the essence of social union in itself. It refuses to
associate. Its aim is to isolate itself from the universe. Hence
its fruits are treachery in the family, the State, and the Church.
It aims blows directly against the existence of the social bond.
Its effect on the soul is symbolized by the frozen lake Cocytus.

Envy is not so deadly as pride, but far more fatal than anger.
Envy, by means of fraud, strikes against the social tie that binds
society together, while anger induces violence, wliich strikes only
particular individuals and not the social bond. Envy strikes
against the institution of property, rendering it insecure, and de-
stroying the trust of men in the means of achieving their freedom
from wants of food, clothing, and shelter. It attacks personality
itself by hypocrisy, flattery, fraudulent impersonation, evil coun-
sel, and schism, rendering every man distrustful of his fellows.
But it does not isolate man so deeply and in so deadly a manner
as Pride. Pride severs all social intercourse, while Envy desires
to reap the fruits of social life, but at the expense of society itself,
thus setting up a contradiction in the form of its effort. Envy
wishes to appropriate the good of men, but through their loss ;
Pride wishes no share either in society or in its fruits.

Anger produces these evils in a less degree, because it is special
in the character of its effects.

Avarice and Waste injure society by diverting property from
its place as a means of realizing human freedon]. The social in-
terchange by which the individual is enabled to contribute some-
thing of his own deeds for the benefit of his fellow-men, and to

39* The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

draw out in his turn from the market of the world his share in its
aggregate of productions, is rendered possible by means of the in-
stitution of private property. There could be no transfer of the
individual will to the social whole unless the individual could im-
press his will on things and make them his property. Conse-
quently, without the institution of private property, he could not
help society, and this woukl render impossible, on the other hand,
his participation in the labor of the race — he could receive nothing
from his fellow-men, because nothing could be collected or trans-
mitted. Hence the significance of property, and hence the dead-
liness of the sin which perverts property from its usefulness by
avarice or wastefulness.

Gluttony is more of a private nature than avarice. Avarice
touches at once the material bond of the practical will-power ot
society, while gluttony or intemperance unfits the individual to
fulfil his functions as a member of institutions, the family, civil
society, the State, the Church. Consequently the good that would
flow from him is greatly diminished or entirely cut off. He sinks
down below the condition of a brute and follows appetite alone,
thus paralyzing his will and cutting himself off from the dominion
over nature in time and space.

Lust attacks the institution of the family. It is a deadly sin,
because the family is the element of all other institutions, their
material presupposition. It is placed above intemperance, because
the latter is nearly as destructive to the family and directly more
destructive to the industrial well-being of society, and because in-
temperance leads more directly to the sins of sloth and anger.
Each nation has its besetting sins. Our Xorman Anglo-Saxon
race, most given to independent individuality of all races, is, per-
haps, liable to pride and avarice more than other nations, showing
its individuality against the State and using its free-will in creat-
ing an independence in the shape of a private fortune; and, on
the other hand, it is perhaps more inclined than other peoples to
respect the sacredness of the family. Hence, lust would change
places with avarice or pride in the hierarchy of sins, as formulated
by a theologian of Old or New England.

After the new definition of the mortal sins and their reduction
to a system by Virgil, he proceeds in the eighteenth canto to dis-
course on ethics. The hour of midnight has approached and the
poets, seated at the top of the stairway, are looking at the gibbous

The Spiritual Senso of Dante's '■^Dlvina Commediay 395

moon in the west, when suddenly they are startled by a mighty
rout of souls, who are purging away the sin of sloth by run-
ning furiously and shouting instances of zeal and energy. This
example of zeal is all the more surprising after the words of Sor-
dello relative to the effect of darkness on the soul in ante-Purga-
tory : " To go upward in the night is not possible ; even this line
thou couldst not pass after the set of sun." We note here that
the moon, or the reflected light of mere forms and ceremonies,
serves to guide the reformed slothful people.

Later in the nio-ht Dante dreams the dream of the Siren who
(symbol of the sin here purged away) charms one aside from the
labors of duty and plunges him in a dream of slothful ease and
luxury. It is remarked that sloth assails the whole range of moral
virtues, theoretical and practical.

§ 20. Fifth Terrace: Purification from Avarice.

On the fifth terrace Dante sees the purification from avarice,
people realizing its grovelling nature as taking the mind off from
spiritual things and placing them on things of earth earthy. In
Canto XX we hear a brief resume of French history — hinting of
the relation of the French nation to avarice (its bribery by the papal
court). The mountain trembles and the hymn " Gloria in Excel-
sis " peals out, and the shade of the poet Statins emerges from the
terrace below into the fifth. All souls in a state of penitence re-
joice and praise God when one of their number makes progress.

§ 21. Sixth Terrace: Purgation of the Intemperate.

On the sixth terrace the intemperate resist their inordinate appe-
tites in the presence of food and-drink that invite the senses. To
them gluttony is a fetter fastening the spirit to food and drink so
'that it is not able to attend to spiritual matters. Instead of eating
and drinking with their mouths, they recall the words of the
Psalmist : " Open thou my lips and my mouth shall show forth
thy praise." They hunger and thirst after righteousness and not
after other food.

§ 22. Seventh Terrace : Dante's Purification from Lust.

On the seventh terrace the sin of lust is purged by fire. The souls
realize that their lustful passions are consuming flames. Dante

396 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

himself receives purification on tliis terrace aorain. He passes
through a tire of which he says : " I would have flung myself into
boiling glass to cool me, so immeasurable was the degree of heat"
in the ]nirifying flame. And yet the souls are careful not to step
out of the Hame but to keep within its chaste pains and receive its
purification. " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see
God " is the beatitude directed against lust. To see the eyes of
Beatrice, or the Revelation of Divine Theology, Dante must pass
through the flame of purification and become pure in heart. So
Virgil, in the midst of the flames, discourses of Beatrice to encour-
age Dante.

§ 23. The Terrestrial Paradise.

