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THE JOURNAL
OF
' SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Vol. £
~
18 6 7.
■
No. 1.
TO THE READER.
For the reason that a journal devoted
exclusively to the interests of Speculative
Philosophy is a rare phenomenon in the
English language, some words may reason
ably be expected from the Editors upon
the scope and design of the present under
taking.
There is no need, it is presumed, to
speak of the immense religious movements
now going on in this country and in Eng
land. The tendency to break with the
traditional, and to accept only what bears
for the soul its own justification, is widely
active, and can end only in the demand
that Reason shall find and establish a phil
osophical basis for all those great ideas
which are taught as religious dogmas. Thus
it is that side by side with the naturalism of
such men as Renan, a school of mystics is
beginning to spring up who prefer to ignore
utterly all historical wrappages, and cleave
only to the speculative kernel itself. The
vortex between the traditional faith and the
intellectual conviction cannot be closed by
renouncing the latter, but only by deepen
ing it to speculative insight.
Likewise it will be acknowledged that
the national consciousness has moved for
ward on to a new platform during the last
few years. The idea underlying our form
of government had hitherto developed
only one of its essential phases—that of
brittle individualism—in which national
unity seemed an external mechanism,
soon to be entirely dispensed with, and
the enterprise of the private man or of the
corporation substituted for it. Now we
have arrived at the consciousness of the
other essential phase, and each individual
recognizes his substantial side to be the
State as such. The freedom of the citizen
does not consist in the mere Arbitrary, but
in the realization of the rational convic
tion tvhich finds expression in established
law. That this new phase of national life
demands to be digested and comprehended,
is a further occasion for the cultivation of
the Speculative.
More ’significant still is the scientific
revolution, working out especially in the
domain of physics. The day of simple
empiricism is past, and with the doctrine
of “ Correlation of forces ” there has arisen
a stage of reflection that deepens rapidly
into the purely speculative. For the fur
ther elucidation of this important point the
two following articles have been prepared.
It is hoped that the first one will answer
more definitely the question now arising in
the mind of the reader, “ What is this
Speculative Knowing of which you speak ?”
and that the second one will show whither
Natural Science is fast hastening.
With regard to the pretensions of this
Journal, its editors know well how much
its literary conduct will deserve censure
and need apology. They hope that the
substance will make up in some degree for
deficiencies in form; and, moreover, they
expect to improve in this respect through
experience and the kind criticisms of
friends.
�2
The Speculative.
THE SPECULATIVE.
“ We need what Genius is unconsciously seeking, and, by some daring generalization of the
universe, shall assuredly discover, a spiritual calculus, a Novum Organon, whereby nature shall
be divined in the soul, the soul in God, matter in spirit, polarity resolved into unity; and that
power which pulsates in all life, animates and builds all organizations, shall manifest itself as
one universal deific energy, present alike at the outskirts and centre of the universe, whose
centre ana circumference are one; omniscient, omnipotent, self-subsisting, uncontained, yet
containing all things in the unbroken synthesis of its being.”—(“Calculus,” one of Alcott’s
“Orphic Sayings.”)
At the end of the sixth book of Plato’s
Republic, after a characterization of the
two grades of sensuous knowing and the
grade of the understanding, (i which is
obliged to set out from hypotheses, for the
reason that it does not deal with principles
but only with results,” we find the specu
lative grade of knowing characterized as
<£ that in which the soul, setting out from
an hypothesis, proceeds to an unhypothetical principle, and makes its way without
the aid of [sensuous] images, but solely
through ideas themselves.” The mathe
matical procedure which begins by hy
pothecating definitions, axioms, postulates,
and the like, which it never examines nor
attempts to deduce or prove, is the exam
ple given by Plato of the method of theUnderstanding, while he makes the specula
tive Reason “ to posit hypotheses by the
Dialectic, not as fixed principles, but only
as starting points, in order that, by remov
ing them, it may arrive at the unhypothetical—the principle of the universe.”
This most admirable description is fully
endorsed by Aristotle, and firmly estab
lished in a two-fold manner :
1. In the Metaphysics (xi. 7) he shows
ontologically, starting with motion as an
hypothesis, that the self-moved is the first
principle ; and this he identifies with the
speculative, and the being of God.
2. In the De Anima (iii. 5-8) he dis
tinguishes psychologically the “ active in
tellect” as the highest form of knowing,
as that which is its own object, (subject
and object,) and hence as containing its
own end and aim in itself—as being infin
ite. He identifies this with the Specula
tive result, which he found ontologically
as the Absolute.
Spinoza in his Ethics (Prop. xl. Scbol.
ii., and Prop, xliv., Cor. ii. of Part II.)
has well described the Speculative, which
he names C{ Scienlia intuiliva,” as the
thinking of things under the form of eter
nity, (De natura rationis est res sub quadam specie ceternitatis percipere.)
Though great diversity is found in re
spect to form and systematic exposition
among the great philosophers, yet there is
the most complete unanimity, not only
with respect to the transcendency of the
Speculative, but also with reference to the
content of its knowing. If the reader of
different systems of Philosophy has in
himself achieved some degree of Specula
tive culture, he will at every step be de
lighted and confirmed at the agreement of
what, to the ordinary reader, seem irrecon
cilable statements.
Not only do speculative writers agree
among themselves as to the nature of
things, and the destiny of man and the
world, but their results furnish us in the
form of pure thought what the artist has
wrought out in the form of beauty.
Whether one tests architecture, sculpture,
painting, music or poetry, it is all the
same. Goethe has said:
“As all Nature’s thousand changes
But one changeless God proclaim ;
So in Art’s wide kingdoms ranges
One sole meaning, still the same:
This is Truth, eternal Reason,
Which from Beautj' takes its dress,
And serene, through time and season,
Stands for aye in loveliness.”
While Art presents this content to the
senses, Religion offers it to the conception
in the form of a dogma to be held by faith ;
the deepest Speculative truth is allegori
cally typified in a historical form, so that
it acts upon the mind partly through fan
tasy and partly through the understand
ing. Thus Religion presents the same
content as Art and Philosophy, but stands
between them, and forms a kind of middle
�The Speculative.
ground upon which the purification takes
place. “ It is the purgatory between the
Inferno of Sense and the Paradise of Rea
son.” Its function is mediation ; a contin
ual degrading of the sensuous and exter
nal, and an elevation to the supersensual
and internal. The transition of Religion
into Speculative Philosophy is found in
the mystics. Filled with the profound
significance of religious symbolism, and
seeing in it the explanation of the uni
verse, they essay to communicate their in
sights. But the form of Science is not
yet attained by them. They express
themselves, not in those universal catego
ries that the Spirit of the Race has formed
in language for its utterance, but they
<have recourse to symbols more or less in
adequate because ambiguous, and of insuf
ficient universality to stand for the arche
types themselves. Thus “ Becoming ” is
the most pure germinal archetype, and be
longs therefore to logic, or the system of
pure thought, and it has correspondences
on concrete planes, as e. g., time, motion,
life, fyc. Now if one o^. these concrete
terms is used for the pure logical category,
we have mysticism. The alchemists, as
shown by a genial writer of our day, use
the technique of their craft to express the
profound mysteries of spirit and its regen
eration. The Eleusinian and other mys
teries do the like.
While it is one of the most inspiring
things connected with Speculative Philo
sophy to discover that the “ Open Secret
of the Universe” has been read by so
many, and to see, under various expres
sions, the same meaning ; yet it is the
highest problem of Speculative Philoso
phy to seize a method that is adequate to
the expression of the “ Secret;” for its
(the content’s) own method of genetic de
velopment must be the only adequate one.
Hence it is that we can classify philosophic
systems by their success in seizing the
content which is common to Art and Re
ligion, as well as to Philosophy, in such a
manner as to allow its free evolution ; to
have as little in the method that is merely
formal or extraneous to the idea itself.
The rigid formalism of Spinoza—though
manipulated by a clear speculative spirit—
3
is inadequate to the unfolding of its con
tent ; for how could the mathematical
method, which is that of quantity or ex
ternal determinations alone, ever suffice to
unfold those first principles which attain
to the quantitative only in their result?
In this, the profoundest of subjects, we
always find in Plato light for the way. Al
though he has not given us complete ex
amples, yet he has pointed out the road of
the true Speculative method in a way not
to be mistaken. Instead of setting out
with first principles presupposed as true,
by which all is to be established, (as math
ematics and 6uch sciences do), he asserts
that the first starting points must be re
moved as inadequate. We begin with the
immediate, which is utterly insufficient,
and exhibits itself as such. We ascend to
a more adequate, by removing the first
hypothesis ; and this process repeats itself
until we come to the first principle, which
of course bears its own evidence in this,
that it is absolutely universal and abso
lutely determined at the same time; in
other words it is the self-determining, the
“self-moved,” as Plato and Aristotle call
it. It is its own other, and hence it is the
true infinite, for it is not limited but con
tinued by its other.
From this peculiarity results the difficul
ty of Speculative Philosophy. The unused
mind, accepting with naivete' the first pro
position as settled, finds itself brought,
into confusion when this is contradicted,
and condemns the whole procedure. The
irony of Socrates, that always begins by
positing the ground of his adversary, and
reducing it through its own inadequateness
to contradict itself, is of this character,
and the unsophisticated might say, and do
say: “ See how illogical is Socrates, for
he sets out to establish something, and ar
rives rather at the destruction of it.” The
reductio ad absardum is a faint imita
tion of the same method. It is not suffi
cient to prove your own system by itself,
for each of the opposing systems can do
that; but you must show that any and all
counter-hypotheses result in your own.
God makes the wrath of men to praise
Him, and all imperfect things must con
tinually demonstrate the perfect, for the
�4
The. Speculative.
reason that they do not exist by reason of
their defects, but through what of truth
there is in them, and the imperfection is
continually manifesting the want of the
perfect. ££ Spirit,” says Hegel, ££ is selfcontained being. But matter, which is
spirit outside of itself, [turned inside out,]
continually manifests this, its inadequacy,
through gravity—attraction to a central
point beyond each particle. (If it could
get at this central point, it would have no
extension, and hence would be anni
hilated.)”
The soul of this method lies in the com
prehension of the negative. In that won
derful expose of the importance of the
negative, which Plato gives in the Par
menides and Sophist, we see how justly
he appreciated its true place in Philoso
phic Method. Spinoza’s “ omnis determinatio est negatio ” is the most famous
of modern statements respecting the nega
tive, and has been very fruitful in re
sults.
One would greatly misunderstand the
Speculative view of the negative should
he take it to mean, as some have done,
ee that the negative is as essential as the
positive.” For if they are two indepen
dent somewhats over against each other,
having equal validity, then all unity of
system is absolutely impossible—we can
have only the Persian Ahriman and Ormuzd ; nay, not even these—for unless
there is a primal unity, a “ Zeruane-Akerene”—the uncreated one, these are im
possible as opposites, for there can be no
tension from which the strife should pro
ceed.
The Speculative has insight into the
constitution of the positive out of the
negative. “ That which has the form of
Being,” says Hegel, £‘ is the self-related ;”
but relation of all kinds is negation, and
hence whatever has the form of being and
is a positive somewhat, is a self-related
negative. Those three stages of culture in
knowing, talked of by Plato and Spinoza,
may be characterized in a new way by
their relation to this concept.
The first stage of consciousness—that of
immediate or sensuous knowing—seizes
objects by themselves—isolatedly—without
their relations ; each seems to have valid
ity in and for itself, and to be wholly pos
itive and real. The negative is the mere
absence of the real thing ; and it utterly
ignores it in its scientific activity.
But the second stage traces relations,
and finds that things do not exist in imme
diate independence, but that each is re
lated to others, and it comes to say that
££ Were a grain of sand to be destroyed,
the universe would collapse.” It is a
necessary consequent to the previous stage,
for the reason that so soon as the first
stage gets over its childish engrossment
with the novelty of variety, and attempts
to seize the individual thing, it finds its
characteristic marks or properties. But
these consist invariably of relations to
other things, and it learns that these prop
erties, without which the thing could
have no distinct existence, are the very
destruction of its independence, since
they are its complications with other
things.
In this stage the negative has entered
and has full sway. For all that was before
firm and fixed, is now seen to be, not
through itself, but through others, and
hence the being of everything is its nega
tion. For if this stone exists only through
its relations to the sun, which is not the
stone but something else, then the being
of this stone is its own negation. But the
second stage only reduces all to depend
ence and finitude, and does net show us
how any real, true, or independent being
can be found to exist. It holds fast to the
stage of mediation alone, just as the first
stage held by the immediate. But the
dialectic of this position forces it over
into the third.
If things exist only in their relations,
and relations are the negatives of things,
then all that appears positive—all being—
must rest upon negation. How is this?
The negative is essentially a relative, but
since it is the only substrate (for all is
relative), it can relate only to itself. But
self-relation is always identity, and here
we have the solution of the previous diffi
culty. All positive forms, all forms of im
mediateness or being, all forms of identity,
are self-relatiops, consisting of a negative
�The Speculative,
or relative, relating to itself. But the
most wonderful side of this, is the fact that
since this relation is that of the negative,
it negates itself in its very relation, and
hence its identity is a producing of non
identity. Identity and distinction are
produced by the self-same process, and
thus self-determination is the origin of all
identity and distinction likewise. This
is the speculative stand-point in its com
pleteness. It not only possesses specula
tive content, but is able to evolve a spec
ulative system likewise. It is not only
conscious of the principles, but of their
method, and thus all is transparent.
To suppose that this may be made so
plain that one shall see it at first sight,
would be the height of absurdity. Doubt
less far clearer expositions can be made
of this than those found in Plato or
Proclus, or even in Fichte and Ilegel; but
any and every exposition must incur the
same difficulty, viz : The one who masters
it must undergo a thorough change in his
innermost. The í( Palingenesia” of the
intellect is as essential as the “ regenera
tion of the heart,” and is at bottom the
same thing, as the mystics teach us.
But this great difference is obvious su
perficially : In religious regeneration it
seems the yielding up of the self to an
alien, though beneficent, power, while in
philosophy it seems the complete identifi
cation of one’s self with it.
He, then, who would ascend into the
thought of the best thinkers the world has
seen, must spare no pains to elevate his
thinking to the plane of pure thought.
•The completest discipline for this may be
found in Hegel’s Logic. Let one not de
spair, though he seem to be baffled seventy
and seven times; his earnest and vigorous
assault is repaid by surprisingly increased
strength of mental acumen which he will
be assured of, if he tries his powers on
lower planes after his attack has failed on
the highest thought.
These desultory remarks on the Specu
lative, may be closed with a few illustra
tions of whSt has been said of the negative.
I. Everything must have limits that
mark it off from other things, and these
limits are its negations, in which it ceases.
5
II. It must likewise have qualities which
distinguish it from others, but these
likewise are negatives in the sense that
they exclude it from them. Its determin
ing by means of qualities is the making
it not this and not that, but exactly what
it is. Thus the affirmation of anything is
at the same time the negation of others.
III. Not only is the negative manifest
in the above general and abstract form,
but its penetration is more specific. Ev
erything has distinctions from others in
general, but also from its other. Sweet is
opposed not only to other properties in
general, as white, round, soft, etc.,s but
to its other, or sour. So, too, white is
opposed to black, soft to hard, heat to
cold, etc., and in general a positive thing
to a negative thing. In this kind of rela
tive, the negative is more essential, for it
seems to constitute the intimate nature of
the opposites, so that each is reflected in
the other.
IV. More remarkable are the appear
ances of the negative in nature. The elementyire is a negative which destroys the
form of the combustible. It reduces or
ganic substances to inorganic elements,
and is that which negates the organic.
Air is another negative element. It acts
upon all terrestrial elements ; upon water,
converting it into invisible vapor; upon
metals, reducing them to earths through
corrosion—eating up iron to form rust,
rotting wood into mould—destructive
or negative alike to the mineral
and vegetable world, like fire, to which
it has a speculative affinity. The grand
type of all negatives in nature, such as
air and fire, is Time, the great devourer, and archetype of all changes and
movements in nature.
Attraction is
another appearance of the negative. It
is a manifestation in some body of an es
sential connection with another which is
not it; or rather it is an embodied selfcontradiction : “that other (the sun)
which is not me (the earth) is my true
being.” Of course its own being is its
own negation, then.
Thus, too, the plant is negative to the
inorganic—it assimilates it; the animal is
negative to the vegetable world.
�6
Herbert Spencer.
As we approach these higher forms of
negation, we see the negative acting
against itself, and this constitutes a pro
cess. The food that life requires, which
it negates in the process of digestion, and
assimilates, is, in the life process, again
negated, eliminated from the organism,
and replaced by new elements. A nega
tion is made, and this is again negated.
But the higher form of negation appears
in the generic ; “ The species lives and the
individual dies.” The generic continually
transcends the individual—going forth to
new individuals and deserting the old—
a process of birth and decay, both nega
HERBERT
CHAPTER I.
THE CRISIS IN NATURAL SCIENCE.
During the past twenty years a revolu
tion has been working in physical science.
Within the last ten it has come to the sur
face, and is now rapidly spreading into
all departments of mental activity.
Although its centre is to be found in the
doctrine of the £-'Correlation of Forces,” it
would be a narrow view that counted only
the expounders of this doctrine, numerous
as they are; the spirit of this movement
inspires a heterogeneous multitude—Car
penter, Grove, Mayer, Faraday, Thompson,
Tyndall and Helmholtz ; Herbert Spencer,
Stuart Mill, Buckle, Draper, Lewes, Lecky,
Max Muller, Marsh, Liebig, Darwin and
Agassiz ; these names, selected at random,
are suggested on account of the extensive
circulation of their books. Every day the
press announces some new name in this
field of research.
What is the character of the old which
is displaced, and of the new which gets
established ?
By way of preliminary, it must be re
marked that there are observable in mod
ern times three general phases of culture,
more or less historic.
The first phase is thoroughly dogmatic:
it accepts as of like validity metaphysical
tive processes. In conscious Spirit both
are united in one movement. The generic
here enters the individual as pure ego—
the undetermined possibility of all deter
minations. Since it is. undetermined,
it is negative to all special deter
minations. But this ego not only exists as
subject, but also as objeet—a process of
self-determination or self-negation. And
this negation or particularization contin
ually proceeds from one object to another,
and remains conscious under the whole,
not dying, as the mere animal does, in the
transition from individual to individual.