In the Terrestrial Paradise, which is the place of transfigured
and perfected human society on earth, Dante finds the Church.
It is a complex symbol bodying forth the visible Church ' and its
history (as commentary has sufiiciently shown),

' The seven candlesticks denoting the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit; the seven bands
of color streaming out from them, the sacraments, or else the influences of the gifts ; the
ten paces, the ten commandments ; the twenty-four elders, the twenty-four books of the
Old Testament crowned with the lilies of faith ; the four beasts {quattro animali) crowned
with green leaves, the four gospels clad in the color of hope (or salvation) ; the six wings
of protection extending in the six possible directions in space, and full of eyes for provi-
dential guardiansiiip (V), or perhaps the wings denote inspiration and the eyes the full-
ness of divine vision ; the car of the visible Church in their midst, on two wheels, the
old and the new dispensations, or rather, as the wheels serve as the means by which the
Church moves forward, they signify revelation and tradition (Philalethes) or the priest-
hood and the monks (Witte) ; the griffon with his two bodies signifies the divine-human
founder of the Church ; the lion's body, colored white (faith) and vermilion (charity or
grace), symbolizes the human part and the eagle's head and wings of gold the divine
part, the wings rising so high that their ends can not be seen extending into the mystic
and incomprehensible Godhead ; the wings, one of justice and the other of mercy, rise
through the bands of influence that stream from the candlesticks, including one sacra-
ment — that of repentance — between the wings as the most essential one of Purgatory, and
three sacraments on each side of both wings ; the griffon draws the car by its shaft, the
cross, and attaches it to a tree — a tree that suggests the tree of knowledge of good and
evil in Paradise, and yet it would seem that Dante refers to the fixing of the papal seat
at Rome. Three dames — white, green, and red, to signify the three celestial virtues, faith,
hope, and charity — dance by the side of the right wheel, while four dames, clad in pur-
ple, signify the four cardinal or secular virtues, one of whom (Prudence) has three eyes
(counsel, agreement, and habit) dance by the left wheel. Then follow the symbols of
the remaining books of the New Testament — St. Luke (of Acts), St. Paul, Saints Peter,
.John, .lames, and .Jude for their epistles; a solitary old man sleeping, but with subtle
countenance, for Revelation. Beatrice now descends crowned with olive (peace) over a
white veil (faith), in a green mantle (hope), and clad in the color of a living flame

The Spiritual Sense of Daniels '■^Divina CommediaP 397

After Dante beholds the history of the Church sytnbolized and
its future propliesied, great emphasis being placed on its relations
to the Empire, he passes through the waters of Lethe and be-
comes oblivious of his mortal defects.

§ 2-i. The Spiritual Sense of '"'• Lethey

That Lethe is an essential product of the process of purification
must be obvious to every one who reflects upon the nature of it.
The river of forgetfulness does not destroy or impair in any way
the recollection of deeds done in the body, but it changes essen-
tially the quality of that memory. In the Inferno state of the
soul sins had been committed as though they were the special pri-
vate or personal interest of the individual doer, and their punish-
ment was looked upon as though coming from an alien interest
outside of the doer. The memory of the Inferno state of the soul,
therefore, would preserve the dualism of the selfish me versus the
avenging social whole. But Purgatory so eradicates this sense of
dualism that it leads the individual to feel that his real essential self
— his divine self, in fact — is the self embodied in the institutions
of civilization. With this insight he comes to see all human his-
tory as his own history, and to sympathize with the action of the
social whole in relation to the individual. Hence he adopts the
action of the social whole as his own essential act and ignores his
particular rights and wrongs as opposed to the universal right of
society. He therefore loses the interest of personal memory in
himself and looks upon himself as an alien personality quite out-

(love). She signifies divine theology or revelation (Scartazzini) or grace that perseveres
(Philalethes), and much else no doubt — infinite aspiration of the soul. Dante is up-
braided for unfaithfulness to this highest aspiration ; he has pursued other aims, sought
to capture the leopard ; sought also to explain the world by an inferior philosophy (the
quella scuola cK hal seguitata e sua dottrina spoken of in XXXIII, 89, 90, and contrasted
with the divine way). The reference to unfaithfulness in Canto XXX is perhaps the
symbolic statement of what is literally named in Canto XXXIII as a philosophic doc-
trine, and this seems to be acknowledged by Dante (XXXIII, 92). It was perhaps some
doctrine derived from the Arabian commentators like Averrhoes, who inclined toward
Pantheism and denied individual immortality to men. In his commentary on Aristotle's
psychology Averrhoes understands " the Philosopher " to prove that man has only a
" passive " intellect which perishes at death, while the " active intellect," which is the
soul of the world, alone possesses persistent being. This was also the interpretation
of Alexander of Aphrodisias. St. Thomas Aquinas's greatest service to Christian
Theology is his refutation of this error which places the principle of individuality in the
passive rather than in the active part of the human soul.

398 The Journal of Speculative Philosopliy.

side of his new self tliat has grown as a second nature, a regener-
ated self, through the struggle of Purgatory. He loves his new
life, which is in conformity with the life of civilization and the
Divine world-order, and he loves whatever deeds of his old life
contributed to forming this new life. This is the batli in the
stream Eunoe, wliicli brings to memory the good deeds of the past
life. The bath in Lethe is the death of the old life.

Moreover, there is a certain progress in the theoretical ujind
itself which Dante and his like well know that has an effect in
raising the soul above sense and memory into the realm of the in-
tuition of ideas. After any one has thoroughly mastered the sci-
entific knowledge of a given province he abides by the general
symbols that sum up his knowledge in the form of abstract ideas.
These indicate to him not mere dead classifications and mere sum-
maries of observati(m in the form of statistics, but concrete prin-
ciples involving both energies and laws, so that they explain not
only all the facts and phenomena that are collected in the science,
but also furnish a permanent image of the eternal process mani-
fested in the facts and phenomena treated of in the science of
which he has become the master.

At this point of insight into principles and their energies and
laws which produce the processes of nature and life, the mind
contemplates what is essential and therefore necessary, and is
thereupon released from the obligation to retain all the data of
observation which had to be used at first in order to discover tlie
principle. The facts and data are only a scaffolding useful while
the temple was building. The principles, for example, of botany
do not depend on the facts and phenomena which have furnished
the botanists the data on which they have climbed up to laws and
principles. Those data were only illustrations fiowing from those
principles, and not the causes of the principles themselves. The
principles once established and in the mind, those data may drop
away as so much scafiblding, for the temple is not built on the
scaftblding but on its own foundation ; and, although the scaffold
is useful in the process of building, it is now im longer needed.
So the facts and phenomena are the accidental illustrations of the
principles which pointed the way to their discov^ery and now may
be forgotten. The scientific mind bathes in the waters of Lethe
and washes away the memory of facts that once imprisoned it in
mechanical theories, or systems of classification, or statistical results.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ^^Divina CdmmediaP 399

III. The " Paradiso."
§ 24. The Ascent to Paradise.

Dante gazes into the eyes of Beatrice' (symbolizing Divine
Knowledge, Ciiristian Theology, or Revelation), and now ascends
to the celestial spheres. There are ten heavens in all, of which
the lowest and nearest to the earth is the heaven of the moon,
while the highest heaven is the Em])yrean.

The doctrine already alluded to as the fundamental principle
of Christianity — to wit, that God is pure form, pure self-dis-
tinction, pure consciousness, pure personality — is stated in the
following discourse of Beatrice placed in the first canto of the
" Paradiso " :

' Beatrice may signify perfecting grace, as Philalethes thinks, or Revelation, as Scar-
tazzini prefers. But Dante himself (in the "Convito," ii, 13) tells us that he imaged
Philosophy under the form of a gentle lady and compassionate, and, after thirty months
of study of Boethius, he began to feel the sweetness of this lady so much that his love
for her chased away all other thoughts. In Chapter II of the second Treatise he alludes
to Beatrice as the gentle lady of the "Vita Nuova," and in Chapter XVI he discourses at
length on the fair lady Philosophy : " The spirit made me look on a fair lady, in which
passage it should be understood that this lady is Philosophy ; a lady full of sweetness,
indeed, adorned with modesty, wonderful in her wisdom, the glory of freedom. . . .
Whoever desires to see his salvation must look steadfastly into this Lady's eyes :

' Chi veder vuol la salute,
Faccia che gli occhi d'esta donna miri.'

The eyes of the Lady are her demonstrations which look straight into the eyes of the
intellect, enamor the soul, and emancipate it from all fettering conditions."

If one understands by Philosophy what Dante expounds in his " Convito," it signifies
the insight into a Divine Reason as First Cause without envy and full of goodness or
grace. This doctrine is therefore the same as perfecting grace and the same as the
substance of Revelation. For Reason is divine-human. In the " Paradiso," Canto x.xxi,
Beatrice leaves Dante, and St. Bernard takes her place. This, perhaps, means that Phi-
losophy, daughter of God though she be (" Convito," ii, 13), does not suffice to reveal the
mystery of the Trinity. St. Bernard as religious mystic expounds the White Rose of
Paradise, symbol of the Invisible Church, corresponding to the Visible Church on the sum-
mit of the purgatorial mount. He also conducts him to the vision of the Triune God.
It makes no difference whether Beatrice is interpreted as Philosophy if understood in
the sense that Dante explains in the " Convito," or as Divine Theology as unfolded by
St. Thomas Aquinas, or as perfecting grace if understood as the illuminating effects of
this insight which is the vision of God, or as Revelation if understood as producing
this same vision of God.

400 The Journal of Speculative PhUosojjhy.

" All things, whate'er they be,
Have order ° among themselves, and this is form.
That makes the universe resemble God.
Here do the higher creatures see the footprints
Of the Eternal I'ower, which is the end
AVhereto is made the law already mentioned.
In the order that I speak of are inclined
All natures, by their destinies diverse.
More or less near unto their origin ;
Hence they move onward unto ports diverse
O'er the great sea of being; and each one
With instinct given it which bears it on.
This bears away the fire toward the moon ;
This is in mortal hearts the motive power ;
This binds together and unites the earth.
Nor only the created things that are
Without intelligence this bow shoots forth.
But those that have both intellect and love.
The Providence that regulates all this
Makes with its light the heaven forever quiet,
Wherein that turns which has the greatest haste."

—(Longfellow, Tr.), " Paradiso," Canto i, 103-123.

The lowest rests on the liighest, ami not the highest on the
lowest. Things are substantial just in proportion to their
degree of participation in the divine self-activity. The lack
of self-activity appears as external impulsion and fate, to finite
things.

The doctrine of ten heavens draws its artificial form from the
doctrine of the pseudo-Dionysius concerning the Celestial Hierarchy,
and will be considered under tlie subject of Dante's Mythology.
For the present we will limit our attention to the ethical contents
of the several heavens in their order.

* Order is the technical expression for dependence of the lower beings on the Highest
and for the revelation of the Power of the Highest in the lower. In the " Convito "
(iii, 7) Dante (|Uotes from the " Book of Causes " : " The First Goodness sends His good
gifts forth upon things in one stream." Each tiling, adds he, receives from this stream
according to the mode of its powers {virtu) and its nature. And, again (iv, 8), he
quotes St. Thomas as saying " To know the order of one thing to another is the proper
act of Reason." To perceive dependencies in nature is to perceive unity, and therefore
to perceive the " Form that makes the universe resemble God."

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '^Divina Commedia.^^ 401

§ 26. The Heaven of the Moon^ or the Ritualists.