This is the aperçu of Immortality.
SPENCER.
abstractions, and empirical observations.
It has not arrived at such a degree of
clearness as to perceive contradictions be
tween form and content. For the most
part, it is characterized by a reverence for
external authority. With the revival of
learning commences the protest of spirit
against this phase. Descartes and Lord
Bacon begin the contest, and are followed
by the many — Locke, Newton, Leibnitz,
Clark, and the rest. All are animated with
the spirit of that time — to come to the
matter in hand without so much mediation.
Thought wishes to rid itself of its fetterB ;
religious sentiment, to get rid of forms.
This reaction against the former stage,
which has been called by Hegel the meta
physical, finds a kind of climax in the in
tellectual movement just preceding the
French revolution. Thought no longer is
contented to say “ Cogito, ergo sum,” ab
stractly, but applies the doctrine in all di
rections, “I think; in that deed, I am.”
“ I am a man only in so far as I think. In
so far as I think, I am an essence. What I
get from others is not mine. What I can
comprehend, or dissolve in my reason, that
is mine.” It looks around and spies insti
tutions—“ clothes of spirit,” as Herr Tcufelsdroeck calls them. “ What are you
doing here, you sniveling priest ?” says
Voltaire: “you are imposing delusions
�Herbert Spencer.
upon society for your own aggrandizement.
I had no part or lot in making the church ;
cogito, ergo sum; I will only have over me
what I put there !”
“ I see that all these complications of
society are artificial,” adds Rousseau;
“man has made them ; they are not good,
and let us tear them down and make
anew.” These utterances echo all over
France and Europe. “ The state is merely
a machine by which the few exploiter the
many”—“ off with crowns !” Thereupon
they snatch off the crown of poor Louis,
and his head follows with it. “Reason”
is enthroned and dethroned. Thirty years
of war satiates at length this negative sec
ond period, and the third phase begins.
Its characteristic is to be constructive, not
to accept the heritage of the past with pas
sivity, noi’ wantonly to destroy, but to
realize itself in the world of objectivity—
the world of laws and institutions.
The first appearance of the second phase
of consciousness is characterized by the
grossest inconsistencies. It says in gene
ral, (see D’Holbach’s “ Systeme de la Na
ture”: “The immediate, only, is true;
what we know by our senses, alone has
reality ; all is matter and force.” But in
this utterance it is unconscious that matter
and force are purely general concepts, and
not objects of immediate consciousness.
What we see and feel is not matter or
force in general, but only some special
form. The self-refutation of this phase
may be exhibited as follows :
I. “What is known is known through
the senses : it is matter and force.”
II. But by the senses, the particular only
is perceived, and this can never be matter,
but merely a form. The general is a medi
ated result, and not an object of the senses.
III. Hence, in positing matter and force
as the content of sensuous knowing, they
unwittingly assert mediation to be the
content of immediateness.
The decline of this period of science re
sults from the perception of the contradic
tion involved. Kant was the first to show
this; his labors in this field may be
summed up thus;
The universal and necessary is not an
empirical result. (General laws cannot be
7
sensuously perceived.) The constitution
of the mind itself, furnishes the ground for
it :—first, we have an a priori basis (time
and space) necessarily presupposed as the
condition of all sensuous perception ; and
then we have categories presupposed as the
basis of every generalization whatever.
Utter any general proposition : for example
the one above quoted—“ all is matter and
force”—and you merely posit two cate
gories— Inherence and Causality — as ob
jectively valid. In all universal and neces
sary propositions we announce only the
subjective conditions of experience, and
not anything in and for itself true (i. e.
applicable to things in themselves).
At once the popular side of this doctrine
began to take effect. il We know only phe
nomena; the true object in itself we do
not know.”
This doctrine of phenomenal knowing
was outgrown in Germany at the com
mencement of the present century. In
1791—ten years after the publication of
the Critique of Pure Reason—the deep
spirit of Fichte began to generalize Kant’s
labors, and soon he announced the legiti
mate results of the doctrine. Schelling
and Hegel completed the work of trans
forming what Kant had left in a negative
state, into an affirmative system of truth.
The following is an outline of the refuta
tion of Kantian scepticism :
I. Kant reduces all objective knowledge
to phenomenal : we furnish the form of
knowing, and hence whatever we announce
in general concerning it—and all that we
call science has, of course, the form of
generality—is merely our subjective forms,
and does not belong to the thing in itself.
II. This granted, say the later philoso
phers, it follows that the subjective swal
lows up all and becomes itself the univer
sal (subject and object of itself), and
hence Reason is the true substance of the
universe. Spinoza’s substance is thus seen
to become subject. We partake of God as
intellectually seeing, and we see only God
as object, which Malebranche and Berkeley
held with other Platonists.
1. The categories (e. g. Unity, Reality,
Causality, Existence, etc.) being merely
subjective, or given by the constitution of
�8
Herbert Spencer.
the mind itself—for such universals are
presupposed by all experience, and hence
not derived from it—it follows :
2. If we abstract what we know to be
subjective, that we abstract all possibility
of a thing in itself, too. For “ existence”
is a category, and hence if subjective, we
may reasonably conclude that nothing ob
jective can have existence.
3. Hence, since one category has no pre
ference over another, and we cannot give
one of them objectivity without granting it
to all others, it follows that there can be
no talk of noumena, or of things in them
selves, existing beyond the reach of the
mind, for such talk merely applies what it
pronounces to be subjective categories,
(existence) while at the same time it de
nies the validity of their application.
III. But since we remove the supposed
“ noumena,” the so-called phenomena are
not opposed any longer to a correlate be
yond the intelligence, and the noumenon
proves to be mind itself.
An obvious corollary from this is, that by
the self-determination of mind in pure
thinking we shall find the fundamental
laws of all phenomena.
Though the Kantian doctrine soon gave
place in Germany to deeper insights, it
found its way slowly to other countries.
Comte and Sir Wm. Hamilton have made
the negative results very widely known—
the former, in natural science ; the latter,
in literature and philosophy. Most of the
writers named at the beginning are more or
less imbued with Comte’s doctrines, while
a few follow Hamilton. For rhetorical
purposes, the Hamiltonian statement is far
superior to all others; for practical pur
poses, the Comtian. The physicist wishing
to give his undivided attention to empiri
cal observation, desires an excuse for neg
lecting pure thinking ; he therefore refers
to the well-known result of philosophy,
that we cannot know anything of ultimate
causes—we are limited to phenomena and
laws. Although it must be conceded that
this consolation is somewhat similar to
that of the ostrich, who cunningly con
ceals his head in the sand when annoyed
by the hunters, yet great benefit has
thereby accrued to science through the
undivided zeal of the investigators thus
consoled.
When, however, a sufficiently large col
lection has been made, and the laws are
sought for in the chaotic mass of observa
tions, then thought must be had. Thought
is the only crucible capable of dissolving
“ the many into the one.” Tycho Brahe
served a good purpose in collecting obser
vations, but a Kepler was required to dis
cern the celestial harmony involved therein.
This discovery of laws and relations, or
of relative unities, proceeds to the final
stage of science, which is that of the abso
lute comprehension.
Thus modern science, commencing with
the close of the metaphysical epoch, has
three stages or phases :
I. The first rests on mere isolated facts
of experience ; accepts the first phase of
things, or that which comes directly before
it, and hence may be termed the Btage of
immediateness.
II. The second relates its thoughts to
one another and compares them ; it developes inequalities; tests one through an
other, and discovers dependencies every
where ; since it learns that the first phase
of objects is phenomenal, and depends up
on somewhat lying beyond it; since it de
nies truth to the immediate, it may be
termed the stage of mediation.
III. A final stage which considers a phe
nomenon in its totality, and thus seizes it
in its noumenon, and is the stage of the
comprehension.
To resume: the first is that of sensuous
knowing; the second, that of reflection (the
understanding); the third, that of the rea
son (or the speculative stage).
In the sensuous knowing, we have crude,
undigested masses all co-ordinated; each
is in and for itself, and perfectly valid
without the others. But as soon as re
flection enters, dissolution is at work.
Each is thought in sharp contrast with the
rest; contradictions arise on every hand.
The third stage finds its way out of these
quarrelsome abstractions, and arrives at a
synthetic unity, at a system, wherein the
antagonisms are seen to form an organism.
The first stage of the development closes
with attempts on all hands to put the re
�9
Herbert Spencer.
suits in an encyclopaediacal form. Hum
boldt’s Cosmos is a good example of this
tendency, manifested so ■widely. Matter,
masses, and functions are the subjects of
investigation.
Reflection investigates functions and
seizes the abstract category of force, and
straightway we are in the second stage.
Matter, as such, loses its interest, and “cor
relation of forces” absorbs all attention.
Force is an arrogant category and will
not be co-ordinated with matter; if ad
mitted, we are led to a pure dynamism.
This will become evident as follows :
I. Force implies confinement (to give it
direction) ; it demands, likewise, an “ oc
casion,” or soliciting force to call it into
activity.
II. But it cannot be confined except by
force; its occasion must be a force like
wise.
III. Thus, since its confinement and “oc
casion” are forces, force can only act upon
forces—upon matter only in so far as that
is a force. Its nature requires confinement
in order to manifest it, and hence it can
not act or exist except in unity with other
forces which likewise have the same de
pendence upon it that it has upon them.
Hence a force has no independent subsist
ence, but is only an element of a combination
of opposed forces, which combination is a
unity existing in an opposed manner (or
composed of forces in a Btate of tension).
This deeper unity which we come upon as
the ground of force is properly named law.
From this, two corollaries are to be
drawn : (I.) That matter is merely a name
for various forces, as resistance, attraction
and repulsion, etc. (2.) That force is no
ultimate category, but, upon reflection, is
seen to rest upon law as a deeper category
(not law as a mere similarity of phe
nomena, but as a true unity underlying
phenomenal multiplicity).
From the nature of the category of force
we see that whoever adopts it as the ulti
mate, embarks on an ocean of dualism, and
instead of “ seeing everywhere the one and
all” as did Xenophanes, he will see every
where the self opposed, the contradictory.
The crisis which science has now reached
is of this nature. The second stage is at
its commencement with the great bulk of
scientific men.
To illustrate the self-nugatory character
ascribed to this stage we shall adduce
some of the most prominent positions of
Herbert Spencer, whom we regard as the
ablest exponent of this movement. These
contradictions are not to be deprecated, as
though they indicated a decline of thought ;
on the contrary, they show an increased ac
tivity, (though in the stage of mere reflec
tion,) and give us good omens for the future.
The era of .stupid mechanical thinkers is
over, and we have entered upon the active,
chemical stage of thought, wherein the
thinker is trained to consciousness con
cerning his abstract categories, which, as
Hegel says, “ drive him around in their
whirling circle.”
Now that the body of scientific men are
turned in this direction, we behold a vast
upheaval towards philosophic thought ; and
this is entirely unlike the isolated pheno
menon (hitherto observed in history) of a
single group of men lifted above the sur
rounding darkness of their age into clear
ness. We do not have such a phenomenon
in our time ; it is the spirit of the nine
teenth century to move by masses.
CHAPTER II.
THE “ FIRST PRINCIPLES5’ OF THE “UNKNOW
ABLE.”
The British Quarterly speaking of Spen
cer, says : “ These i First Principles ’ are
merely the foundation of a system of Phil
osophy, bolder, more elaborate and com
prehensive, perhaps, than any other which
has been hitherto designed in England.”
The persistence and sincerity, so gener
allyprevailing among these correlationists,
we have occasion to admire in Herbert
Spencer. He seems to be always ready to
sacrifice his individual interest for truth,
and is bold and fearless in uttering what
he believes it to be.
For critical consideration no better divi
sion can be found than that adopted in the
“ First Principles” by Mr. Spencer himself,
to wit: 1st, the unknowable, 2nd, the know
�10
Herbert Spencer.
able. Accordingly, let us examine first his
theory of
for the scepticism can only legitimately
conclude that the objective which we do
THE UNKNOWABLE.
know is of a nature kindred with reason:
When Mr. Spencer announces the con and that by an a priori necessity we can
tent of the “ unknowable” to be(e ultimate affirm that not only all knowable must
religious and scientific ideas,” we are re have this nature, but also all possible ex
minded at once of the old adage in juris istence must.
prudence—“ Ornnis definitio in jure civili
In this we discover that the mistake on
est periculosa
the definition is liable to the part of the sceptic consists in taking
prove self-contradictory in practice. So self-conscious intelligence as something
when we have a content assigned to the one-sided or subjective, whereas it must
unknowable we at once inquire, whence be, according to its very definition, subject
come the distinctions in the unknowable? and object in one, and thus universal.
If unknown they are not distinct to us.
The difficulty underlying this stage of
When we are told that Time, Space, Force, consciousness is that the mind has not
Matter, God, Creation, etc., are unknow- been cultivated to a clear separation of
ables, we must regard these words as cor the imagination from the thinking. As
responding to no distinct objects, but Sir Wm. Hamilton remarks, (Metaphysics,
rather as all of the same import to us. It p. 487,) “Vagueness and confusion are
should be always borne in mind that all produced by the confounding of objects so
universal negatives are self-contradictory. different as the images of sense and the
Moreover, since all judgments are made by unpicturable notions of intelligence.”
subjective intelligences, it follows that all
Indeed the great “law of the condition
general assertions concerning the nature ed” so much boasted of by that philoso
of the intellect affect the judgment itself. pher himself and his disciples, vanishes at
The naïveté with which certain writers once when the mentioned confusion is
wield these double-edged weapons is a avoided. Applied to space it results as
source of solicitude to the spectator.
follows :
When one says that he knows that he
I.— Thought, of Space.
knows nothing, he asserts knowledge and
1. Space, if finite, must be limited from
denies it in the same sentence. If one without;
says il all knowledge is relative,” as Spen
2. But such external limitations would
cer does, (p. 68, et seq., of First Principles,) require space to exist in ;
he of course asserts that his knowledge of
3. And hence the supposed limits of
the fact is relative and not absolute. If a space that were to make it finite do in fact
distinct content is asserted of ignorance, continue it.
the same contradiction occurs.
It appears, therefore, that space is of
The perception of this principle by the such a nature that it can only end in, or be
later German philosophers at once led limited by itself, and thus is universally
them out of the Kantian nightmare, into continuous or infinite.
positive truth. The principle may be ap
II.—Imagination of Space.
plied in general to any subjective scepti
cism. The following is a general scheme
If the result attained by pure thought is
that will apply to all particular instances : correct, space is infinite, and if so, it can
I. “We cannot know things in them not be imagined. If, however, it should
selves; all our knowledge is subjective ; it be found possible to compass it by imagi
is confined to our own states and changes.” nation, it must be conceded that there
II. If this is so, then still more is what really is a contradiction in the intelligence.
we name the ‘objective” only a state or That the result of such an attempt coin
change of us as subjective; it is a mere cides with our anticipations we have Ham
fiction of the mind so far as it is regarded ilton’s testimony—“ imagination sinks ex
as a “beyond” or thing in itself.
hausted.”
III. Hence we do know the objective ;
Therefore, instead of this result contra
�Herbert Spencer.
dieting the first, as Hamilton supposes, it
really confirms it.
In fact if the mind is disciplined to
separate pure thinking from mere imagin
ing, the infinite is not difficult to think.
Spinoza saw and expressed this by making
a distinction between “ infinitum actu
(or rationis),” and “infinitum imaginationis,” and his first and second axioms
are the immediate results of thought ele
vated to this clearness. This distinction
and his “ omnis determinatio est negatio,”
together with the development of the third
stage of thinking (according to reason),
(e sub quadam specie ceternitatis,”—these
distinctions are the priceless legacy of the
clearest-minded thinker of modern times;
and it behooves the critic of “human
knowing” to consider well the results that
the “human mind” has produced through
those great masters — Plato and Aristotle,
Spinoza and Hegel.
Herbert Spencer, however, not only be
trays unconsciousness of this distinction,
but employs it in far grosser and self
destructive applications.
On page 25,
(“ First Principles,”) he says : When on
the sea shore we note how the hulls of dis
tant vessels are hidden below the horizon,
and how of still remoter vessels only the
uppermost sails are visible, we realize with
tolerable clearness the slight curvature of
that portion of the sea’s surface which lies
before us. But when we seek in imagina
tion to follow out this curved surface as it
actually exists, slowly bending round until
all its meridians meet in a point eight
thousand miles below our feet, we find
ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot con
ceive in its real form and magnitude even
that small segment of our globe which ex
tends a hundred miles on every side of us,
much less the globe as a whole. The piece
of rock on which we stand can be mentally
represented with something like complete
ness ; we find ourselves able to think of
its top,"its sides, and its under surface at
the same time, or so nearly at the same
time that they seem all present in con
sciousness together; and so we can form
what we call a conception of the rock, but
to do the like with the earth we find im
possible.” “We form of the earth not a
11
conception properly so-called, but only a
symbolic conception.”
Conception here is held to be adequate
when it is formed of an object of a given
size; when the object is above that size the
conception thereof becomes symbolical.
Here we do not have the exact limit stated,
though we have an example given (a rock)
which is conceivable, and another (the
earth) which is not.
“ We must predicate nothing of objects
too great or too multitudinous to be men
tally represented, or we must make our
predications by means of extremely inade
quate representations of such objects, mere
symbols of them.” (27 page.)
But not only is the earth an indefinitely
multiple object, but so is the rock; nay,
even the smallest grain of sand. Suppose
the rock to be a rod in diameter; a micro
scope magnifying two and a half millions
of diameters would make its apparent mag
nitude as large as the earth. It is thus
only a question of relative distance from
the person conceiving, and this reduces it
to the mere sensuous image of the retina.
Remove the earth to the distance of the
moon, and our conception of it would, upon
these principles, become quite adequate.
But if our conception of the moon be held
inadequate, then must that of the rock or
the grain of sand be equally inadequate.
Whatever occupies space is continuous
and discrete ; i. e., may be divided into
parts. It is hence a question of relativity
whether the image or picture of it corre
spond to it.