Beatrice fixes her eyes on tlio Sun — i. e., draws light from The-
ology (''luce virtnosissima Filosofia," "Conv.," iv, 1), and by this
means elevates herself to the heaven of the moon, Dante follow-
ing by the light reflected from her eyes :

" It seemed to me a cloud encompassed us,
Luminous, dense, consolidate, and bright
As adamant on which the sun is strikine:.
Into itself did the eternal pearl
Receive us, as water doth receive
A ray of light, remaining still unbroken.
If I was body (and we here conceive not
How one dimension tolerates another,
Which needs must be if body enter body),
More the desire should be enkindled in us
That essence to behold, wherein is seen
How God and our own nature were united."

— (L. Tr.), ii, 31-42.

They enter the substance of the moon realizing the fact that
one dimension tolerates another. For in spiritual things all may
participate without diminution of shares, while in material things
there is exclusion and division. Dante beholds the outlines of
faces prompt to speak, but they seem so much like reflections that
he supposes them to be " mirrored semblances," and looks around
to see the persons that are thus reflected. Beatrice corrects his
error and assures him that these are real souls assigned to the
sphere of the moon for the breaking of some vow.

They were forced by external influences to break their vows,
but had their wills been firm unto death they would not have been
compelled. This heaven of the moon, therefore, holds souls who
have attained heaven, but with some defect of will. In a dis-
course on the nature of heaven, it is explained to Dante that
evervwhere in heaven is Paradise, and that each soul belongs to all
the heavens, although he will behold the special heavens filled
each with souls of a certain rank or degree, in order to teach him
that there are different degrees of celestial growth, notwithstand-
ing each one has access to all the heavens.

The moon was known to Dante to shine with reflected light and
to be nearest to the earth. The moon also presents phases, wax-
XXI— 26

•102 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

ing and waning because of relation to another light. Moreover,
it has dark and light spots on its surface. It, therefore, is a proper
symbol for the heaven that contains those souls who have willed in
conformitv to the divine will, but interinittentlv and in a formal
manner, or who have not willed supremely the divine. Hence
they are fittingly placed here in the moon and a])pear as though
reflections and not substances. Inasmuch as their obedience to
prescribed forms and ceremonies of the Church is very nearly me-
chanical, and not from genuine insight, you can scarcely distin-
guish their actuality from the reflection of somebody else's will in
which they appear. He who made the forms and ceremonies, and
who taught them how to perform them, lives in them still as their
reality — they manifest his will rather than their own freedom.
If they happen to be derelict from lack of firmness of will, yielding
to others who assume authority over them, their course resembles
still more the inconstanc}' of the moon, as appears in its changes.
The spirits of the formal order show inconstancy and instal)ility,
therefore, because they appear and disappear in the will of an-
other, according as it interrupts or changes its relation to them by
some external circumstance. And we must suppl}' this natural
inference to Dante's picture and see in these lunar souls not only
the interposition of violent family authority, as in the case of
Piccarda, dragged away from monastic vows by her brother, Corso
Donati, but also the lunar variations of temperament, moods, and
external conditions.

§ 27. The Heavens of Imperfect Wills.

The heavens of imperfect wills include also those of Mercury
and Venus. We must keep in miiul this distinction between true
and spurious individuality. The true individuality energizes to
produce for itself and within itself, and also on the world, the
divine form of God's will. The more completely it does this, the
more completely it fills itself with divine freedom, and thus be-
comes independent, or syml)olically able to shine by its own light,
for its own light arises from energizing according to the divine
form. The spurious individuality arises from intermingling any
kind or variety of selfishness between itself and the divine — or, in
other words, from acting with partial or entire reference to itself
instead of the divine.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's ^^Divina Comynediar 403

In the moon the will does not cast life into the scale, but lets
love of life determine its actions in a last resort. Besides, it acts
wholly from another's insight even when it obeys the divine com-
mands.

§ 28. The Pusillanimous, the Procrastinators, and the

Formalists.

The correspondence between these spirits of the moon and the
pusillanimous ones on the shore of Acheron will not fail to strike
us. The}' had no choice of their own, but went where the wasps
and hornets of chance and circumstance impelled them. The
souls who have procrastinated repentance until the last moment
likewise are placed on the onter terrace of Purgatory, and not al-
lowed to enter St. Peter's gate. The pusillanimous, the procras-
tinators, and the mechanical formalists are found on the outer
verges of the three worlds. But, although formalists, these souls
sacrifice their inclinations for the service of the Church and are in
Paradise, though immature in spiritual insight.

§ 29. The Heaven of Mercury. The Love of Fame.

In the Heaven of Mercury the love of fame prevents the perfect
devotion of the hero to a divine cause. Perfect devotion would
elevate him to Mars or Jupiter. The Mercurial saint does not
abandon himself to the cause for itself alone, but only as moved
by a love of fame.

Fame is the reflection, not of the deed itself, shining in us as
ins])ired by the deepest conviction, but the reflection of the deed
shining in the recognition of our fellow-men. This destroys or
affects our freedom. We have not the true celestial revolution
derived from the Prinium Mobile, but a defective sort of orbit —
an epicycle, in fact.

The planets Mercury and Yenus move in epicycles. They
drive out of their course in order to move round the sun as they
pass through the zodiac. They never get far away from the sun,
but pass through the zodiac only because the sun in his course
carries them around it. They act, not from an independent pur-
pose of their own, to complete the course of the celestial revolu-
tion of themselves. The sun is the great luminary of day, sym-
bolizing tlie spiritual light as well. Hence it not improperly
means fame for Mercury.

•luJ: The Journal of Speculative Philosopliy.

Mercury is iisually eclipsed by the sun's rays, and is rarely ever
seen because of its closeness to the sun. So, too, in case of the
Mercurial saint, we cannot tell how much he is moved by his own
insight into what is holy, and how much he is impelled by the
fame attached to the cause that he engaores in. It is his cause
that ennobles him, and we do not know how much to subtract
from him on account of his selfish aml)ition. The sun of his cause
is to be accredited with much of his action.