The legitimate conclusion is that all our
conceptions are symbolic, and if that pro
perty invalidates their reliability, it fol
lows that we have no reliable knowledge
of things perceived, whether great or small.
Mathematical knowledge is conversant
with pure lines, points, and surfaces ; hence
it must rest on inconceivables.
But Mr. Spencer would by no means con
cede that we do not know the shape of the
earth, its size, and many other inconceiv
able things about it. Conception is thus
no criterion of knowledge, and all built
upon this doctrine (i. e. depending upon
the conceivability of a somewhat) falls to
the ground.
�12
Herbert Spencer.
But he applies it to the questions of the says : “ no other result would happen if I
divisibility of matter (page 50): “ If we went on forever.’")
say that matter is infinitely divisible, we
III. Pure thought, however, grasps this
commit ourselves to a supposition not process as a totality, and sees that it only
realizable in thought. We can bisect and arises through a self-relation. The “ pro
rebisect a body, and continually repeating gress ” is nothing but a return to itself,
the act until we reduce its parts to a size the same monotonous round. It would be
no longer physically divisible, may then a similar attempt to seek the end of a cir
mentally continue the process without cle by travelling round it, and one might
limit.”
make the profound remark : “ If mv pow
Setting aside conceivability as indiffer ers were equal to the task, I should doubt
ent to our knowledge or thinking, we have less come to the end.” This difficulty
the following solution of this point:
vanishes as soon as the experience is made
I. That which is extended may be bi that the line returns into itself. “ It is the
sected (i. e. has two halves).
same thing whether said once or repeated
II. Thus two extensions arise, which, in forever,” says Simplicius, treating of this
turn, have the same property of divisibil paradox.
ity that the first one had.
The “Infinite Progress” is the most
III. Since, then, bisection is a process stubborn fortress of Scepticism. By it
entirely indifferent to the nature of exten our negative writers establish the imposion (i. e. does not change an extension tency of Reason for various ulterior pur
into two non-extendeds), it follows that poses. Some wish to use it as a lubrica
body is infinitely divisible.
ting fluid upon certain religious dogmas
We do not have to test this in imagina that cannot otherwise be swallowed. Oth
tion to verify it; and this very truth must ers wish to save themselves the trouble of
be evident to him who says that the pro thinking out the solutions to the Problem
gress must be Ci continued without limit.” of Life. But the Sphinx devours him who
For if we examine the general conditions does not faithfully grapple with, and solve
under which any such “ infinite progress ” her enigmas.
is possible, we find them to rest upon the
Mephistopheles (a good authority on this
presupposition of a real infinite, thus :
subject) says of Faust, whom he finds
grumbling at the littleness of man’s mind:
Infinite Progress.
“ Verachte nur Vernunft und Wissenchaft,
I. Certain attributes are found to be
Des Menschen allerhöchste Kraft!
long to an object, and are not affected by
Und hätt’ er sich auch nicht dem Teufel übergehen,
Er müsste doch zu Grunde gehen.”
a certain process. (For example, divisi
bility as a process in space does not affect
Only prove that there is a large field of
the continuity of space, which makes that the unknowable and one has at once the
process possible. Or again, the process of vade mecum for stupidity. Crude reflec
limiting space does not interfere with its tion can pour in its distinctions into a sub
continuity, for space will not permit any ject, and save itself from the consequences
limit except space itself.)
by pronouncing the basis incomprehensi
II. When the untutored reflection en ble. It also removes all possibility of
deavors to apprehend a relation of this Theology, or of the Piety of the Intellect,
nature, it seizes one side of the dualism and leaves a very narrow margin for re
and is hurled to the other. (It bisects ligious sentiment, or the Piety of the
space, and then finds itself before two ob Heart.
jects identical in nature with the first; it
The stage of Science represented by the
has effected nothing; it repeats the pro French Encyclopaedists was immediately
cess, and, by and by getting exhausted, hostile to each and every form of religion.
wonders whether it could meet a different This second stage, however, has a choice.
result if its powers of endurance were It can, like Hamilton or Mansel, let re
greater. Or else suspecting the true case, ligious belief alone, as pertaining to the
�Herbert Spencer.
unknown and unknowable—which may be
believed in as much as one likes ; or it may
44 strip off,” as Spencer does, u determina
tions from a religion,” by which it is dis
tinguished from other religions, and show
their truth to consist in a common doc
trine held by all, to-wit : 41 The truth of
things is unknowable.”
Thus the scientific man can baffle all at
tacks from the religious standpoint ; nay,
he can even elicit the most unbounded ap
proval, while he saps the entire structure
of Christianity.
Says Spencer (p. 4G) : 44 Science and Re
ligion agree in this, that the power which
the Universe manifests to us is utterly in
scrutable.” He goes on to show that
though this harmony exists, yet it is
broken by the inconsistency of Religion :
44 For every religion, setting out with the
tacit assertion of a mystery, forthwith
proceeds to give some solution of this
mystery, and so asserts that it is not a
mystery passing human comprehension.”
In this confession he admits that all relig
ions agree in professing to reveal the solu
tion of the Mystery of the Universe to man ;
and they agree, moreover, that man, as
simply a being of sense and reflection, can
not comprehend the revelation ; but that
he must first pass through a profound me
diation—be regenerated, not merely in his
heart, but in intellect also. The misty
limitations (4<vagueness and confusion”)
of the imagination must give way to the
purifying dialectic of pure thought before
one can see the Eternal Verities.
These revelations profess to make known
the nature of the Absolute. They call the
Absolute 44 Him,” 44 Infinite,” 44 Self-cre
ated,” 44 Self-existent,” 44 Personal,” and
ascribe to this 44 Him” attributes implying
profound mediation. All definite forms
of religion, all definite theology, must at
once be discarded according to Spencer’s
principle. Self-consciousness, even, is re
garded as impossible by him (p. 65) :
44 Clearly a true cognition of self implies a
state in which the knowing and known are
one, in which subject and object are iden
tified ; and this Mr. Mansel rightly holds
to be the annihilation of both.” He con
siders it a degradation (p. 109) to apply
13
personality to God: 44 Is it not possible
that there is a mode of being as much
transcending intelligence and will as these
transcend mechanical motion ?” And
again (p. 112) he holds that the mere
44 negation of absolute knowing contains
more religion than all dogmatic theology.”
(P. 121,) 4<A11 religions-are envelopes of
truth, which reveal to the lower and con
ceal to the higher.” (P. 66,) 44 Objective
and subjective things are alike inscrutable
in their substance and genesis.” 44 Ulti
mate religious and scientific ideas (p. 68)
alike turn out to be mere symbols of the
actual, and not cognitions of it.” (P. 69,)
44 We come to the negative result that the
reality existing behind all appearances
must ever be unknown.”
In these passages we see a dualism pos
ited in this form : “ Everything immediate
is phenomenal, a manifestation of the hid
den and inscrutable essence.” This es
sence is the unknown and unknowable ;
yet it manifests itself in the immediate or
phenomenal.
The first stage of thought was uncon
scious that it dealt all the time with a
mediated result (a dualism) while it as
sumed an immediate ; that it asserted all
truth to lie in the sensuous object, while it
named at the same time “matter and/orce,”
categories of reflection.
The second stage has got over that dif
ficulty, but has fallen into another. For
if the phenomenon manifested the essence,
it could not be said to be 44 unknowable,
hidden, and inscrutable.” But if the es
sence is not manifested by the phenome
non, then we have the so-called phenome
non as a self-existent, and therefore inde
pendent of the so-called essence, which
stands coordinated to it as another exist
ent, which cannot be known because it
does not manifest itself to us. Hence the
44 phenomenon ” is no phenomenon, or
manifestation of aught but itself, and the
44 essence” is simply a fiction of the phil
osopher.
Hence his talk about essence is purely
gratuitous, for there is not shown the need
of one.
A dialectical consideration of essence
and phenomenon will result as follows :
�14
Herbert Spencer.
Essence and PhenomenonI. If essence is seized as independent
or absolute being, it may be taken in two
senses:
a. As entirely unaffected by “ other
ness” (or limitation) and entirely unde
termined ; and this would be pure nothing,
for it cannot distinguish itself or be dis
tinguished from pure nothing.
b. As relating to itself, and hence
making itself a duality—becoming its own
other; in this case the “other” is a van
ishing one, for it is at the same time iden
tical and non-identical — a process in
which the essence may be said to appear
or become phenomenal. The entire pro
cess is the absolute or self-related (and
hence independent). It is determined, but
by itself, and hence not in a finite man
ner.
II. The Phenomenon is thus seen to
arise through the self-determination of
essence, and has obviously the following
characteristics:
a. It is the “ other ” of the essence, and
yet the own self of the essence existing in
this opposed manner, and thus self-nuga
tory; and this non-abiding character gives
it the name of phenomenon (or that which
merely appears, but is no permanent es
sence).
b. If this were simply another to the
essence, and not the eelf-opposition of the
same, then it would be through itself, and
itself the essence in its first (or immediate)
phase. But this is the essence only as ne
gated, or as returned from the otherness.
c. This self-nugatoriness is seen to arise
from the contradiction involved in its be
ing other to itself, i. e. outside of its true
being. Without this self-nugatoriness it
would be an abiding, an essence itself, and
hence no phenomenon ; with this self-nu
gatoriness the phenomenon simply exhib
its or “ manifests ” the essence ; in fact,
with the appearance and its negation taken
together, we have before us a totality of
essence and phenomenon.
III. Therefore : a. The phenomenal is
such because it is not an abiding some
what. It is dependent upon other or es
sence. b. Whatever it posesses belongs
to that upon which it depends, i. e. be
longs to essence, c. In the self-nugatoriness of the phenomenal we have the entire
essence manifested.
This latter point is the important result,
and may be stated in a less strict and more
popular form thus : The real world (socalled) is said to be in a state of change
origination and decay. Things pass away
and others come in their places. Under
this change, however, there is a permanent
called Essence.
The imaginative thinking finds it impos
sible to realize such an abiding as exists
through the decay of all external form,
and hence pronounces it unknowable. But
pure thought seizes it, and finds it a pure
self-relation or process of return to itself,
which accordingly has duality, thus:
a. The positing or producing of a some
what or an immediate, and, b. The cancel
ling of the same. In this duality of be
ginning and ceasing, this self-relation
completes its circle, and is thus, c. the en
tire movement.
All categories of the understanding
(cause and effect, matter and form, possi
bility, etc.) are found to contain this
movement when dissolved. And hence
they have self-determination for their pre
supposition and explanation. It is un
necessary to add that unless one gives up
trying to imagine truth, that this is all
very absurd reasoning. (At the end of the
sixth book of Plato’s Republic, ch. xxi.,
and in the seventh book, ch.xiii., one may
see how clearly this matter was understood
two thousand, and more, years ago.)
To manifest or reveal is to make known ;
and hence to speak of the “manifestation
of a hidden and inscrutable essence” is to
speak of the making known of an unknow
able.
Mr. Spencer goes on; no hypothesis of
the universe is possible—creation not con
ceivable, for that would be something out
of nothing—self-existence not conceivable,
for that involves unlimited past time.
He holds that “all knowledge is rela
tive,'” for all explanation is the reducing
of a cognition to a more general. He says,
(p. G9,) “ Of necessity, therefore, explana
tion must eventually bring us down to the
inexplicable—the deepest truth which we
�Herbert Spencer.
15
can get at must be unaccountable.” This will prove a confused affair; especially
much valued insight has a positive side as since to the above-mentioned “inscruta
well as the negative one usually developed : bility” of the absolute, he adds the doc
I. (a.) To explain something we sub trine of an “ obscure consciousness of it,”
holding, in fact, that the knowable is only
sume it under a more general.
(6.) The ee summum genus” cannot be a relative, and that it cannot be known
without at the same time possessing a
subsumed, and
knowledge of the unknowable.
(c.) Hence is inexplicable.
(P. 82) he says : “ A thought involves
II. But those who conclude from this
that we base our knowledge ultimately relation, difference and likeness; what
upon faiih (from the supposed fact that we ever does not present each of them does
not admit of cognition. And hence we
cannot prove our premises) forget that—
(a.) If the subsuming process ends in an may say that the unconditioned as present
unknown, then all the subsuming has re ing none of these, is trebly unthinkable.”
sulted in nothing; for to subsume some And yet he says, (p. 96): “ The relative is
thing under an unknown does not explain itself inconceivable except as related to a
it. (Plato’s Republic, Book VII, chap, xiii.) real non-relative.”
We will leave this infinite self-contradic
(&.) The more general, however, is the
more simple, and hence the summum tion thus developed, and turn to the posi
genus” is the purely simple—it is Being. tions established concerning the knowable.
But the simpler the clearer, and the pure They concern the nature of Force, Matter
and Motion, and the predicates set up are
simple is the absolutely clear.
(c.) At the i( summum genus” subsump “persistence,” “indestructibility” and
tion becomes the principle of identity— similar.
THE KNOWABLE.
being is being; and thus stated we have
Although in the first part “ conceivabil
simple self-relation as the origin of all
ity” was shown to be utterly inadequate
clearness and knowing whatsoever.
III. Hence it is seen that it is not the as a test of truth ; that with it we could not
mere fact of subsumption that makes some even establish that the earth is round, or
thing clear, but rather it is the reduction that space is infinitely continuous, yet here
Mr. Spencer finds that inconceivability is
of it to identity.
In pure being as the summum genus, the the most convenient of all positive proofs.
The first example to be noticed is his
mind contemplates the pure form of know
ing—“ a is a,” or “ a subject is a predi proof of the compressibility of matter (p.
cate”—(a is b). The pure “is” is the 51): “It is an established mechanical
empty form of mental affirmation, the pure truth that if a body moving at a given ve
copula; and thus in the summum genus locity, strikes an equal body at rest in
the mind recognizes the pure form of itself. such wise that the two move on together,
All objectivity is at this point dissolved their joint velocity will be but half that of
into the thinking, and hence the subsump the striking body. Now it is a law of
tion becomes identity—(being=e</o, or “co- which the negative is inconceivable, that
gito, ergo sum” the process turns round in passing from any one degree of magni
and becomes synthetic, (“dialectic” or tude to another all intermediate degrees
‘‘genetic,” as called by some). From this must be passed through. Or in the case
it is evident that self-consciousness is the before us, a body moving at velocity 4,
cannot, by collision, be reduced-to velocity
basis of all knowledge.
2, without passing through all velocities
between 4 and 2. But were matter truly
CHAPTER III.
solid — were its units absolutely incom
THE “ FIRST PRINCIPLES” OF THE “ KNOWpressible fand in unbroken contact — this
ABLE.”
“ law of continuity,” as it is called, would
As might be expected from Spencer’s be broken in every case of collision. For
treatment of the unknowable, the knowable when, of two such units, one moving at ve
�16
Herbert Spencer.
locity 4 strikes another at rest, the striking
unit must have its velocity 4 instantane
ously reduced to velocity 2; must pass
from velocity 4 tq velocity 2 without any
lapse of time, and without passing through
intermediate velocities; must be moving
with velocities 4 and 2 at the same instant,
which is impossible.” On page 57 he ac
knowledges that any transition from one
rate of motion to another is inconceivable ;
hence it does not help the matter to “pass
through intermediate velocities.” It is
just as great a contradiction and just as
inconceivable that velocity 4 should be
come velocity 3.9999-f-, as it is that it
should become velocity 2; for no change
whatever of the motion can be thought (as
he cofifesses) without having two motions
in one time. Motion, in fact, is the syn
thesis of place and time, and cannot be
comprehended except as their unity. The
argument here quoted is only adduced by
Mr. S. for the purpose of antithesis to other
arguments on the other side as weak as
itself.
On page 241, Mr. Spencer deals with the
question of the destructibility of matter:
“The annihilation of matter is unthink
able for the same reason that the creation
of matter is unthinkable.” (P. 54): “ Mat
ter in its ultimate nature is as absolutely
incomprehensible as space and time.” The
nature of matter is unthinkable, its crea
tion or destructibility is unthinkable, and
in this style of reasoning we can add that
its indestructibility is likewise unthinkable;
in fact the argument concerning self-exis
tence will apply here. (P. 31) : “ Self
existence necessarily means existence with
out a beginning; and to form a conception
of self-existence is to form a conception of
existence without a beginning. Now by
no mental effort can we do this. To con
ceive existence through infinite past time,
implies the conception of infinite past time,
which is an impossibility.” Thus, too,
we might argue in a strain identical; in
destructibility implies existence through
infinite future time, but by no mental effort
can infinite time be conceived. ^And thus,
too, we prove and disprove the persistence
of force and motion. When occasion re
quires, the cver-convenient argument of
££ inconceivability” enters. It reminds
one of Sir Wm. Hamilton’s “imbecility”
upon which are based “ sundry of the most
important phenomena of intelligence,”
among which he mentions the category of
causality. If causality is founded upon
imbecility, and all experience upon it, it
follows that all empirical knowledge rests
upon imbecility.
On page 247, our author asserts that the
first law of motion “ is in our flay being
merged in the more general one, that mo
tion, like matter, is indestructible.” It is
interesting t<5 observe that this so-called
“ First law of motion” rests on no better
basis than very crude reflection.
“When not influenced by external forces,
a moving body will go on in a straight
line with a uniform velocity,” is Spencer’s
statement of it.
This abstract, supposed law has neces
sitated much scaffolding in Natural Phil
osophy that is otherwise entirely unneces
sary; it contradicts the idea of momen
tum, and is thus refuted :
I. A body set in motion continues in
motion after the impulse’ has ceased from
without, for the reason that it retains mo
mentum.
II. Momentum is the product of weight
by velocity, and weight is the attraction of
the body in question to another body exter
nal to it. If all bodies external to the
moving body were entirely removed, the
latter would have no weight, and hence
the product of weight by velocity would
be zero.
III. The “ external influences” referred
to in the so-called “ law,” mean chiefly
attraction. Since no body could have mo
mentum except through weight, another
name for attraction, it follows that all free
motion has reference to another body, and
hence is curvilinear; thus we are rid of
that embarrassing ££ straight line motion”
which gives so much trouble in mechanics.