The true hero who devotes himself with utter self-abnegation
to his cause shines independently, AVe shall see this species of hero
in the heaven of Mars. The cause shines in him and not he in the
cause. He does not use it as a semi-external means of fame, but
he becomes the cause itself, and his individuality widens to the
greatness of independent subsistence. Ambition conflicts with
Divine Charity in the heaven of Mercury.'

§ 30. The Heaven of Venus. Love as Limited to Special

Spheres.

The Heaven of "Venus is also a heaven of imperfect will. It is
that of lovers and includes the conjugal, the parental, the 'filial,
and the fraternal, as well as the love of friends. Terrestrial love
is connected with a limitation — devoted to a special object, parent,
child, husband, wife, brother, sister, or friend. Such love is of
the same nature fundamentally as celestial love or Divine Charity.
But there is a particular limitation in the former which prevents
its complete identity.

The planet Yenus is not obscured by the sun's rays to the same

' Dante introduces Justinian in Mercury (Canto VI) in order to give the history of
Rome and show its providential place in the world. It is full of conflicts between am-
bition and pure patriotism, and suits well to this heaven of Mercury. Under the
Empire, vengeance was done on Calvary for the ancient sin in the Garden of Eden, and
later, under Titus, another vengeance was done upon that vengeance by the destruc-
tion of Jerusalem. Providence having selected Rome as the residence of the head of
the Church "will not change his scutcheon for the lilies." France must bethink herself
of this. The allusion of Justinian to a just vengeance that could be justly avenged gives
occasion (Canto VII) for a discourse from Beatrice on Incarnation and Immortality, in
which Aristotle's doctrine of the goodness of God ("without envy ") is used after the
manner of the Schoolmen St. Thomas and Hugo of St. Victor. Divine condescension
and human freedom are dwelt upon. Supreme beneficence lifts man into the rank of
immortals. Here is the ground of the human desire for fame, infinite aspiration foinided
on the divine gift of immortality, and the divine election of man to a union with God.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '•'■Divina Commediay 405

extent as Mercury. It gives notice of the rising sun as Lucifer,
and it follows the setting sun as Hesperus. It is "brightest of all
the starry host," hut is not independent of the sun. It reveals
and celebrates the sun rising or setting — the friendly herald and
disciple. It is dependent on the sun, moving in an e[)icycle round
it. As represented in the charming Auroras of Guido and Guer-
cino, it looks back lovingly to the King of Day.

But it is not the love of St, Francis of Assisi, not the divine
charity displayed by the Poor in Spirit, devoted to the resurrec-
tion of the divine spirit in those who most need it — the dregs and
scum of humanity. It is not willing to be crucilied in order that
it may save them.

The theory of Copernicus, to which we are accustomed, is, of
course, very different from the astronomy of Dante, and, we may
add, not so well adapted for the poetic use he makes of the solar
and stellar systems. Dante deals with the starry heavens as they
appear to actual observation. The theory of Copernicus exists
only for our reason and is not a poetic matter. According to
Ptolemy, the moon shines by reflected light, but not so the planets.
Their phases could not be perceived without the aid of a telescope.
The inferior planets seemed to Dante to revolve primarily around
the sun and to accompany him around the zodiac, while the su-
perior planets — Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn — seemed to revolve
around the zodiac independently like the sun itself.

Terrestrial love moves in the direction of the divine love but
in channels with high banks, so that it acts with regard to a few
and intermits in regard to many. It is allied to selfishness in the
fact that it is thus limited to those near it, or connected by natu-
ral ties. It is therefore imperfect in the manner symbolized by
Dante. It possesses, like the planet Venus, an individuality, but
an individuality that is ancillary — subordinated to another. Ter-
restrial love has so much of the true celestial individuality that it
can appear independently (^. e., shine by its own light), but its
course is back and forth along the heavenly pathway and not al-
ways progressive.

§ 31. The Heaven of the Sun. Theologians.

The fourth heaven, or that of the sun, forms the transition from
the lower to the higher order of heavens.

406 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

It is the heaven of theologians. The doctrine of tlie Trinity
as taught by the Church is the dogmatic version of the doctrine of
divine form laid down by Beatrice in the first canto. It is the
doctrine that explains how an infinitely perfect being creates a
finite, imperfect being.

The tenth canto begins with the doctrine of the Holy Spirit :

" Looking into his Son with all the Love
Which each of them eternally breathes forth,
The primal and unutterable Power
Whatc'er before the mind or eye revolves
With so much order made, there can be none
Who this beholds without enjoying it."

— (L. Tr.), X, 1-6.

Dante's love of theology has led him to this heaven, and he is
filled with gratitude to God for his goodness in raising him to
this place.

In this great family of theologians he finds not only Thomas
Aquinas and Albertus Magnus, but also Dionysius the Areopa-
gite and the mystics, Richard of St. Victor, and St. Bonaventura.
In this heaven St. Thomas narrates the life of St. Francis, who
wedded poverty or humility. Poverty in Spirit had been a widow
since the crucifixion. Afterward St. Bonaventura recounts the
deeds of St. Dominic. St. Francis and St. Dominic are the two
great reformers of Monasticism in the thirteenth centurv. They
moved out to conquer the world, the Franciscans preaching to the
poor and lowly, the Dominicans teaching the governing classes of
society, and cultivating literature and theology. Each is cele-
brated here by the mouth of the other's most eminent disciple.

In the heaven of the sun we hear from St. Thomas the wisdom
of Solomon — the doctrine of the Word and the Spirit and the nine
subsistences. All things are but the thought of God and created
by liim in love.

"That which can die, and that which dieth not.
Arc nothing but the splendor of the idea
Which by his love our Lord brings into being;
Because that living Light, which from its fount
EffuiiTCMit flows, so that it disunites nut
From Ilim nor from the Love in them intrined.
Through its own goodness reunites its rays

The Spiritual Sense of Dante'' s ^^Divina CommediaP 407

In nine subsistences, as in a mirror,

Itself eternally remaining One.