It has all to be reduced back again through
various processes to curvilinear movement.
We come, finally, to consider the central
point of this system ;
THE CORRELATION OF FORCES.
Speaking of persistence of force, Mr.
Spencer concedes (p. 252) that this doc
�Herbert Spencer.
trine is not demonstrable from experience.
He says (p. 254): “Clearly the persistence
of force is an ultimate truth of which no
inductive proof is possible.” (P. 255) :
“By the persistence of force we really
mean the persistence of some power which
transcends our knowledge and conception.”
(P. 257): “The indestructibility of matter
and the continuity of motion we saw to be
really .corollaries from the impossibility of
establishing in thought a relation between
something and nothing.” (Thus what
was established as a mental impotence is
now made to have objective validity.)
“Our inability to conceive matter and
motion destroyed is our inability to sup
press consciousness itself.” (P. 258) :
“ Whoever alleges that the inability to con
ceive a beginning or end of the universe
is a negative result of our mental struc
ture, cannot deny that our consciousness
of the universe as persistent is a positive
result of our mental structure. And this
persistence of the universe is the persist
ence of that unknown cause, power, or
force, which is manifested to us through
all phenomena.” This “ positive result of
our mental structure” is said to rest on
our ££ inability to conceive the limitation
of consciousness” which is ££ simply the
obverse of our inability to put an end to
the thinking subject while still continuing
to think.” (P. 257) : “To think of some
thing becoming nothing, would involve
that this substance of consciousness having
just existed under a given form, should
next assume no form, or should cease to
be consciousness.”
It will be observed here that he is en
deavoring te solve the First Antinomy of
Kant, and that his argument in this place
differs from Kant’s proof of the “ Antithe
sis” in this, that while Kant proves that
“The world [or universe] has no begin
ning,” etc., by the impossibility of the
origination of anything in a ££ void time,”
that Mr. Spencer proves the same thing by
asserting it to be a “positive result of our
mental structure,” and then proceeds to
show that this is a sort of “inability”
which has a subjective explanation ; it is,
according to him, merely the “ substance
17
of consciousness” objectified and regarded
as the law of reality.
But how is it with the “Thesis” to that
Antinomy, “The world has a beginning
in time ?” Kant proves this apagogically by showing the absurdity of an “ in
finite series already elapsed.” That our
author did not escape the contradiction
has already been shown in our remarks
upon the “indestructibility of matter.”
While he was treating of the unknowable
it was his special province to prove that
self-existence is unthinkable. (P. 31) : He
says it means ££ existence without a begin
ning,” and “to conceive existence through
infinite past time, implies the conception
of infinite past time, which is an impos
sibility.” Thus we have the Thesis of the
Antinomy supported in his doctrine of the
“ unknowable,” and the antithesis of the
same proved in the doctrine of the know
able.
We shall next find him involved with
Kant’s Third Antinomy.
The doctrine of the correlation is stated
in the following passages :
(P. 280): “ Those modes of the un
knowable, which we call motion, heat,
light, chemical affinity, etc., are alike
transformable into each other, and into
those modes of the unknowable which we
distinguish as sensation, emotion, thought:
these, in their turns, being directly or in
directly re-transformable into the original
shapes. That no idea or feeling arises,
save as a result of some physical force ex
pended in producing it, is fast becoming a
common-place of science; and whoever
duly weighs the evidence, will see that
nothing but an overwhelming bias in favor
of a preconceived theory can explain its
non-acceptance. How this metamorphosis
takes place—how a force existing as mo
tion, heat, or light, can become a mode of
consciousness—how it is possible for aerial
vibrations to generate the sensation we
call sound, or for the forces liberated by
chemical changes in the brain to give rise
to emotion—these are mysteries which it
is impossible to fathom.” (P. 284): “Each
manifestation of force can be interpreted
only as the effect of some antecedent force ;
�18
Herbert Spencer.
no matter whether it be an inorganic ac
tion, an animal movement, a thought, or a
feeling. Either this must be conceded, or
else it must be asserted that our successive
states of consciousness are self-created.”
“ Either mental energies as well as bodily
ones are quantitatively correlated to cer
tain energies expended in their production,
and to certain other energies they initiate ;
or else nothing must become something
and something, nothing. Since persistence
of force, being a datum of consciousness,
cannot be denied, its unavoidable corol
lary must be accepted.”
On p. 294 he supports the doctrine that
“ motion takes the direction of the least
resistance,” mentally as well as physically.
Here are some of the inferences to be
drawn from the passages quoted :
1. Every act is determined from with
out, and hence does not belong to the sub
ject in which it manifests itself. "
2. To change the course of a force, is to
make another direction “ that of the least
resistance,” or to remove or diminish a
resistance.
3. But to change a resistance requires
force, which (in motion) must act in “ the
direction of the least resistance,” and
hence it is entirely determined from with
out, and governed by the disposition of
the forces it meets.
4. Hence, of will, it is an absurdity to
talk; freedom or moral agency is an im
possible phantom.
5. That there is self-determination in
self-consciousness—that it is “self-cre
ated ”—is to Mr. Spencer the absurd al
ternative which at once turns the scale in
favor of the doctrine that mental phenom
ena are the productions of external
forces.
After this, what are we to Bay of the
following ? (P. 501): “ Notwithstanding
all evidence to the contrary, there will
probably have arisen in not a few minds
the conviction that the solutions which
have been given, along with those to be
derived from them, are essentially mate
rialistic. Let none persist in these mis
conceptions.” (P. 502): “Their implica
tions are no more materialistic than they
are spiritualistic, and no more spiritual
istic than they are materialistic.”
If we hold these positions by the side of
Kant’s Third Antinomy, we shall see that
they all belong to the proof of the “ Anti
thesis,” viz : “ There is no freedom, but
everything in the world happens accord
ing to the laws of nature.” The “Thesis,”
viz : “ That a causality of freedom is nec
essary to account fully for the phenomena
of the world,” he has not anywhere sup
ported. We find, in fact, only those
thinkers who have in some measure mas
tered the third phase of culture in thought,
standing upon the basis presented by
Kant in the Thesis. The chief point in
the Thesis maybe stated as follows: 1.
If everything that happens presupposes a
previous condition, (which the law of
causality states,) 2. This previous condi
tion cannot be a permanent (or have been
always in existence); for, if so, its conse
quence, or the effect, would have always
existed. Thus the previous condition must
be a thing which has happened. 3. With
this the whole law of causality collapses';
for (a) since each cause is an effect, (5) its
determining power escapes into a higher
member of the series, and, (c) unless the
law changes, wholly vanishes ; there result
an indefinite series of effects with no
cause ; each member of the series is a de
pendent, has its being in another, which
again has its being in another, and hence
cannot support the subsequent term.
Hence it is evident that this Antinomy
consists, first: in the setting up of the law
of causality as having absolute validity,
which is the antithesis. Secondly, the
experience is made that such absolute law
of causality is a self-nugatory one, and thus
it is to be inferred that causality, to be at
all, presupposes an origination in a “ self
moved.” as Plato calls it. Aristotle (Meta
physics, xi. 6-7, and ix. 8) exhibits this ul
timate as the “ self-active,” and the Schol
astics take the same, under the designation
<( actus purus,” for the definition of God.
The Antinomy thus reduced gives :
I. Thesis : Self-determination must lie
at the basis of all causality, otherwise
causality cannot be at all.
�Herbert Spencer.
II. Antithesis : If there is self-determin
ation, “ the unity of experience (which
leads us to look for a cause) is destroyed,
and hence no such case could arise in ex
perience.”
In comparing the two proofs it is at once
seen that they are of different degrees of
universality. The argument of the Thesis is
based upon the nature of the thing itself,
i. e. a pure thought; while that of the
Antithesis loses sight of the idea of
“ efficient ” cause, and seeks mere contin
uity in the sequence of time, and thus ex
hibits itself as the second stage of thought,
which leans on the staff of fancy, i. e. mere
representative thinking. This “ unity of
experience,” as Kant calls it, is the same
thing, stated in other words, that Spencer
refers to as the “ positive result of our
mental structure.” In one sense those are
true antinomies—those of Kant, Hamilton,
et al.—viz. in this : that the “ representa
tive” stage of thinking finds itself unable
to shake off the sensuouB picture, and think
“ sub quadani specie ceternitatis.” To the
mind disciplined to the third stage of
thought, these are no antinomies; Spinoza,
Leibnitz, Plato and Aristotle are not con
fused by them. The Thesis, properly
stated, is a true universal, and exhibits its
own truth, as that upon which the law of
causality rests; and hence the antithesis
itself—less universal—resting upon the
law of causality, is based upon the Thesis.
Moreover, the Thesis does not deny an in
finite succession in time and space, it only
states that there must be an efficient cause
—-just what the law of causalty states, but
shows, in addition, that this efficient cause
must be a “ self-determined.”
On page 282 we learn that, “The solar
heat is the final source of the force mani
fested by society.” “ It (the force of so
ciety) is based on animal and vegetable
products, and these in turn are dependent
on the light and heat of the sun.”
As an episode in this somewhat abstract
discussion, it may be diverting to notice
the question of priority of discovery,
touched upon in the following note (p.
454): “Until I recently consulted his
‘ Outlines of Astronomy’ on another ques
tion, I was not aware that, so far back as
19
1833, Sir John Herschel had enunciated
the doctrine that ‘ the sun’s rays are the
ultimate source of almost every motion
which takes place on the surface of the
earth.’ He expressly includes all geologic,
meteorologic, and vital actions; as also
those which we produce by the combus
tion of coal. The late George Stephenson
appears to have been wrongly credited
with this last idea.”
In order to add to the thorough discus
sion of this important question, we wish
to suggest the claims of Thomas Carlyle,
who, as far back as 1830, wrote the foling passage in his Sartor Resartus (Am.
ed. pp. 55-6): “ Well sang the Hebrew
Psalmist: ‘If I take the wings of the
morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts
of the Universe, God is there.’ Thou, too,
0 cultivated reader, who too probably art
no psalmist, but a prosaist, knowing God
only by tradition, knowest thou any corner
of the world where at least force is not ?
The drop which thou shakest from thy wet
hand, rests not where it falls, but to-mor
row thou findest it swept away ; already,
on the wings of the north wind, it is near
ing the tropic of Cancer. How it came to
evaporate and not lie motionless ? Thinkest thou there is aught motionless, without
force, and dead ?
“ As I rode through the Schwartzwald,
I said to myself: That little fire which
glows starlike across the dark-growing
(nachtende) moor, where the sooty smith
bends over his anvil, and thou hopest to
replace thy lost horseshoe—is it a detach
ed, separated speck, cut off from the whole
universe, or indissolubly joined to the
whole ? Thou fool, that smithy-fire was
primarily kindled at the sun ; is fed by air
that circulates from beyond Noah’s deluge,
from beyond the Dog star; it is a little
ganglion, or nervous centre in the great
vital system of immensity.”
We have, finally, to consider the correl
ation theory in connection with equilib
rium.
I. Motion results from destroyed equi
librium. The whole totality does not cor
respond to itself, its ideal and real contra
dict each other. The movement is the re
storing of the equilibrium, or the bringing
�20
Herbert Spencer.
into unity of the ideal and real. To illus
trate : a spring (made of steel, rubber, or
any elastic material) has a certain form in
which it may exist without tension ; this
may be called the ideal shape, or simply
the ideal. If the spring is forced to as
sume another shape, its real shape becomes
different from the ideal; its equilibrium
is destroyed, and force is manifested as a
tendency to restore the equilibrium (or
unity of the ideal and real). Generalize
this : all forces have the same nature;
(a) expansive forces arise from the ideal
existing without—a gas, steam, for ex
ample, ideally takes up a more extended
space than it has really; it expands to fill
it. Or (6) contractive forces : the multi
plicity ideally exists within; e. g. attrac
tion of gravitation; matter trying to find
the centre of the earth, its ideal. The will
acts in this way: The ideal is changed
first, and draws the real after it. I first
destroy, in thought and will, the identity
of ideal and real; the tension resulting is
force. Thinking, since it deals with the
universal (or the potential and the actual)
is an original source of force, and, as will
result in the sequel from a reverse analysis
(see below, V. 3, c) the only source of force.
II. Persistence of force requires an unrestorable equilibrium ; in moving to re
store one equilibrium, it must destroy
another—its equivalent.
III. But this contradicts the above de
veloped conception of force as follows :
(a) Since force results from destroyed
equilibrium, it follows (Z>) that it requires
as much force to destroy the equilibrium
as is developed in the restoring of it (and
this notion is the basis of the correlation
theory). But (c) if the first equilibrium
(already destroyed) can only be restored
by the destroying of another equal to the
same, it has already formed an equilibrium
with the second, and the occasion of the
motion is removed.
If two forces are equal and opposed,
which will give way ?
By this dialectic consideration of force,
we learn the insufficiency of the theory of
correlation as the ultimate truth. Instead
of being “ the sole truth, which transcends
experience by underlying it ” (p. 258), we
are obliged to confess that this “ persist
ence of force” rests on the category of
causality; its thin disguise consists in the
substitution of other words for the meta
physical expression, “Every effect must
be equal to its cause.” And this, when
tortured in the crucible, confesses that
the only efficient cause is “ causi sui
hence the effect is equal to its cause, be
cause it is the cause.
And the correlation theory results in
showing that force cannot be, unless self
originated.
That self-determination is the inevitable
result, no matter what hypothesis be as
sumed, is also evident. Taking all counter
hypotheses and generalizing them, we have
this analysis:
I. Any and every being is determined
from without through another. (This theo
rem includes all anti-self-determination
doctrines.)
II. It results from this that any and
every being is dependent upon another and
is a finite one ; it cannot be isolated with
out destroying it. Hence it results that
every being is an element of a whole that
includes it as a subordinate moment.
III. Dependent being, as a subordinate
element, cannot be said to support any
thing attached to it, for its own support is
not in itself but in another, namely, the
whole that includes it. From this it re
sults that no dependent being can depend
upon another dependent being, but rather
upon the including whole.
The including whole is therefore not a
dependent; since it is for itself, and each
element is determined through it, and for
it, it may be called the negative unity (or
the unity which negates the independence
of the elements).
Remark.—A chain of dependent beings
collapses into one dependent being. De
pendence is not converted into independ
ence by simple multiplication. All de
pendence is thus an element of an inde
pendent whole.
IV. What is the character of this inde
pendent w’hole, this negative “unity I “Char
acter” means determination, and we are
prepared to sav that its determination can
not be through another, for then it would
�Herbert Spencer.
be a dependent, and we should be referred
again to the whole, including it. Its de
termination by which the multiplicity of
elements arises is hence its own self-deter
mination. Thus all finitude and depend
ence presupposes as its condition, selfdetermination.
V. Self-determination more closely ex
amined exhibits some remarkable results,
(which -will throw light on the discussion
of “ Essence and Phenomena” above):
(1.) It is “causa sui;” active and pas
sive; existing dually as determining and
determined ; this self-diremption produces
a distinction in itself which is again can
celled.
(2.) As determiner (or active, or cause),
it is the pure universal—the possibility of
any determinations. But as determined
(passive or effect) it is the special, the par
ticular, the one-sided reality that enters
into change.
(3.) But it is “ negative unity” of these
two sides, and hence an individual. The
pure universal w’hose negative relation to
itself as determiner makes the particular,
completes itself to individuality through
this act.
(a.) Since its pure universality is the
substrate of its determination, and at the
same time a self-related activity (or nega
tivity), it at once becomes its own object.
(6.) Its activity (limiting or determin
ing)— a pure negativity — turned to itself
as object, dissolves the particular in the
universal, and thus continually realizes
its subjectivity.
(c.) Hence these two sides of the nega
tive unity are more properly subject and
object, and since they are identical (causa
sui} we may name the result “ self-con
sciousness.”
The absolute truth of all truths, then, is
that self-consciousness is the form of the
Total. God is a Person, or rather the
Person. Through His self-consciousness
(thought of Himself) he makes Himself
an object to Himself (Nature), and in the
same act cancels it again into Ilis own
image (finite spirit), and thus comprehends
Himself in this self-revelation.
Two remarks must be made here: (1.)
This is not “Pantheism;” for it results
21
that God is a Person; and secondly Nature
is a self-cancelling side in the process;
thirdly, the so-called “finite spirit,” or
man, is immortal, since otherwise he would
not be the last link of the chain; but such
he is, because he can develop out of his
sensuous life to pure thought, uncondition
ed by time and space, and hence he can
surpass any fixed “higher intelligence,”
no matter how high created.
(2.) It is the result that all profound
thinkers have arrived at.
Aristotle (Metaphysics XI. 6 & 7) car
ries this whole question of motion back to
its presupposition in a mode of treatment,
“ sub quadam specie aternitatis” He
concludes thus : “ The thinking, however,
of that which is purely for itself, is a think
ing'of that which is most excellent in and
for itself.
“ The thinking thinks itself, however,
through participation in that which is
thought by it; it becomes this object in
its own activity, in such a manner that the
subject and object are identical. For the
apprehending of thought and essence is
what constitutes reason. The activity of
thinking produces that which is perceived ;
so that the activity is rather that which
Beason seems to have of a divine nature;
speculation [pure thinking] is the most ex
cellent employment; if, then, God is al
ways engaged in this, as we are at times,
lie is admirable, and if in a higher degree,
more admirable. But He is in this pure
thinking, and life too belongs to Him; for
the activity of thought is life. He is this
activity. The activity, returning into it
self, is the most excellent and eternal life.
We say, therefore, that God is an eternal
and the best living being. So that life and
duration are uninterrupted and eternal;
for this is God.”
When one gets rid of those “images of
sense” called by Spencer “ conceivables,”
and arrives at the “ unpicturable notions
of intelligence,” he will find it easy to re
duce the vexed antinomies of force, matter,
motion, time, space and causality; arriv
ing at the fundamental principle — selfdetermination—he will be able to make a
science of Biology. The organic realm
will not yield to dualistic Reflection.
�22
Herbert Spencer.
Goethe is the great pioneer of the school of
physicists that will spring out of the pre
sent activity of Reflection when it shall
have arrived at a perception of its method.