Thence it descends to the last potencies,

Downward from act to act becoming such

That only brief contingencies it makes ;

And these contingencies I hold to be

Things generated, which the heaven produces

By its own motion, with seed and without.

Neither their wax, nor that which tempers it,

Remains immutable, and hence beneath

The ideal signet more and less shines through ;

Therefore it happens that the self-same tree

After its kind bears worse and better fruit.

And ye are born with characters diverse.

If in perfection tempered were the wax.

And were the heaven in its siipremest virtue,

The brilliance of the seal would all appear ;

But nature gives it evermore deficient,

In the like manner working as the artist.

Who has the skill of art and hand that trembles.

If then the fervent Love, the Vision clear,

Of primal Virtue do dispose and seal,

Perfection absolute is there acquired."

— (L. Tr.), xiii, 52-81.-

Herein we have a new statement of the Form which makes the
universe resemble God. It is an account of the rise of finite, im-
perfect beings. In God, says St. Thomas, knowing and willing
are one, so that his consciousness of himself — his knowing of
himself on the part of " Primal Virtue " — creates another, the
"Vision Clear." From these two proceed the Third Person, the
"Fervent Love." The Trinity was denied by Sabellius, and on
leaving this heaven of divine theology it is fitting that we have
the great heresiarchs condemned by the mouth of St. Thomas.
But a caution is added :

" Nor yet shall people be too confident
In judging, even as he is who doth count
The corn in field or ever it be ripe.
For I have seen all winter long the thorn
First show itself intractable and fierce,
And after bear the rose upon its top ;
And I have seen a ship direct and swift

408 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Run o'er the sea throughout its course entire
To perish at the harbor's mouth at last.

Let not Dame Bertha nor Ser Martin tliink,
Seeing one steal, another offering make,
To see them in the arbitrament divine ;
For one may rise, and fall the other may."

§ 32. The Heaven of Mars. True Heroes.

In the fifth heaven are found the great Christian heroes and
martyrs who have risked their lives from zeal for the true faith.
These are arranged in the form of a cross stretched athwart the
sky, on which Christ is flashing, symbolic of the spirit of self-sacri-
fice which is dominant in the character of these martial saints.
These are not those heroes who were obscured by love of fame
like the Mercurial saints, but the firm in will and deep in faith.
Here Dante listens to the long discourse from Cacciaguida con-
cerning the good old times in Florence (Canto xv-xviii). In this
heaven of the true spirit of patriotism and heroic self-sacrifice for
principle the poet naturally recurs to the subject nearest his heart,
and through the mouth of his ancestor he describes the old order
and the genesis of the new. The remedy for the evils of Italy in
a firmly seated imperial power is prophetically indicated. Thus
Dante comes again to the burning question (" Convito," fourth
Treatise) at every possible opportunity. The subject is continued
in the next heaven, to which we now arrive.

§ 33. The Heaven of Jupiter. Righteous Kings.

In the sixth heaven, that of Jupiter, we find the righteous
kings arranged in the form of an enormous Eagle — symbol of the
Holy Roman Empire.

As we rise from heaven to heaven in the Paradise we reach
a more adequate state of devotion of the individual to the welfare
of the social whole. Each one unites with his fellows to produce
an aggregate social result. This is symbolized by the formation
of great figures out of saints arranged as in Mars, so as to present
a colossal cross, or in Jupiter, so as to spell out the words that ex-
press ethical principles, or to present a great Eagle, or, in the
tenth heaven, the Rose of Paradise. This paradise is the state
of those whose deeds re-enforce society.

The Spiritual Sense of Dante' 8 '^''Divina Commecliar 409

§ 34. The Doctrine of Salvation.

The Eagle discourses of salvation by faith and touches on the
important question of the salvation of the heathen :

" For saidst thou : ' Born a man is on the shore
Of Indus, and is none who there can speak
Of Christ, nor who can read, nor who can write;
And all his inclinations and his actions
Are good, so far as human reason sees.
Without a sin in life or in discourse :
He dieth unbaptized and without faith ?
Where is this justice that condemneth him ?
Where is his fault, if he do not believe ? '
Now who art thou, that on the bench wouldst sit
In judgment at a thousand miles away.
With the short vision of a single span ? "

— (L. Tr.), xix, 70-81.

This, of course, shuts out the exercise of human reason. While
it is true that our failure to comprehend the total system renders
it impossible for us to condemn divine justice, in a single instance,
yet, on the other hand, we are called upon to understand as far as
possible the purposes of Providence and to see their supreme
reasonableness. This we may do in given instances, and probably
in all, if we ponder the subject sufficiently. Only our negative
judgments are insufficient; where the divine decree seems irra-
tional there we may be sure that we do not comprehend the case.
If we are sure of the existence of the decree as a fact we are sure
of its rationality on the same ground that Dante's philosophy
assures him of the existence of God. Form and order — the de-
pendence of all things in space and time — unite every thing to
every other; it is the universal relativity of which we hear so
much in natural philosophy. This interdependence proves the
unity of the whole ; and accordingly the whole in all its changes,
in all its beginnings and its ceasings, manifests one sole energy —
an energy of self-determination whose form is Reason — NoT/crt?
voi'}aeo3<i^ as Aristotle calls it. Since the Absolute is self-related
and can only be self-related, from its very nature its self-know-
ing will result in other creatures. Because that divine knowing
in making itself an object, generates another like itself — the eter-
nal Word as the eternal thouo-ht of the eternal Reason. This

410 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy. \

is the doctrine of the Lo(]jo8, and was understood by Plato and
Aristotle, though not stated bj the latter in the same terms as by
Plato. It was seen clearly by these two philosophers that the ne-
cessary dependence (ordo) of things in sj)ace implies or presup-
poses an Absolute, that the relative presup])Oses an independent,
Sflf-related Absolute. It was seen, in the second place, that the
Absolute has necessarily the form of self-activitv or self-determi-
nation, and that self-activity in its i)erfoct form is Reason, subject
and object in one. Following this a third step, they saw that such
an absolute Reason is perfect goodness or without envy (see Canto
vii, " La divina bonta, che da se sperne ogni livore"),^ and this is
explicitly stated by both philosophers ("Timaeus," 29, and
"Metaph.," Book i, cli. ii). In other words, this is the doctrine
that Creation proceeds from God's grace. He desires to share his
life with other beings without number (" Convito," second Treat-
ise, eh. v, " He has made spiritual creatures innumerable").

' Livore, used in this passage (vii, 65), also used in " Purg.," xiv, 84, names envy by
its livid hue. Without doubt this word is suggested to Dante by Boethius, who indeed
suggests also this whole passage in regard to the divine goodness. In " The Consola-
tion of Philosophy," Jletnmi ix of the third hook, he speaks of " the form of the su-
preme goodness, devoid of envy, not impelled to create by external causes " [verum
insita summi forma bwii livore carens). To Boethius is due also the form of the " Vita
Nuova," and especially that of the " Convito." For Boethius puts in verse the sub-
stance of a prose discourse in each chapter. Dante makes his prose discourse a com-
mentary on the verse, while Boethius makes the latter a summary. In the old trans-
lation of Boethius " by the Right Honorable Richard Lord Viscount Preston " (London,
1695) is the following rendering of the first portion of Metrum ix:
" thou who with perpetual Reason rul'st

The World, great Maker of the Heaven and Earth !

Who dost from ages make swift Time proceed.

And fix'd thyself, mak'st all things else to move !

Whom exterior Causes did uot force to frame

This Work of floating Matter, but the Form

Of Sovereign Good, above black Envy plac'd.

Within thy Breast ; thou everything dost draw

From the supreme Example ; fairest thyself.

Bearing the World's Figure in thy Mind,

Thou formedst this after that Prototype," etc.
When we go back to Dante and to the Christian writers of earlier ages we find their
statemeuts taking on the technical terms in which this great doctrine of divine Good-
ness was stated by the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle. The creed had not at that
time become a mere formula of words confessed to have no meaning that can be com-
prehended, but it was a " symbolum " or statement of the highest insight attained by
the contemplative souls within the Church ("Symbolum est professio fidei," T. Aq.
'"Summa Theolog.," 2, 2, Article ix).

The Spiritual Sense of Dante's '■^Dlvina Cominedla.''^ 411

The doctrine of the Logos includes a further thought, and from
this is derived the idea of creation and the procession of the Holy
Spirit. If Divine Reason, in thinking itself as object causes that
object to exist as its perfect other — an eternally and only begot-
ten — it follows that the only begotten Logos is a perfect reason
(i/07;crt9 vor)(Te(o<i) who also causes his own object to exist independ-
ently. The Logos in knowing himself has to know himself as in-
dependent and perfect, and also to know himself as begotten, as
derived from the First Keason (not as heing derived, but as one
who has completed his derivation and become perfect). His
knowledge of his perfection makes for its object the H0I3' Spirit,
and his knowledire of his derivation creates a world of derivation or
evolution containing all stages in it of growth and development,
from chaos or unformed matter below up to the highest saint or
angel above. Space and time are the forms of all finite existence ;
they condition matter. The universe in time and space is the Pro-
cessio of the Holy Ghost. Nature is the process of creating con-
scious, rational souls who — being arrived at the doctrine of Chris-
tianity, " the good of the Intellect " (Aristotle), the doctrine of
God as pure grace — set up charity as the highest principle and
form an Invisible Church which is the "Rose of Paradise" — in-
numerable souls united through brotherly helpfulness, so that
each prefers the welfare of all others to his own, and by such al-
truism becomes the recipient of the providential care of all. Such
an Invisible Church, including all rational beings in all the worlds
in space, and especially the infinitely numerous spirits that have
passed through death to immortality, is celebrated in the Apoca-
lypse as the " Bride." This Invisible Church has one spirit, be-
cause mutual interdependence makes unity — it is an institutional
Spirit— The Holy Spirit.

The form of this statement is different from that of Dante and
St. Thomas and from that of the mystics, but is substantially their
view. If one will take this view in its history, beginning with
Plato and Aristotle and following it down to Philo and Alexan-
drian mysticism ; beginning again with the New Testament state-
ments of it by St. John in his Gospel and by St. Paul in Colossians
(i, 13-20), trace its growth in the creeds through the conflict with
Arianism, and finally through the conflict of the Greek and Roman
churches — he will find this statement a clew to the entire move-
ment and the mysterious principle that guided the church fathers

412 The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

in defining their symhola as well as in building up their systems
of theology. Interpreted by this, one may see the general ethical
significance of the expression " faith in Christ," as a faith in the
doctrine of grace and the recognition of Divine charity as the high-
est principle.

" It recommenced : ' Unto this kincjdom never
Ascended one who had not faith in Christ,
Before or since he to the tree was nailed.
But look thou, many crying are, " Christ, Christ ! "
Who at the judgment shall be far leas near
To him than some shall be who knew not Christ.'"

— (L. Tr.), xix, 103-108.