Résumé'.—Mr. Spencer’s results, so far
as philosophy is concerned, may be briefly
summed up under four general heads : I.
Psychology. 2. Ontology. 3. Theology.
4. Cosmology.
PSYCHOLOGY.
(1.) Conception is a mere picture in the
mind; therefore what cannot be pictured
cannot be conceived; therefore the Infinite,
the Absolute, God, Essence,Matter, Motion,
Force—anything, in short, that involves
mediation—cannot be conceived ; hence
they are unknowable.
(2.) Consciousness is self-knowing; but
that subject and object are one, is impos
sible. We can neither know ourselves nor
any real being.
(3.) All reasoning or explaining is the
subsuming of a somewhat under a more
general category; hence the highest cate
gory is unsubsumed, and hence inexpli
cable.
(4.) Our intellectual faculties may be
improved to a certain extent, and beyond
this, no amount of training can avail any
thing. (Biology, vol. I, p. 188.)
(5.) The ££ substance of consciousness”
is the basis of our ideas of persistence of
Force, Matter, etc.
(6.) All knowing is relative ; our knowl
edge of this fact, however, is not relative
but absolute.
the hidden and inscrutable essence of the
correlate of our knowledge of phenomena.
We know that it exists.
(3.) Though what is inconceivable is for
that reason unknowable, yet we know that
persistence belongs to force, motion and
matter ; it is a positive result of our “ men
tal structure,” although we cannot con
ceive either destructibility or indestructi
bility.
(4.) Though self-consciousness is an
impossibility, yet it sometimes occurs,since
the ££ substance of consciousness” is the
object of consciousness when it decides
upon the persistence of the Universe, and
of Force, Matter, etc.
THEOLOGY.
ONTOLOGY.
The Supreme Being is unknown and un
knowable ; unrevealed and unrevealable,
either naturally or supernaturally : for to
reveal, requires that some one shall com
prehend what is revealed. The sole doc
trine of Religion of great value is the doc
trine that God transcends the human intel
lect. When Religion professes to reveal
Him to man and declare His attributes,
then it is irreligious. Though God is the
unknown, yet personality, reason, con
sciousness, etc., are degrading when ap
plied to Him. The t£ Thirty-nine Arti
cles” should be condensed into one, thus :
There is an Unknown which I know that I
cannot know.”
££ Religions are envelopes of truth which
reveal to the lower, and conceal to the
higher.” “They are modes of manifesta
tion of the unknowable.”
(1.) All that we know is phenomenal.
The reality passes all understanding. In
the phenomenon the essence is “ manifest
ed,” but still it is not revealed thereby;
it remains hidden behind it, inscrutable to
our perception,
(2.) And yet, since all our knowledge is
relative, we have an obscure knowledge of
“ Evolution is a change from an indefi
nite, incoherent homogeneity, to a definite,
coherent heterogeneity ; through continu
ous differentiations and integrations.”
This is the law of the Universe. All pro
gresses to an equilibration—to a moving
equilibrium.
COSMOLOGY.
�23
Fichtes Science of Knowledge.
INTRODUCTION TO FICHTE’S SCIENCE OF KNOWLEDGE.
TRANSLATED BY A. E. KROEGER.
[Note.—Tn presenting this "Introduction” to the readers of the Journal of Speculative
Philosophy, we believe we afford them the easiest means of gaining an insight into Fichte’s great
work on the Science of Knowledge. The present introduction was written by Fichte in 1797,
three years after the first publication of his full system. It is certainly written in a remarkably
clear and vigorous style, so as to be likely to arrest the attention even of those who have but
little acquaintance with the rudiments of the Science of Philosophy. This led us to give it
the preference over other essays, also written by Fichte, as Introductions to his Science of
Knowledge. A translation of the Science of Knowledge, by Mr. Kroeger, is at present in course
of publication in New York. This article is, moreover, interesting as being a more complete un
folding of the doctrine of Plato upon Method, heretofore announced.—Ed.]
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
Do re, quae agitur, petimus, ut homines, earn non
opinionem, sed opus esse, cogitent ac pro certo habeant,
non sectae nos alicujus, ant placiti, sed utilitatis
et amplitudinis humanae fundamenta moliri. Deinde,
ut, suis commodis aequi, in commune consulant, et ipsi
in partem veniant.—Baco de Verulamio.
The author of the Science of Knowledge
was soon convinced, through a slight ac
quaintance with the philosophical literature
since the appearance of Kant’s Critiques,
that the object of this great man—to ef
fect a total reform in the study of philoso
phy, and hence of all science—had result
ed in a failure, Bince not one of his
numerous successors appeared to under
stand what he had really spoken of. The
author believed that he had understood
the latter; he resolved 'to devote his
life to a representation—totally independ
ent from Kant’s—of that great discovery,
and he will not give up this resolve.
Whether he will succeed better in making
himself understood to his age, time alone
can show. At all events, he knows that
nothing true and useful, which has once
been given to mankind, is lost, though only
remote posterity should learn how to use it.
Determined by my academical vocation,
I wrote, in the first instance, for my hear
ers, with whom it was in my power to ex
plain myself in words until I was under
stood.
This is not the place to testify how
much cause I have to be satisfied with my
efforts, and to entertain, of some of my
students, the best hopes for science. That
book of mine has also become known else
where, and there are various opinions
afloat concerning it amongst the learned.
A judgment, which even pretended to bring
forth arguments, I have neither read nor
heard, except from my students; but I
have both heard and read a vast amount of
derision, denunciation, and the general
assurance that everybody is heartily op
posed to this doctrine, and the confession
that no one can understand it. As far as
the latter is concerned, I will cheerfully
assume all the blame, until others shall rep
resent it so as to make it comprehensible,
when students will doubtless discover that
my representation was not so very bad
after all; or I will assume it altogether
and unconditionally, if the reader thereby
should be encouraged to study the present
representation, in which I shall endeavor
to be as clear as possible. I shall con
tinue these representations so long as I am
convinced that I do not write altogether in
vain. But I write in vain when nobody
examines my argument.
I still owe my readers the following ex
planations : I have always said, and say
again, that my system is the same ag
Kant’s. That is to say, it contains the
same view of the subject, but is totally in
dependent of Kant’s mode of representa
tion. I have said this, not to cover myself
by a great authority, or to support my
doctrine except by itself, but in order to
say the truth and to be just.
Perhaps it may be proven after twenty
years. Kant is as yet a sealed book, and
what he has been understood to teach, is
exactly what he intended to eradicate.
My writings are neither to explain Kant,
nor to be explained by his ; they must
stand by themselves, and Kant must not be
counted in the game at all. My object is—
I
/
�24
Fichtes Science of Knowledge,
let me say it frankly—not to correct or
amplify such philosophical reflections as
may be current, be they called anti
Kant or Kant, but to totally eradicate
them, and to effect a complete revolution
in the mode of thinking regarding these
subjects, so that hereafter the Object will
be posited and determined by Knowledge
(Reason), and not vice versa-, and this
seriously, not merely in words.
Let no one object: “If this system is
true, certain axioms cannot be upheld,”
for I do not intend that anything should
be upheld which this system refutes.
Again : “Ido not understand this book,”
is to me a very uninteresting and insignifi
cant confession. No one can and shall
understand my writings, without having
studied them ; for they do not contain a
lesson heretofore taught, but something—
since Kant has not been understood—alto
gether new to the age.
Censure without argument tells me
simply that my doctrine does not please ;
and this confession is again very unim
portant; for the question is not at all,
whether it pleases you or not, but whether
it has been proven. In the present sketch
I write only for those, in whom there
still dwells an inner sense of love for
truth; who still value science and con
viction, and who are impelled by a lively
zeal to seek truth. With those, who, by
long spiritual slavery, have lost with the
faith in their own conviction their faith
in the conviction of others; who consider
it folly if anybody attempts to seek truth
for himself ; who see nothing in sci
ence but a comfortable mode of subsist
ence ; who are horrified at every proposi
tion to enlarge its boundaries involving as
a new labor, and who consider no means
disgraceful by which they can hope to sup
press him who makes such a proposition,—
with those I have nothing to do.
I should be sorry if they understood me.
Hitherto this wish of mine has been real
ized; and I hope, even now, that these
present lines will so confuse them that they
can perceive nothing more in them than
mere words, while that which represents
their mind is torn hither and thither by
their ill-concealed rage.
INTRODUCTION.
I. Attend to thyself; turn thine eye away
from all that surrounds thee and into thine
own inner self! Such is the first task im
posed upon the student by Philosophy.
We speak of nothing that is without thee,
but merely of thyself.
The slightest self-observation must show
every one a remarkable difference between
the various immediate conditions of his
consciousness, which we may also call
representations. For some of them appear
altogether dependent upon our freedom,
and we cannot possibly believe that there
is without us anything corresponding to
them. Our imagination, our will, appears
to us as free. Others, however, we refer to
a Truth as their model, which is held to be
firmly fixed, independent of us; and in
determining such representations, we find
ourselves conditioned by the necessity of
their harmony with this Truth. In the
knowledge of them we do not consider
ourselves free, as far as their contents are
concerned. In short: while some of our
representations are accompanied by the
feeling of freedom, others are accompanied
by the feeling of necessity.
Reasonably the question cannot arise—
why are the representations dependent
upon our freedom determined in precisely
this manner, and not otherwise? For in
supposing them to be dependent upon our
freedom, all application of the conception
of a ground is rejected; they are thus, be
cause I so fashioned them, and if I had
fashioned them differently, they would be
otherwise.
But it is certainly a question worthy of
reflection—what is the ground of the sys
tem of those representations which are ac
companied by the feeling of necessity and
of that feeling of necessity itself? To
answer this question is the object of phil
osophy ; and, in my opinion, nothing is
philosophy but the Science which solves
this problem. The system of those repre
sentations, which are accompanied by the
feeling of necessity, is also called Experi
ence—internal as well as external experi
ence. Philosophy, therefore, to say the
same thing in other words, has to find the
ground of all Experience.
�Fichte’s Science of Knowledge.
Only three objections can be raised
against this. Somebody might deny that
representations, accompanied by the feel
ing of necessity, and referred to a Truth
determined without any action of ours, do
ever occur in our consciousness. Such a
person would either deny his own know
ledge, or be altogether differently con
structed from other men ; in which latter
case his denial would be of no concern to
us. Or somebody might say : the question
is completely unanswerable, we are in ir
removable ignorance concerning it, and
must remain so. To enter into argument
with such a person is altogether superflu
ous. The best reply he can receive is an
actual answer to the question, and then
all he can do is to examine our answer,
and tell us why and in what matters it does
not appear satisfactory to him. Finally,
somebody might quarrel about the desig
nation, and assert: “Philosophy is some
thing else than what you have stated
above, or at least something else besides.”
It might be easily shown to such a one,
that scholars have at all times designated
exactly what we have just stated to be
Philosophy, and that whatever else he
might assert to be Philosophy, has already
another name, and that if this word signi
fies anything at all, it must mean exactly
this Science. But as we are not inclined
to enter upon any dispute about words,
we, for our part, have already given up
the name of Philosophy, and have called
the Science which has the solution of this
problem for its object, the Science of
Knowledge.
II. Only when speaking of something,
which we’consider accidental, i. e. which
we suppose might also have been other
wise, though it was not determined by free
dom, can we ask for its ground ; and by
this very asking for its ground does it be
come accidental to the questioner. To
find the ground of anything accidental
means, to find something else, from the
determinedness of which it can be seen
why the accidental, amongst the various
conditions it might have assumed, assumed
precisely the one it did. The ground lies
—by the very thinking of a ground—be
yond its Grounded, and both are, in so far
25
as they are Ground and Grounded, opposed
to each other, related to each other, and
thus the latter is explained from the former.
Now Philosophy is to discover the
ground of all experience; hence its object
lies necessarily beyond all Experience.
This sentence applies to all Philosophy,
and has been so applied always heretofore,
if we except these latter days of Kant’s
miconstruers and their facts of conscious
ness, i. e. of inner experience.
No objection can be raised to this para
graph ; for the premise of our conclusion
is a mere analysis of the above-stated con
ception of Philosophy, and from the prem
ise the conclusion is drawn. If some
body should wish to remind us that the
conception of a ground must be differently
explained, we can, to be sure, not prevent
him from forming another conception of
it, if he so chooses ; but we declare, on
the strength of our good right, that we, in
the above description of Philosophy, wish
to have nothing else understood by that
word. Hence, if it is not to be so under
stood, the possibility of Philosophy, as we
have described it, must be altogether de
nied, and such a denial we have replied to
in our first section.
III. The finite intelligence has nothing
beyond experience ; experience contains
the whole substance of its thinking. The
philosopher stands necessarily under thé
same conditions, and hence it seems impos
sible that he can elevate himself beyond
experience.
But he can abstract; i. e. he can separate
by the freedom of thinking what in experi
ence is united. In Experience, the Thing
—that which is to be determined in itself
independent of our freedom, and in ac
cordance with which our knowledge is to
shape itself—and the Intelligence—which
is to obtain a knowledge of it—are in
separably united. The philosopher may
abstract from both, and if he does, he bas
abstracted from Experience and elevated,
himself above it. If he abstracts from the
first, he retains an intelligence in itself,
i. e. abstracted from its relation to experi
ence ; if he abstract from the latter, he re
tains the Thing in itself, i. e. abstracted
from the fact that it occurs in experience;
�26
Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
and thus retains the Intelligence in it
self, or the “Thing in itself,” as the
explanatory ground of Experience. The
former mode of proceeding is called Ideal
ism, the latter Dogmatism.
Only these two philosophical systems—
and of that these remarks should convince
everybody—are possible. According to
the first system the representations, which
are accompanied by the feeling of neces
sity, are productions of the Intelligence,
which must be presupposed in their ex
planation ; according to the latter system
they are the productions of a thing in itself
which must be presupposed to explain
them. If anybody desired to deny this,
he would have to prove that there is still
another way to go beyond experience than
the one by means of abstraction, or that
the consciousness of experience contains
more than the two components just men
tioned.
Now in regard to the first, it will appear
below, it is true, that what we have here
called Intelligence does, indeed, occur in
consciousness under another name, and
hence is not altogether produced by ab
straction ; but it will at the same time be
shown that the consciousness of it is con
ditioned by an abstraction, which, how
ever, occurs naturally to mankind.
We do not at all deny that it is possible
to compose a whole system from fragments
of these incongruous systems, and that
this illogical labor has often been under
taken ; but we do deny that more than
these two systems are possible in a logical
course of proceeding.
IV. Between the object—(we shall call
the explanatory ground of experience,
which a philosophy asserts, the object of
that philosophy, since it appears to be only
through and for such philosophy) — be
tween the object of Idealism and that of
Dogmatism there is a remarkable distinc
tion in regard to their relation to con
sciousness generally. All whereof I am con
scious is called object of consciousness.
There are three ways in which the object
can be related to consciousness. Either
it appears to have been produced by the
representation, or as existing without any
action of ours; and in the latter case, as
either also determined in regard to its
qualitativeness, or as existing merely in
regard to its existence, while determinable
in regard to its qualitativeness by the free
intelligence.
The first relation applies merely to an
imaginary object; the second merely to an
object of Experience; the third applies
only to an object, which we shall at once
proceed to describe.
I can determine myself by freedom to
think, for instance, the Thing in itself of
the Dogmatists. Now if I am to abstract
from the thought and look simply upon
myself, I myself become the object of a
particular representation. That I appear to
myself as determined in precisely this
manner, and none other, e. g. as thinking,
and as thinking of all possible thoughts—
precisely this Thing in itself, is to depend
exclusively upon my own freedom of selfdetermination ; I have made myself such a
particular object out of my own free will.
1 have not made myself; on the contrary, I
am forced to think myself in advance as
determinable through this self-determina
tion. Hence I am myself my own object,
the determinateness of which, under cer
tain conditions, depends altogether upon
the intelligence, but the existence of which
must always be presupposed. Now this
very “I” is the object of Idealism. The
object of this system does not occur actu
ally as something real in consciousness, not
as a Thing in itself—for then Idealism
would cease to be what it is, and become
Dogmatism—but as “Z” in itself-, not as
an object of Experience—for it is not de
termined, but is exclusively determinable
through my freedom, and without this de
termination it would be nothing, and is
really not at all—but as something beyond
all Experience.
The object of Dogmatism, on the con
trary, belongs to the objects of the first
class, which are produced solely by free
Thinking. The Thing in itself is a mere
invention, and has no reality at all. It
does not occur in Experience, for the sys
tem of Experience is nothing else than
Thinking accompanied by the feeling of
necessity, and can not even be said to be
anything else by the dogmatist, who, like
�Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
every philosopher, has to explain its cause.
True, the dogmatist wants to obtain re
ality for it through the necessity of think
ing it as ground of all experience, and
would succeed, if he could prove that ex
perience can be, and can be explained only
by means of it. But this is the very thing
in dispute, and he cannot presuppose what
must first be proven.
Hence the object of Idealism has this
advantage over the object of Dogmatism,
that it is not to be deduced as the explana
tory ground of Experience—which would
be a contradiction, and change this system
itself into a part of Experience—but that
it is, nevertheless, to be pointed out as a
part of consciousness ; whereas, the object
of Dogmatism can pass for nothing but a
mere invention, which obtains validity
only through the success of the system.
This we have said merely to promote a
clearer insight into the distinction between
the two systems, but not to draw from it
conclusions against the latter system.
That the object of every philosophy, as
explanatory ground of Experience, must
lie beyond all experience, is required by
the very nature of Philosophy, and is far
from being derogotary to a system. But
we have as yet discovered no reasons why
that object should also occur in a particu
lar manner within consciousness.
If anybody should not be able to convince
himself of the truth of what we have just
said, this would not make his conviction
of the truth of the whole system an impos
sibility, since what we have just said was
only intended as a passing remark. Still
in conformity to our plan we will also here
take possible objections into consideration.