Interpreting this by the doctrine of the Logos as above stated,
all beings in the world, conscious and unconscious, are created by
the act of the Logos. He recognizes his derivation ; whatever he
knows as object He canses to exist as object. Man may think
a thought without causing it to exist; his will is different from
his knowing ; this constitutes man's iinitude ; but in G-od will
and intellect are one (" In Deo sit idem voluntas et intellectus,"
St. T. Aquinas, " Summa Theol.," I, q. xxvii, art. 3 ; see also " Con-
tra Gentiles," lib. iv, cap. 19). Hence, whatever God knows de-
rives existence, and whatever tinitude exists, exists in the knowl-
edge of the Logos. Individual existence is, therefore, derived from
grace which gives separate subsistence to that which is finite and
imperfect. But such imperfect or finite exists only in a state of
change and genesis, for it is the thought of His own genesis that
causes the finite to exist — it exists only in a state of becoming
or evolution. Hence, it is said in theology that all improve-
ment and growth in intellect and morality is a work of grace.
Hence, too, it is said that Christ bears the sins of man ; he thinks
all their im])erfections and does not annihilate them because of
imperfection. He is the Mediator with the First Person because
the First thinks perfection and generates a Perfect Logos. To
think imperfection, God must find it in some way involved with
His Being. The Logos, inasmuch as there is derivation or gen-
eration logically implied in His being, necessarily thinks imper-
fection, but only as a preface and procession toward perfection.
He is perfection, and no imperfection remains in the Logos; but
there is a logical implication that there was such imperfection in

The Spiritual Sense of Dante'' s ^''Divina CoinmediaP 413

the fact that he was begotten or derived from the First. This log:-
ical derivation necessary to the tliouglit of Ilis relation to the
First becomes a real derivation in time and space. But the
thouc^ht of finitude and imperfection must be looked npon as re-
pugnant to the mind of the Logos, and to be endured only in view
of what proceeds from it. In religious sj'mbolism He is spoken
of as I'edeeming finite beings through his incarnation and death
on the Cross. This expresses symbolically the act of the Logos in
Creation. For the sake of reconciliation or atonement, and the
existence of the invisible Church of believers in divine charity,
God creates matter and lower forms of being, and educes, from
these, higher and higher forms of self-activity and freedom, culmi-
nating in immortal souls who may freely unite in institutions.
Institutions enable each member to reap the united result of the
whole. Philosophy must certainly agree with religion in this:
that the existence of matter and lower forms of life — not only
these, but the higher and highest forms of life and iinite spirit — are
evidences of benevolent goodness (grace) in the P^irst Principle.
Nature seems even to the scientist (illuminated by the thought of
Darwin) to be a vast process of developing individuality. For
the fittest survives, and the fittest is the most able to conquer bj
ideas. All matter struggles to assume the form of man, or,

" Striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form."

Souls may exist without this doctrine, but they are not in the
Paradise and the Holy Spirit does not dwell in them. But they
are subject to conversion by the spirits who have found the truth.

The voice of the spirit choir, seeming to proceed from the beak
of the Eagle, continues its discourse, and Dante is informed that
the supreme saints forming the eye are the supreme saints of this
heaven, David the psalmist being its very pupil.

" Of the five who make me a circle for eyelid, he who is closest
beside my beak consoled the poor widow for her son. Now
knows he how dear it costs not to follow Christ by the experi-
ence of this sweet life and of the opposite." — (A. J. B., Tr.), xx,
43-48.

This was the Emperor Trajan, the story of whose justice so in-
terested St. Gregory that he interceded with prayers for his soul,,
and having his bones disinterred, baptized him and thus brought

41-t The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

hirn into Paradise. Tliis shows the power of the Church over the
souls in the Limbo. But Dante carries it a step furtlier bv saving
on liis own authority the soul of Kliipeus, whom Yirgil (^Eneid
ii, 426) has called the justest of all that were in Troy. Dante
makes liim one of the five supreme spirits in the eye of the
Eagle.

" Who would believe down in the erring world that Rhipeus of
Troy should be in this round the fifth of the holy lights? Now
knows he enough of that which the world cannot see of the divine
grace, albeit his view discerns not the depth. Like a lark which
goes abroad in air, singing first, and then holds her peace, con-
tent with the last sweetness which sates her, such seemed to me
the image of the imprint of tlie eternal pleasure, according to its
desire for which each thing becomes of what sort it is. And
albeit in that place I was in regard to my doubting as glass to
the color which covers it, it did not suffer me to wait a while in
silence, but with the force of its weight it urged from my mouth,
' What things are these ? ' Wherefore of sparkling I beheld a great
festival. Thereafter, with its eye more kindled, the blessed en-
sign responded to me, not to keep me in suspense wondering : ' I
see that thou believest these things because I say them, but seest
not how ; so that if they are believed, they are concealed. Thou
dost as he who well apprehends the thing, by name, but its quid-
dity he cannot see, if another sets it not forth. Begnum coelorum
suffereth violence of warm love and of lively hope, which over-
comes the divine will, not in such wise as man has the mastery
over man, but overcomes it, because it wills to be overcome, and
being overcome, overcomes with its own goodness. The first life
in the eyelid and the fifth make thee marvel because with them
thou seest the angels' domain adorned.' " — (A. J. B., Tr.), xx,
67-102.

The principle of grace in the Christian religion contains infinite
depths yet to be revealed in creeds and practice. The adjustment
of the principle of grace to the principle of justice has furnished
the most difficult of theological problems. It is the old question
of Orientalism as against Occidentalism — Asia versus Europe.
The Eagle says that"Ilhipeus placed all his love below upon
righteousness, being led by grace that distills from a Fountain so
deep that never creature has been able to see its first wave ; from
grace to grace God oj^ened his eye to our future redemption."

The Spiritual Sense of Dant^s ^^Divina Commediar 415

Then, with this example of salvation, he concludes with a warn-
ing against the sin of limiting in thought God's grace :

" thou predestination, how remote
Thy root is from the aspect of all those
Who the First Cause do not hehold entire !
And you, O mortals ! hold yourselves restrained
In judging ; for ourselves, who look on God,
We do not know as yet all the elect."

— (L. Tr.), XX, 130-135.

§ 35. The Heaven of Saturn.

The seventh heaven, tliat of Saturn, is the special place for the
contemplative spirits — the liighest mystics. But wliile wefind St.
Bonaventura and Dionysius in the heaven of the sun with Albert
and St. Thomas, here are found only St. Peter Damiano and St.
Benedict — and the former does not speak of highest and subtlest
doctrines, but only inveighs against the luxury of modern prelates,
wliile the latter complains of the corruption of the