Somebody might deny the asserted im
mediate self-consciousness in a free act of
the mind. Such a one we should refer to
the conditions stated above. This selfconsciousness does not obtrude itself upon
us, and comes not of its own accord; it is
necessary first to act free, and next to ab
stract from the object, and attend to one’s
self. Nobody can be forced to do this,
and though he may say he has done it, it
is impossible to say whether he has done
it correctly. In one word, this conscious
ness cannot be proven to any one, but
27
everybody must freely produce it within
himself. Against the second assertion,
that the “Thing in itself” is a mere in
vention, an objection could only be raised,
because it were misunderstood.
V. Neither of these two systems can di
rectly refute the other ; for their dispute is
a dispute about the first principle; each
system—if you only admit its first axiom—
proves the other one wrong; each denies
all to the opposite, and these« two systems
have no point in common from which they
might bring about a mutual understanding
and reconciliation. Though they may agree
on the words of a sentence, they will sure
ly attach a different meaning to the words.
(Hence the reason why Kant has not
been understood and why the Science of
Knowledge can find no friends. The sys
tems of Kant and of the Science of Knowl
edge are idealistic—not in the general in
definite, but in the just described definite
sense of the word; but the modern phil
osophers are all of them dogmatists, and
are firmly resolved to remain so. Kant
was merely tolerated, because it was possi
ble to make a dogmatist out of him; but
the Science of Knowledge, which cannot
be thus construed, is insupportable to these
wise men. The rapid extension of Kant’s
philosophy—when it'was thus misunder
stood— is not a proof of the profundity,
but rather of the shallowness of the age.
For in this shape it is the most wonderful
abortion ever created by human imagina
tion, and it does little honor to its defend
ers that they do not perceive this. It
can also be shown that this philosophy was
accepted so greedily only because people
thought it would put a stop to all serious
speculation, and continue the era of shal
low Empiricism.)
First. Idealism cannot refute Dogma
tism. True, the former system has the ad
vantage, as we have already said, of being
enabled to point out its explanatory ground
of all experience—the free acting intelli
gence—as a fact of consciousness. This
fact the dogmatist must also admit, for
otherwise he would render himself incapa
ble of maintaining the argument with his
opponent; but he at the same time, by a cor
rect conclusion from his principle, changes
�2S
Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
this explanatory ground into a deception
and appearance, and thus renders it inca
pable of being the explanatory ground of
anything else, since it cannot maintain its
own existence in its own philosophy. Ac
cording to the Dogmatist, all phenomena
of our consciousness are productions of a
Thing in itself, even our pretended deter
minations by freedom, and the belief that
we are free. This belief is produced by
the effect of the Thing upon ourselves, and
the determinations, which we deduced from
freedom, are also produced by it. The only
difference is, that we are not aware of it in
these cases, and hence ascribe it to no
cause, i. e. to our freed-om. Every logical
dogmatist is necsssarily a Fatalist; he does
not deny the fact of consciousness, that we
consider ourselves free—for this would be
against reason ;—but he proves from his
principle that this is a false view. He de
nies the independence of the Ego, which is
the basis of the Idealist, in toto, makes it
merely a production of the Thing, an acci
dence of the World; and hence the logical
dogmatist is necessarily also materialist.
He can only be refuted from the postulate
of the freedom and independence of the
Ego ; but this is precisely what he denies.
Neither can the dogmatist refute the Ideal
ist.
The principle of the former, the Thing
in itself, is nothing, and has no reality, as
its defenders themselves must admit, ex
cept that which it is to receive from the
fact that experience can only be explained
by it. But this proof the Idealist annihi
lates by explaining experience in another
manner, hence by denying precisely what
dogmatism assumes. Thus the Thing in
itself becomes a complete Chimera; there
is no further reason why it should be as
sumed; and with it the whole edifice of
dogmatism tumbles down.
♦
From what we have just stated, is more
over evident the complete irreconcilability
of both systems; since the results of the
one destroy those of the other. Wherever
their union has been attempted the mem
bers would not fit together, and somewhere
an immense gulf appeared which could not
be spanned.
If any one were to deny this he would
have to prove the possibility of such a
union—of a union which consists in an
everlasting composition of Matter and
Spirit, or, which is the same, of Necessity
and Liberty.
Now since, as far as we can see at pres
ent, both systems appear to have the same
speculative value, but since both cannot
stand together, nor yet either convince the
other, it occurs as a very interesting ques
tion : What can possibly tempt persons who
comprehend this—and to comprehend it is
so very easy a matter—to prefer the one
over the other ; and why skepticism, as the
total renunciation of an answer to this
problem, does not become universal?
The dispute between the Idealist and the
Dogmatist is, in reality, the question,
whether the independence of the Ego is
to be sacrificed to that of the Thing, or vice
versa? What, then, is it, which induces
sensible men to decide in favor of the one
or the other ?
The philosopher discovers from this point
of view—in which he must necessarily place
himself, if he wants to pass for a philos
opher, and which, in the progress of Think
ing, every man necessarily occupies sooner
or later, — nothing farther than that he
is forced to represent to himself both:
that he is free, and that there are de
termined things outside of him. But it
is impossible for man to stop at this
thought; the thought of a representation
is but a half-thought, a broken off frag
ment of a thought; something must be
thought and added to it, as corresponding
with the representation independent of it.
In other words : the representation cannot
exist alone by itself, it is only something
in connection with something else, and in
itself it is nothing. This necessity of think
ing it is, which forces one from that point
of view to the question : What is the ground
of the representations ? or, which is exact
ly the same, What is that which corresponds
with them ?
Now the representation of the independ
ence of the Ego and that of the Thing can
very well exist together; but not the inde
pendence itself of both. Only one can be
the first, the beginning, the independent;
the second, by the very fact of being the
�Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
second, becomes necessarily dependent
upon the first, with which it is to be con
nected—now, which of the two is to be
made the first ? Reason furnishes no ground
for a decision ; since the question concerns
not the connecting of one link with an
other, but the commencement of the first
link, which as an absolute first act is al
together conditional upon the freedom of
Thinking. Hence the decision is arbitra
ry ; and since this arbitrariness is never
theless to have a cause, the decision is de
pendent upon inclination and interest.
The last ground, therefore, of the differ
ence between the Dogmatist and the Ideal
ist is the difference of their interest.
The highest interest, and hence the
ground of all other interest, is that which
we feel for ourselves. Thus with the Phil
osopher. Not to lose his Self in his argu
mentation, but to retain and assert it, this
is the interest which unconsciously guides
all his Thinking. Now, there are two
grades of mankind ; and in the progress
of our race, before the last grade has been
universally attained, two chief kinds of
men. The one kind is composed of those
who have not yet elevated themselves to
the full feeling of their freedom and abso
lute independence, who are merely con
scious of themselves in the representation
of outward things. These men have only
a desultory consciousness, linked together
with the outward objects, and put together
out of their manifoldness. They receive a
picture of their Self only from the Things,
as from a mirror; for their own sake they
cannot renounce their faith in the inde
pendence of those things, since they exist
only together with these things. What
ever they are they have become through
the outer World. Whosoever is only a
production of the Things will never view
himself in any other manner; and he is
perfectly correct, so long as he speaks
merely for himself and for those like him.
The principle of the dogmatist is : Faith
in the things, for their own sake ; hence,
mediated Faith in their own desultory self,
as simply the result of the Things.
But whosoever becomes conscious of his
self-existence and independence from all
outward things—and this men can only be
29
come by making something of themselves,
through their own Self, independently of
all outward things—needs no longer the
Things as supports of his Self, and cannot
use them, because they annihilate his inde
pendence and turn it into an empty appear
ance. The Ego which he possesses, and
which interests him, destroys that Faith in
the Things; he believes in his independ
ence, from inclination, and seizes it with
affection. His Faith in himself is imme
diate.
From this interest the various passions
are explicable, which mix generally with
the defence of these philosophical systems.
The dogmatist is in danger of losing his
Self when his system is attacked ; and yet
he is not armed against this attack, because
there is something within him which takes
part with the aggressor ; hence, he defends
himself with bitterness and heat. The ideal
ist, on the contrary, cannot well refrain
from looking down upon his opponent with
a certain carelessness, since the latter can
tell him nothing which he has not known
long ago and has cast away as useless. The
dogmatist gets angry, misconstrues, and
would persecute, if he had the power; the
idealist is cold and in danger of ridiculing
his antagonist.
Hence, what philosophy a man chooses
depends entirely upon what kind of man
he is; for a philosophical system is not a
piece of dead household furniture, which
you may use or not use, but is animated
by the soul of the man who has it. Men
of a naturally weak-minded character, or
who have become weak-minded and crooked
through intellectual slavery, scholarly lux
ury and vanity, will never elevate them
selves to idealism.
You can show the dogmatist the insuffi
ciency and inconsequence of bis system, of
which we shall speak directly; you can
confuse and terrify him from all sides ; but
you cannot convince him, because he is un
able to listen to and examine with calm
ness what he cannot tolerate. If Idealism
should prove to be the only real Philosophy,
it will also appear that a man must be born
a philosopher, be educated to be one, and
educate himself to be one; but that no
human art (no external force) can make a
�30
Fichte’s Science of Knowledge.
philosopher out of him. Hence, this Sci
ence expects few proselytes from men who
have already formed their character; if
our Philosophy has any hopes at all, it en
tertains them rather from the young gene
ration, the natural vigor of which has not
yet been submerged in the weak-mindednessof the age.
VI. But dogmatism is totally incapable
of explaining what it should explain, and
this is decisive in regard to its insufficien
cy. It is to explain the representation of
things, and proposes to explain them as an
effect of the Things. Now, the dogmatist
cannot deny what immediate conscious
ness asserts of this representation. What,
then, does it assert thereof? It is not my
purpose here to put in a conception what
can only be gathered in immediate contem
plation, nor to exhaust that which forms a
great portion of the Science of Knowledge.
I will merely recall to memory what every
one, who has but firmly looked within him
self, must long since have discovered.
The Intelligence, as such, sees itself, and
this seeing of its self is immediately con
nected with all that appertains to the Intel
ligence ; and in this immediate uniting of
Being and Seeing the nature of the Intel
ligence consists. Whatever is in the In
telligence, whatever the Intelligence is
itself, the Intelligence is for itself, and
only in so far as it is this for itself is it
this, as Intelligence.
I think this or that object! Now what
does this mean, and how do I appear to
myself in this Thinking ? Not otherwise
than thus : I produce certain conditions
within myself, if the object is a mere in
vention ; but if the objects are real and
exist without my invention, I simply con
template, as a spectator, the production of
those conditions within me. They are
within me only in so far as I contemplate
them; my contemplation and their Being
are inseparably united.
A Thing, on the contrary, is to be this
or that; but as soon as the question is put:
For whom is it this? Nobody, who but
comprehends the word, will reply : For
itself! But he will have to add the
thought of an Intelligence, for which the
Thing is to be; while, on the contrary, the
Intelligence is self-sufficient and requires
no additional thought. By thinking it as
the Intelligence you include already that
for which it is to be. Hence, there is in
the Intelligence, to express myself figura
tively, a twofold—Being and Seeing, the
Real and the Ideal; and in the inseparabil
ity of th is twofold the nature of the Intelli
gence consists, while the Thing is simply
a unit—the Real. Hence Intelligence and
Thing are directly opposed to each other;
they move in two worlds, between which
there is no bridge.
The nature of the Intelligence and its
particular determinations Dogmatism en
deavors to explain by the principle of
Causality ; the Intelligence is to be a pro
duction, the second link in a series.
But the principle of causality applies to
a real series, and not to a double one. The
power of the cause goes over into an Other
opposed to it, and produces therein a Be
ing, and nothing further; a Being for a
possible outside Intelligence, but not for
the thing itself. You may give this Other
even a mechanical power, and it will trans
fer the received impression to the next
link, and thus the movement proceeding
from the first may be transferred through
as long a series as you choose to make;
but nowhere will you find a link which re
acts back upon itself. Or give the Other
the highest quality which you can give a
thing—Sensibility—whereby it will follow
the laws of its own inner nature, and not
the law given to it by the cause—and it
will, to be sure, react upon the outward
cause ; but it will, nevertheless, remain a
mere simple Being, a Being for a possible
intelligence outside of it. The Intelligence
you will not get, unless you add it in think
ing as the primary and absolute, the con
nection of which, with this your independ
ent Being, you will find it very difficult to
explain.
The series is and remains a simple one;
and you have not at all explained what was
to be explained. You were to prove the
connection betweeen Being and Represen
tation ; but this you do not, nor can you
do it; for your principle contains merely
the ground of a Being, and not of a Repre ■
sentation, totally opposed to Being. You
�Fichtes Science of Knowledge.
take an immense leap into a world, totally
removed from your principle. This leap
they seek to hide in various ways. Rig
orously— and this is the course of con
sistent dogmatism, which thus becomes
materialism ;—the soul is to them no Thing
at all, and indeed nothing at all, but merely
a production, the result of the reciprocal ac
tion of Things amongst themselves. But
this reciprocal action produces merely a
change in the Things, and by no means
anything apart from the Things, unless you
add an observing intelligence. The similes
which they adduce to make their system
comprehensible, for instance, that of the
harmony resulting from sounds of different
instruments, make its irrationality only
more apparent. For the harmony is not in
the instruments, but merely in the mind of
the hearer, who combines within himself
the manifold into One; and unless you
have such a hearer there is no harmony at
all.
But who can prevent Dogmatism from
assuming the Soul as one of the Things,
per se? The soul would thus belong to
what it has postulated for the solution of
its problem, and, indeed, would thereby
be made the category of cause and effect
applicable to the Soul and the Things—
materialism only permitting a reciprocal
action of the Things amongst themselves—
and thoughts might now be produced. To
make the Unthinkable thinkable, Dogma
tism has, indeed, attempted to presuppose
Thing or the Soul, or both, in such a man
ner, that the effect of the Thing was to
produce a representation. The Thing, as
influencing the Soul, is to be such, as to
make its influences representations; God,
for instance, in Berkley’s system, was such
a thing. (Ilis system is dogmatic, not
idealistic.) But this does not better mat
ters ; we understand only mechanical
effects, and it is impossible for us to under
stand any other kind of effects. Hence,
that presupposition contains merely words,
but there is no sense in it. Or the soul
is to be of such a nature that every effect
upon the Soul turns into a representation.
But this also we find it impossible to
understand.
In this manner Dogmatism proceeds
31
everywhere, whatever phase it may assume.
In the immense gulf, which in that system
remains always open between Things and
Representations, it places a few empty
words instead of an explanation, which
words may certainly be committed to mem
ory, but in saying which nobody has ever
yet thought, nor ever will think, anything.
For whenever one attempts to think the
manner in which is accomplished what
Dogmatism asserts to be accomplished, the
whole idea vanishes into empty foam.
Hence Dogmatism can only repeat its
principle, and repeat it in different forms;
can only assert and re-assert the same
thing; but it cannot proceed from what it
asserts to what is to be explained, nor ever
deduce the one from the other. But in
this deduction Philosophy consists. Hence
Dogmatism, even when viewed from a
speculative stand-point, is no Philosophy
at all, but merely an impotent assertion.
Idealism iB the only possible remaining
Philosophy. What we have here said can
meet with no objection ; but it may -well
meet with incapability of understanding
it. That all influences are of a mechanical
nature, and that no mechanism can pro
duce a representation, nobody will deny,
who but understands the words. But this
is the very difficulty. It requires a certain
degree of independence and freedom of
spirit to comprehend the nature of the in
telligence, which we have described, and
upon which our whole refutation of Dog
matism is founded. Many persons have
not advanced further with their Thinking
than to comprehend the simple chain of na
tural mechanism; and very naturally,there
fore, the Representation, if they choose
to think it at all, belongs, in their eyes, to
the same chain of-which alone they have
any knowledge. The Representation thus
becomes to them a sort of Thing of which
we have divers examples in some of the
most celebrated philosophical writers. For
such persons Dogmatism is sufficient; for
them there is no gulf,since the opposite does
not exist for them at all. Hence you can
not convince the Dogmatist by the proof
just stated, however clear it may be, for you
cannot bring the proof to his knowledge,
since he lacks the power to comprehend it.
�32
Fichte’s Science of Knovdedge.
Moreover, the manner in which Dogma
tism is treated here, is opposed to the mild
way of thinking which characterizes our
age, and which, though it has been exten
sively accepted in all ages, has never been
converted to an express principle except in
ours; i. e. that philosophers must not be
so strict in their logic; in philosophy one
should not be so particular as, for instance,
in Mathematics. If persons of this mode
of thinking see but a few links of the
chain and the rule, according to which
conclusions are drawn, they at once fill up
the remaining part through their imagina
tion, never investigating further of what
they may consist. If, for instance, an
Alexander Von loch tells them: “All
things are determined by natural neces
sity ; now our representations depend
upon the condition of Things, and our
will depends upon our representations :
hence all our will is determined by natural
necessity, and our opinion of a free will is
mere deception !”—then these people think
it mightily comprehensible and clear, al
though there is no sense in it; and they go
away convinced and satisfied at the strin
gency of this his demonstration.
I must call to mind, that the Science of
Knowledge does not proceed from this
mild way of thinking, nor calculate upon
it. If only a single link in the long chain
it has to draw does not fit closely to the
following, this Science does not pretend to
have established anything.
VII. Idealism, as we have said above?
explains the determinations of conscious
ness from the activity of the Intelligence,
which, in its view, is only active and abso
lute, not passive ; since it is postulated
as the first and highest, preceded by noth
ing, which might explain its passivity.
From the same reason actual Existence can
not well be ascribed to the Intelligence,
since such Existence is the result of re
ciprocal causality, but there is nothing
wherewith the Intelligence might be placed
in reciprocal causality. From the view of
Idealism, the Intelligence is a Doing, and
absolutely nothing else; it is even wrong
to call it an Active, since this expression
points to something existing, in which the
activity is inherent.
But to assume anything of this kind is
against the principle of Idealism, which
proposes to deduce all other things from
the Intelligence. Now certain determined
representations—as, for instance, of a
world, of a material world in space, exist
ing without any work of our own—are to
be deduced from the action of the Intelli
gence; but you cannot deduce anything
determined from an undetermined; the
form of all deductions, the category of
ground and sequence, is not applicable
here. Hence the action of the Intelligence,
which is made the ground, must be a de
termined action, and since the action of
the Intelligence itself is the highest ground
of explanation, that action must be so de
termined by the Intelligence itself, and not
by anything foreign to it. Hence the pre
supposition of Idealism will be this : the In
telligence acts, but by its very essence it
can only act in a certain manner. If this
necessary manner of its action is considered
apart from the action, it may properly be
called Laws of Action. Hence, there are
necessary laws of the Intelligence.
This explains also, at the same time, the
feeling of necessity which accompanies
the determined representations ; the Intel
ligence experiences in those cases, not an
impression from without, but feels in its
action the limits of its own Essence. In
so far as Idealism makes this only reason
able and really explanatory presupposition
of necessary laws of the Intelligence, it is
called Critical or Transcendental Idealism.
A transcendent Idealism would be a sys
tem w’hich were to undertake a deduction
of determined representations from the
free and perfectly lawless action of the
Intelligence: an altogether contradictory
presupposition, since, as we have said
above, the category of ground and sequence
is not applicable in that case.
The laws of action of the Intelligence,
as sure as they are to be founded in the
one nature of the Intelligence, constitute
in themselves a system ; that is to say, the
fact that the Intelligence acts in this par
ticular manner under this particular condition is explainable, and explainable be
cause under a condition it has always a
determined mode of action, which again is
�Fichte's Science of Knowledge.
explainable from one highest fundamental
law. In the course of its action the Intel
ligence gives itself its own laws ; and this
legislation itself is done by virtue of a
higher necessary action or Representation.
For instance : the law of Causality is not a
first original law, but only one of the many
modes of combining the manifold, and to
be deduced from the fundamental law of
this combination ; this law of combining
the manifold is again, like the manifold
itself, to be deduced from higher laws.
Hence, even Critical Idealism can pro
ceed in a twofold manner. Either it de
duces this system of necessary modes of
action, and together with it the objective
representations arising therefrom, really
from the fundamental laws of the Intelli
gence, and thus causes gradually to arise
under the very eyes of the reader or hearer
the whole extent of our representations ; or
it gathers these laws—perhaps as they are
already immediately applied to objects ;
Hence, in a lower condition, and then they
are called categories—gathers these laws
somewhere, and now asserts, that the ob
jects are determined and regulated by
them.
I ask the critic who follows the l&stmentioned method, and who does not de
duce the assumed laws of the Intelligence
from the Essence of the Intelligence,
where he gets the material knowledge of
these laws, the knowledge that they are
just these very same laws ; for instance,
that of Substantiality or Causality ? For
I do not want to trouble him yet with the
question, how he knows that they are mere
immanent laws of the Intelligence. They
are the laws which are immediately applied
to objects, and he can only have obtained
them by abstraction from these objects,
i. e. from Experience. It is of no avail if
he takes them, by a roundabout way, from
logic, for logic is to him only the result
of abstraction from the objects, and hence
he would do indirectly, what directly might
appear too clearly in its true nature.
Hence he can prove by nothing that his
postulated Laws of Thinking are really
Laws of Thinking, are really nothing but
immanent laws of the Intelligence. The
Dogmatist asserts in opposition, that they
3
33
are not, but that they are general quali
ties of Things, founded on the nature of
Things, and there is no reason why we
should place more faith in the unproved
assertion of the one than in the unproved
assertion of the other. This course of pro
ceeding, indeed, furnishes no understand
ing that and why the Intelligence should act
just in this particular manner. To produce
such an understanding, it would be neces
sary to premise something which can only
appertain to the Intelligence, and from
those premises to deduce before our eyes
the laws of Thinking.
By such a course of proceeding it is
above all incomprehensible how the object
itself is obtained: for although you may
admit the unproved postulates of the critic,
they explain nothing further than the
qualities and relations of the Thing : (that
it is, for instance, in space, manifested in
time, with accidences which must be re
ferred to a substance, &c.) But whence
that which has these relations and quali
ties ? whence then the substance which
is clothed in these forms ? This substance
Dogmatism takes refuge in, and you have
but increased the evil.
We know very well: the Thing arises only
from an act done in accordance with these
laws, and is, indeed, nothing else than
all th°se relations gathered together by the
power of imagination; and all these rela
tions together are the Thing. The Object
is the original Synthesis of all these con
ceptions. Form and Substance are not
separates ; the whole formness is the sub
stance, and only in the analysis do we ar
rive at separate forms.
But this the critic, who follows the above
method, can only assert, and it is even a
secret whence he knows it, if he does know
it. Until you cause the whole Thing to
arise before the eyes of the thinker, you
have not pursued Dogmatism into its last
hiding places. But this is only possible
by letting the Intelligence act in its whole,
and not in its partial, lawfulness.
Hence, an Idealism of this character is
unproven and unprovable. Against Dog
matism it has no other weapon than the
assertion that it is in the right; and against
the more perfected criticism no other wea
�31
Fichte's Science of Knowledge,
pon than impotent anger, and the assu
rance that you can go no further than itself
goes.
Finally a system of this character puts
forth only those laws, according to which
the objects of external experience are de
termined. But these constitute by far the
smallest portion of the laws of the Intelli
gence. Hence, on the field of Practical Rea
son and of Reflective Judgment, this half
criticism, lacking the insight into the
whole procedure of reason, gropes about
as in total darkness.
The method of complete transcendental
Idealism, which the Science of Knowledge
pursues, I have explained once before in
my Essay, On the conception of the Science
of Knowledge. I cannot understand why
that Essay has not been understood; but
suffice it to say, that I am assured it has
not been understood. I am therefore com
pelled to repeat what I have said, and to
recall to mind that everything depends
upon the correct understanding thereof.
This Idealism proceeds from a single
fundamental Law of Reason, which is im
mediately shown as contained in con
sciousness. This is done in the following
manner : The teacher of that Science re
quests his reader or hearer to think freely
a certain conception. If he does so, he will
find himself forced to proceed in a partic
ular manner. Two things are to be distin
guished here : the act of Thinking,which is
required—the realization of which depends
upon each individual’s freedom,—and un
less he realizes it thus, he will not under
stand anything which the Science of
Knowledge teaches; and the necessary
manner in which it alone can be realized,
which manner is grounded in the Essence
of the Intelligence, and does not depend
upon freedom; it is something necessary,
but which is only discovered in and to
gether with a free action; it is something
discovered, but the discovery of which de
pends upon an act of freedom.
So far as this goes, the teacher of Ideal
ism shows his assertion to be contained in
immediate consciousness, But that this
necessary manner is the fundamental law
of all reason, that from it the whole sys
tem of our necessary representations, not
only of a world and the determinedness and
relations of objects, but also of ourselves,
as free and practical beings acting under
laws, can be deduced. All this is a mere
presupposition, which can only be proven
by the actual deduction, which deduction is
therefore the real business of the teacher.
In realizing this deduction, he proceeds
as follows : He shows that the first funda
mental law which was discovered in im
mediate consciousness, is not possible, unless
a second action is combined with it, which
again is not possible without a third action;
and so on, until the conditions of the First
are completely exhausted, and itself is now
made perfectly comprehensible in its possi
bility. The teacher’s method is a contin
ual progression from the conditioned to
the condition. The condition becomes
again conditioned, and its condition is next
to be discovered.
If the presupposition of Idealism is cor
rect, and if no errors have been made in the
deduction, the last result, as containing all
the conditions of the first act, must con
tain the system of all necessary representa
tions, or the total experience;—a compari
son, however, which is not instituted in
Philosophy itself, but only after that sci
ence has finished its work.
For Idealism has not kept this experi
ence in sight, as the preknown object and
result, which it should arrive at; in its
course of proceeding it knows nothing at
all of experience, and does not look upon
it; it proceeds from its starting point ac
cording to its rules, careless as to what the
result of its investigations might turn out
to be. The right angle, from which it has
to draw its straight line, is given to it; is
there any need of another point to which
the line should be drawn ? Surely not; for
all the points of its line arc already given
to it with the angle. A certain number is
given to you. You suppose that it is
the product of certain factors. All you
have to do is to search for the product of
these factors according to the well-known
rules. Whether that product will agree
with the given number, you will find out,
without any difficulty, as soon as you have
obtained it. The given number is the total
experience ; those factors are : the part of
�Fichte’s Science of Knowledge.
immediate consciousness which was dis
covered, and the laws of Thinking; the
multiplication is the Philosophizing. Those
who advise you, while philosophizing,
also to keep an eye upon experience, advise
you to change the factors a little, and to
multiply falsely, so as to obtain by all
means corresponding numbers ; a course of
proceeding as dishonest as it is shallow.
In so far as those final results of Idealism
are viewed as such, as consequences of our
reasoning, they are what is called the a
priori of the human mind ; and in so far
as they are viewed, also—if they should
agree with experience—as given in expe
rience, they are called a posteriori. Hence
the a priori and the a posteriori are, in a
true Philosophy, not two, but one and the
same, only viewed in two different ways,
and distinguished only by the manner in
which they are obtained. Philosophy an
ticipates the whole experience, thinks it
only as necessary ; and, in so far, Philoso
phy is, in comparison with real experience,
a priori. The number is a posteriori, if re
garded as given ; the same number is a
priori, if regarded as product of the fac
tors. Whosoever says otherwise knows
not what he talks about.
If the results of a Philosophy do not
agree with experience, that Philosophy is
surely wrong; for it has not fulfilled its
promise of deducing the whole experience
from the necessary action of the intelli
gence. In that case, either the presuppo
sition of transcendental Idealism is alto
gether incorrect, or it has merely been in
correctly treated in the particular repre
sentation of that science. Now, since the
problem, to explain experience from its
ground, is a problem contained in human
reason, and as no rational man will ad
mit that human reason contains any prob
lem the solution of which is altogether im
possible; and since, moreover, there are
only two ways of solving it, the dogmatic
system (which, as we have shown, cannot
accomplish what it promises) and the Ideal
istic system, every resolute Thinker will
always declare that the latter has been the
case; that the presupposition in itself is
correct enough, and that no failure in at
tempts to represent it should deter men
85
from attempting it again until finally it
must succeed. The course of this Ideal
ism proceeds, as we have seen, from a fact
of consciousness—but which is only obtain
ed by a free act of Thinking—to the total
experience. Its peculiar ground is be
tween these two. It is not a fact of con
sciousness and does not belong within the
sphere of experience; and, indeed, how
could it be called Philosophy if it did, since
Philosophy has to discover the ground of
experience, and since the ground lies, of
course, beyond the sequence. It is the
production of free Thinking, but proceed
ing according to laws. This will be at once
clear, if we look a little closer at the funda
mental assertion of Idealism. It proves
that the Postulated is not possible without
a second, this not without a third, &c., &c.;
hence none of all its conditions is possible
alone and by itself, but each one is only
possible in its union with all the rest.
Hence, according to its own assertion, only
the Whole is found in consciousness, and
this Whole is the experience. You want
to obtain a better knowledge of it; hence
you must analyze it, not by blindly groping
about, but according to the fixed rule of
composition, so that it arises under your
eyes as a Whole. You are enabled to do
this because you have the power of ab
straction ; because in free Thinking you can
certainly take hold of each single condi
tion. For consciousness contains not only
necessity of Representations, but also free
dom thereof ; and this freedom again may
proceed according to rules. The Whole is
given to you from the point of view of ne
cessary consciousness ; you find it just as
you find yourself. But the composition of
this Whole, the order of its arrangement,
is produced by freedom. Whosoever un
dertakes this act of freedom, becomes con
scious of freedom, and thus establishes, as
it were, a new field within his conscious
ness ; whosoever does not undertake it, for
him this new field, dependent thereupon,
does not exist. The chemist composes a
body, a metal for instance, from its ele
ments. The common beholder sees the
metal well known to him ; the chemist be
holds, moreover, the composition thereof
and the elements which it comprises. Do
�36
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
both now see different objects? I should
think not! Both see the same, only in a
different manner. The chemist’s sight is
a priori; he sees the separates ; the ordi
nary beholder’s sight is a posteriori; he
sees the Whole. The only distinction is
this : the chemist must first analyze the
Whole before he can compose it, because
he works upon an object of which he can
not know the rule of composition before
he has analyzed it ; while the philosopher
can compose without a foregoing analysis,
because he knows already the rule of his
object, of reason.
Hence the content of Philosophy can
claim no other reality than that of neces
sary Thinking, on the condition that you
desire to think of the ground of Expe
rience. The Intelligence can only be
thought as active, and can only be thought
active in this particular manner ! Such is
the assertion of Philosophy. And this
reality is perfectly sufficient for Philosophy,
since it is evident from the development of
that science that there is no other reality.
This now described complete critical
Idealism, the Science of Kn owledge intends
to establish. What I have said just now
contains the conception of that science, and
I shall listen to no objections which may
touch this conception, since no one can
know better than myself what I intend to
accomplish, and to demonstrate the impos
sibility of a thing which is already rea
lized, is ridiculous.
Objections, to be legitimate, should only
be raised against the elaboration of that
conception, and should only consider
whether it has fulfilled what it promised to
accomplish or not.
ANALYTICAL AND CRITICAL ESSAY UPON THE ÆSTHETICS
OF HEGEL.
[Translated from the French of M. Ch. Bénard by J. A. Martling.j
of architecture, sculpture, painting, music,
ANALYSIS.
Having undertaken to translate into our and poetry.
language the ./Esthetics of Hegel, we hope
PART I.
to render a new service to our readers, by
OF THE BEAUTIFUL IN ART.
presenting, in an analysis at once cursory
In an extended introduction, Hegel lays
and detailed the outline of the ideas which
form the basis of that vast work. The the foundations of the science of the Beau
thought of the author will appear shorn of tiful : he defines its object, demonstrates
its rich developments ; but it will be more its legitimacy, and indicates its method;
easy to seize the general spirit, the connec he then undertakes to determine the nature
tion of the various parts of the work, and and the end of art. Upon each of these
to appreciate their value. In order not to points let us endeavor to state, in a brief
mar the clearness of our work, we shall manner, his thought, and, if it is neces
abstain from mingling criticism with expo sary, explain it.
Aesthetics is the science of the Beautiful.
sition; but reserve for the conclusion a
general judgment upon this book, which The Beautiful manifests itself in nature and
represents even to-day the state of the in art; but the variety and multiplicity
of forms under which beauty presents
philosophy of art in Germany.
The work is divided into three parts ; itself in the real world, does not permit
the first treats of the beautiful in art in their description and systematic classifi
general; the second, of the general forms of cation. The science of the Beautiful has
art in its historic development; the third then as its principal object, art and its
Contains the system of the arts—the theory works; it is the philosophy oj the fine arts.
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
Is art a proper object of science? No,
undoubtedly, if we consider it only as an
amusement or a frivolous relaxation. But
it has a nobler purpose. It will even be a
misconception of its true aim to regard it
simply as an auxiliary of morals and re
ligion. Although it often serves as inter
preter of moral and religious ideas, it pre
serves its independence. Its proper object
is to reveal truth under sensuous forms.
Nor is it allowable to say that it pro
duces its effects by illusion. Appearance,
here, is truer than reality. The images
which it places under our eyes are more
ideal, more transparent, and also more du
rable than the mobile and fugitive existen
ces of the real world. The world of art is
truer than that of nature and of history.
Can science subject to its formulas the
free creations of the imagination ? Art
and science, it is true, differ in their meth
ods ; but imagination, also, has its laws;
though free, it has not the right to be law
less. In art, nothing is arbitrary.; its
ground is the essence of things', its form is
borrowed from the real world, and the
Beautiful is the accord, the harmony of
the two terms. Philosophy recognizes in
works of art the eternal content of its
meditations, the lofty conceptions of in
telligence, the passions of man, and the
motives of his volition. Philosophy does
not pretend to furnish prescriptions to art,
but is able to give useful advice; it fol
lows it in its procedures, it points out to
it the paths whereon it may go astray; it
alone can furnish to criticism a solid basis
and fixed principles.
As to the method to be followed, two
exclusive and opposite courses present
themselves. The one, empiric and historic,
seeks to draw from the study of the master
pieces of art, the laws of criticism and the
principles of taste. The other, rational
and a priori, rises immediately to the idea
of the beautiful, and deduces from it cer
tain general rules. Aristotle and Plato re
present these two methods. The first
reaches only a narrow theory, incapable of
comprehending art in its universality ; the
other, isolating itself on the heights of
metaphysics, knows not how to descend
therefrom to apply itself to particular arts,
37
and to appreciate their works. The true
method consists in the union of these two
methods, in their reconciliation and simul
taneous employment. To a positive ac
quaintance with works of art, to the dis
crimination and delicacy of taste neces
sary to appreciate them, there should be
joined philosophic reflection, and the ca
pacity of seizing the Beautiful in itself,
and of comprehending its characteristics
and immutable laws.
What is the nature of art? The answer
to this question can only be the philosophy
of art itself ; and, furthermore, this again
can be perfectly understood only in its con
nection with the other philosophic sciences.
One is here compelled to limit himself to
general reflections, and to the discussion
of received opinions.
In the first place, art is a product of hu
man activity, a creation of the mind. What
distinguishes it from science is this, that
it is the fruit of inspiration, not of reflec
tion. On this account it can not be learned
or transmitted; it is a gift of genius.
Nothing can possibly supply a lack of tal
ent in the arts.
Let us guard ourselves meanwhile from
supposing that, like the blind forces of
nature, the artist does not know what he
does, that reflection has no part in his
works. There is, in the first place, in the
arts a technical part which must be learned,
and a skill which is acquired by practice.
Furthermore, the more elevated art be
comes, the more it demands an extended
and varied culture, a study of the objects
of nature, and a profound knowledge of
the human heart. This is eminently true
of the higher spheres of art, especially in
Poetry.
If works of art are creations of the hu
man spirit, they are not on that account
inferior to those of nature. They are, it
is true, living, only in appearance ; but the
aim of art is not to create living beings;
it seeks to offer to the spirit an image of
life clearer than the reality. In this, it
surpasses nature. There is also something
divine in man, and God derives no less
honor from the works of human intelligence
than from the works of nature.
Now what is the cause which incites mai
�38
Hegel’s Philosophy of Jlrt.
to the production of such works ? Is it a
caprice, a freak, or an earnest, fundamen
tal inclination of his nature ?
It is the same principle which causes
him to seek in science food for his mind,
in public life a theatre for his activity. In
science he endeavors to cognize the truth,
pure and unveiled; in art, truth appears
to him not in its pure form, but expressed
by images which strike his sense at the same
time that they speak to his intelligence.
This is the principle in which art originates,
and which assigns to it a rank so high
among the creations of the human mind.
Although art is addressed to the sensi
bility, nevertheless its direct aim is not to
excite sensation, and to give birth to pleas
ure. Sensation is changeful, varied, con
tradictory. It represents only the various
states or modifications of the soul. If then
we consider only the impressions which
art produces upon us, we make abstrac
tion of the truth which it reveals to us. It
becomes even impossible to comprehend
its grand effects ; for the sentiments which
it excites in us, are explicable only through
the ideas which attach to them.
The sensuous element, nevertheless, oc
cupies a large place in art. What part
must be assigned to it? There are two
modes of considering sensuous objects in
their connection with our mind. The first
is that of simple perception of objects by
the senses. The mind then knows only
their individual side, their particular and
concrete form; the essence, the law, the
substance of things escapes it. At the
same time the desire which is awakened
in us, is a desire to appropriate them to our
use, to consume them, to destroy them.
The soul, in the presence of these objects,
feels its dependence; it cannot contem
plate them with a free and disinterested
eye.
Another relation of sensuous objects
with spirit, is that of speculative thought
or science. Here the intelligence is not
content to perceive the object in its con
crete form and its individuality; it dis
cards the individual side in order to ab
stract and disengage from it the law, the
universal, the essence. Reason thus lifts
itself above the individual form perceived
by sense, in order to conceive the pure
idea in its universality.
Art differs both from the one and from
the other of these modes; it holds the
mean between sensuous perception and
rational abstraction. It is distinguished
from the first in that it does not attach
itself to the real but to the appearance, to
the form of the object, and in that it does
not feel any selfish longing to consume it,
to cause it to serve a purpose, to utilize it.
It differs from science in that it is interest
ed in this particular object, and in its sen
suous form. What it loves to see in it, is
neither its materiality, nor the pure idea
in its generality, but an appearance, an
image of the truth, something ideal which
appears in it; it seizes the connective of
the two terms, their accord and their inner
harmony. Thus the want which it feels
is wholly contemplative. In the presence
of this vision the soul feels itself freed
from all selfish desire.
In a word, art purposely creates images,
appearances, designed to represent ideas,
to show to us the truth under sensuous
forms. Thereby it has the power of stir
ring the soul in its profoundest depths, of
causing it to experience the pure delight
springing from the sight and contempla
tion of the Beautiful.
The two principles are found equally
combined in the artist. The sensuous side
is included in the faculty which creates—
the imagination. It is not by mechanical
toil, directed by rules learned by heart
that he executes his works; nor is it by a
process of reflection like that of the philos
opher who is seeking the truth. The mind
has a consciousness of itself, but it cannot
seize in an abstract manner the idea which
it conceives; it can represent it only under
sensuous forms. The image and the idea
coexist in thought, and cannot be separat
ed. Thus the imagination is itself a
gift of nature. Scientific genius is rather
a general capacity than an innate and spe
cial talent. To succeed in the arts, there
is necessary a determinate talent which
reveals itself early under the form of
an active and irresistible longing, and
a certain facility in the manipulation
of the materials of art. It is this which
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt.
makes the painter, th§ sculptor, the musi
cian.
Such is the nature of art. If it be asked,
what is its end, here we encounter the most
diverse opinions. The most common is
that which gives imitation as its object.
This is the foundation of nearly all the
theories upon art. Now of what use to re
produce that which nature already offers
to our view? This puerile talk, unworthy
of spirit to which it is addressed, unworthy
of man who produces it, would only end
in the revelation of its impotency and
the vanity of its efforts ; for the copy will
always remain inferior to the original.
Besides, the more exact the imitation, the
less vivid is the pleasure. That which
pleases us is not imitation, but creation.
The very least invention surpasses all the
masterpieces of imitation.
In vain is it said that art ought to imi
tate beautiful Nature. To select is no
longer to imitate. Perfection in imitation
is exactness ; moreover, choice supposes a
rule; where find the criterion ? What
signifies, in fine, imitation in architecture,
in music, and even in poetry ? At most,
one can thus explain descriptive poetry,
that is to say, the most prosaic kind. We
must conclude, therefore, that if, in its
compositions, art employs the forms of
Nature, and must study them, its aim iB
not to copy and to reproduce them. Its mis
sion is higher—its procedure freer. Ri
val of nature, it represents ideas as well as
she, and even better ; it uses her forms as
symbols to express them ; and it fashions
even these, remodels them upon a type
more perfect and more pure. It is not
without significance that its works are
styled the creations of the genius of man.
A second system substitutes expression
for imitation. Art accordingly has for its
aim, not to represent the external form of
things, but their internal and living prin
ciple, particularly the ideas, sentiments,
passions, and conditions of the soul.
Less gross than the preceding, this
theory is no less false and dangerous.
Let us here distinguish two things: the
idea and the expression—the content and
the form. Now, if Art is designed for ex
pression solely—if expression is its essen
39
tial object—its content is indifferent.
Provided that the picture be faithful, the
expression lively and animated, the good
and the bad, the vicious, the hideous, the
ugly, have the same right to figure here as
the Beautiful. Immoral, licentious, impi
ous, the artist will have fulfilled his obli
gation and reached perfection, when he
has succeeded in faithfully rendering a
situation, a passion, an idea, be it true or
false. It is clear that if in this system
the object of imitation is changed, the
procedure is the same. Art would be only
an echo, a harmonious language; a liv
ing mirror, where all sentiments and all
passions would find themselves reflected,
the base part and the noble part of the soul
contending here for the same place. The
true, here, would be the real, would include
objects the most diverse and the most con
tradictory. Indifferent as to the content,
the artist seeks only to represent it well. He
troubles himself little concerning truth in
itself. Skeptic or enthusiast indifferently,
he makes us partake of the delirium of
the Bacchanals, or the unconcern of the
Sophist. Such is the system which takes
for a motto the maxim, Art is for art; that
is to say, mere expression for its own sake.
Its consequences, and the fatal tendency
which it has at all times pressed upon the
arts, are well known.
A third system sets up moral perfection
as the aim of art. It cannot be denied
that one of the effects of art is to soften
and purify manners (emollit mores'). In
mirroring man to himself, it tempers the
rudeness of his appetites and his passions ;
it disposes him to contemplation and re
flection ; it elevates his thought and sen
timents, by leading them to an ideal which
it suggests,—to ideas of a superior order.
Art has, from all time, been regarded as
a powerful instrument of civilization, as
an auxiliary of religion. It is, together
with religion, the earliest instructor of
nations ; it is besides a means of instruc
tion for minds incapable of comprehending
truth otherwise than under the veil of a
symbol, and by images that address them
selves to the sense as well as to the spirit.
But this theory, although much superior
to the preceding, is no more exact. Its
�40
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
defect consists in confounding the moral
effect of art with its real aim. This con
fusion has inconveniences which do not
appear at the first glance. Let care be
taken, meanwhile, lest, in thus assigning
to aft a foreign aim, it be not robbed of
its liberty, which is its essence, and with
out which it has no inspiration—that
thereby it be not prevented from produ
cing the effects which are to be expected
from it. Between religion, morals and
art, there exists an eternal and intimate
harmony; but they are, none the less, es
sentially diverse forms of truth, and,
while preserving entire the bonds which
unite them, they claim a complete inde
pendence. Art has its peculiar laws,
methods and jurisdiction; though it ought
not to wound the moral sense, yet it is the
sense of the Beautiful to which it is ad
dressed. When its works are pure, its
effect on the soul is salutary, but its direct
and immediate aim is not this result.
Seeking it, it risks losing it, and does lose
its own end. Suppose, indeed, that the
aim of art should be to instruct, under the
veil of allegory; the idea, the abstract
and general thought, must be present in
the spirit of the artist at the very moment
of composition. It seeks, then, a form
which is adapted to that idea, and furn
ishes drapery for it. Who does not see
that this procedure is the very opposite of
inspiration ? There can be born of it only
frigid and lifeless works; its effect will
thus be neither moral nor religious ; it
will produce only ennui.
Another consequence of the opinion
which makes moral perfection the object
of art and its creations, is that this end is
imposed so completely upon art, and con
trols it to such a degree, that it has no
longer even a choice of subjects. The severe
moralist would have it represent moral
subjects alone. Art is then undone. This
system led Plato to banish poets from his
republic. If, then, it is necessary to
maintain the agreement of morality and
art, and the harmony of their laws, their
distinct bases and independence must also
be recognized. In order to understand
thoroughly this distinction between morals
and art, it is necessary to have solved the
moral problem. Morality is the realiza
tion of the. <c ought” by the free will; it
is the conflict between passion and'reason,
inclination and law, the flesh and the
spirit. It hinges upon an opposition.
Antagonism is, indeed, the very law of
the physical and moral universe. But this
opposition ought to be cancelled. This is
the destiny of beings who by their devel
opment and progress continually realize
themselves.
Now, in morals, this harmony of the
powers of our being, which should restore
peace and happiness, does not exist.
Morality proposes it as an end to the free
will. The aim and the realization are dis
tinct. Duty consists in an incessant striv
ing. Thus, in one respect, morals and
art have the same principle and the same
aim; the harmony of rectitude, and hap
piness of actions and law. But that
wherein they differ is, that in morals the
end is never wholly attained. It appears
separated from the means ; the con
sequence is equally separated from the
principle. The harmony of rectitude and
happiness ought to be the result of the
efforts of virtue. In order to conceive
the identity of the two terms, it is neces
sary to elevate one’s self to a superior
point of view, which is not that of morals.
In empirical science equally, the law ap
pears distinct from the phenomenon, the
essence separated from its form. In order
that this distinction may be cancelled,
there is necessary a mode of thinking
which is superior to that of reflection, or
of empirical science.
Art, on the contrary, offers to us in a
visible image, the realized harmony of the
two terms of existence, of the law of be
ings and their manifestation, of essence
and form, of rectitude and happiness.
The beautiful is essence realized, ac
tivity in conformity with its end, and
identified with it; it is the force which iB
harmoniously developed under our eyes,
in the innermost of existences, and
which cancels the contradictions of its
nature : happy, free, full of serenity in
the very midst of suffering and of sorrow.
The problem of art is then distinct from
the moral problem. The good is harmony
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
sought for; beauty is harmony realized.
So must we understand the thought of
Hegel; he here only intimates it, but it
will be fully developed in the sequel.
The true aim of art is then to represent
the Beautiful, to reveal this harmony. This
is its only purpose. Every other aim,
purification, moral amelioration, edifica
tion, are accessories or consequences. The
effect of the contemplation of the Beautiful
is to produce in us a calm and pure joy, in
compatible with the gross pleasures of
sense ; it lifts the soul above the ordinary
sphere of its thoughts ; it disposes to noble
resolutions and generous actions by the
close affinity which exists between the three
sentiments and the three ideas of the Good,
the Beautiful, and the Divine.
Such are the principal ideas which this
remarkable introduction contains. The re
mainder, devoted to the examination of
works which have marked the development
of aesthetic science in Germany since
Kant, is scarcely susceptible of analysis,
and does not so much deserve our atten
tion.
The first part of the science of aesthetics,
which might be called the Metaphysics of
the Beautiful, contains, together with the
analysis of the idea of the Beautiful, the
general principles common to all the arts.
Thus Hegel here treats : First, of the ab
stract idea of the Beautiful; second, of the
Beautiful in nature; third, of the Beautiful
in art, or of the ideal. He concludes with
an examination of the qualities of the art
ist. But before entering upon these ques
tions, he thought it necessary to point out
the place of art in human life, and espe
cially its connections with religion and
philosophy.
The destination of man, the law of his
nature, is to develop himself incessantly,
to stretch unceasingly towards the infinite.
He ought, at the same time, to put an end
to the opposition which he finds in himself
between the elements and powers of his be
ing ; to place them in accord by realizing
and developing them externally. Physical
life is a struggle between opposing forces,
and the living being can sustain itself only
through the conflict and the triumph of the
force which constitutes it. With man, and
41
in the moral sphere, this conflict and pro
gressive enfranchisement are manifested
under the form of freedom, which is the
highest destination of spirit. Freedom
consists in surmounting the obstacles which
it encounters within and without, in re
moving the limits, in effacing all contra
diction, in vanquishing evil and sorrow, in
order to attain to harmony with the world
and with itself. In actual life, man seeks
to destroy that opposition by the satisfac
tion of his physical wants. He calls to his
aid, industry and the useful arts ; but he
obtains thus only limited, relative, and
transient enjoyments. He finds a nobler
pleasure in science, which furnishes food
for his ardent curiosity, and piomises to
reveal to h’m the laws of nature and to
unveil the secrets of the universe. Civil
life opens another channel to his activity;
he burns to realize his conceptions ; he
marches to the conquest of the right, and
pursues the ideal of justice which he bears
within him. He endeavors to realize in
civil society his instinct of sociability,
which is also the law of his being, and one
of the fundamental inclinations of his mor
al nature.
But here, again, he attains an imperfect
felicity ; he encounters limits and obstacles
which he cannot surmount, and against
which, his will is broken. He cannot ob
tain the perfect realization of his ideas,
nor attain the ideal which his spirit con
ceives and toward which it aspires. He
then feels the necessity of elevating him
self to a higher sphere where all contradic
tions are cancelled ; where the idea of the
good and of happiness in their perfect ac
cord and their enduring harmony is real
ized. This profound want of the soul is
satisfied in three ways : in art, in religion,
and in philosophy. The function of art is
to lead us to the contemplation of the true,
the infinite, under sensuous forms ; for the
beautiful is the unity, the realized harmo
ny of two principles of existence, of the
idea and the form, of the infinite and the
finite. This is the principle and the hid
den essence of things, beaming through
their visible form. Art presents us, in its
works, the image of this happy accord
where all opposition ceases, and where all
�42
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
contradiction is Cancelled. Such is the
aim of art: to represent the divine, the in
finite, under sensuous forms. This is its
mission; it has no other and this it alone
can fulfil. By this title it takes its place
by the side of religion, and preserves its
independence. It takes its rank also with
philosophy, whose object is the knowledge
of the true, of absolute truth.
Alike then as to their general ground
and aims, these three spheres are distin
guished by the form under which they be
come revealed to the spirit and conscious
ness of man. Art is addressed to sensuous
perception and to the imagination; reli
gion is addressed to the soul, to the con
science, and to sentiment; philosophy is
addressed to pure thought or to the reason,
which conceives the truth in an abstract
manner.
Art, which offers us truth under sensu
ous forms, does not, however, respond to
the profoundest needs of the soul. The
spirit is possessed of the desire of entering
into itself, of contemplating the truth in
the inner recesses of consciousness. Above
the domain of art, then, religion is placed,
which reveals the infinite, and by medita
tion conveys to the depths of the heart, to
the centre of the soul, that which in art we
contemplate externally. As to philosophy,
its peculiar aim is to conceive and to com
prehend, by the intellect alone, under an
abstract form, that which is given as sen
timent or as sensuous representation.
I. Of the Idea of the Beautiful.
After these preliminaries, Ilegel enters
upon the questions which form the object
of this first part. He treats, in the first
place, of the idea of the beautiful in itself,
in its abstract nature. Freeing his thought
from the metaphysical forms which render
it difficult of comprehension to minds not
familiar with his system, we arrive at this
definition, already contained in the fore
going : the Beautiful is the true, that is to
say, the essence, the inmost substance of
things ; the true, not such as the mind con
ceives it in its abstract and pure nature,
but as manifested to the senses under visi
ble forms. It is the sensuous manifesta
tion of the idea, which is the soul and
principle of things. This definition recalls
that of Plato : the Beautiful is the splendor
of the true.
What are the characteristics of the beau
tiful ? First, it is infinite in this sense,
that it is the divine principle itself which
is revealed and manifested, and that the
form which expresses it, in place of limit
ing it, realizes it and confounds itself with
it; second, it is free, for true freedom is
not the absence of rule and measure, it is
force which develops itself easily and har
moniously. It appears in the bosom of
the existences of the sensuous world, as
their principle of life, of unity, and of
harmony, whether free from all obstacle,
or victorious and triumphant in conflict,
always calm and serene.
The spectator who contemplates beauty
feels himself equally free, and has a con
sciousness of his infinite nature. He tastes
a pure pleasure, resulting from the felt ac
cord of the powers of his being ; a celestial
and divine joy, which has nothing in com
mon with material pleasures, and does not
suffer to exist in the soul a single impure
or gross desire.
The contemplation of the Beautiful
awakens no such craving; it is self-suf
ficing, and is not accompanied by any re
turn of the me upon itself. It suffers the
object to preserve its independence for its
own sake. The soul experiences some
thing analogous to divine felicity; it is
transported into a sphere foreign to the
miseries of life and terrestrial existence.
This theory, it is apparent, would need
only to be developed to return wholly to the
Platonic theory. Hegel limits himself to
referring to it. We recognize here, also,
the results of the Kantian analysis.
II. Of the Beautiful in Nature.
Although science cannot pause to de
scribe the beauties of nature, it ought,
nevertheless, to study, in a general man
ner, the characteristics of the Beautiful,
as it appears to us in the physical world
and in the beings which it contains. This is
the subject of a somewhat extended chap
ter, with the following title : Of the Beau
tiful in Nature. Hegel herein considers
the question from the particular point of
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
view of his philosophy, and he applies his
theory of the Idea. Nevertheless, the re
sults at which he arrives, and the manner
in which he describes the forms of physical
beauty, can be comprehended and accepted
independently of his system, little adapt
ed, it must be confessed, to cast light upon
this subject.
The Beautiful in nature is the first mani
festation of the Idea. The successive de
grees of beauty correspond to the develop
ment of life and organization in beings.
Unity is an essential characteristic of it.
Thus, in the mineral, beauty consists in the
arrangement or disposition of the parts,
in the force which resides in them, and
which reveals itself in this unity. The so
lar system offers us a more perfect unity
and a higher beauty. The bodies in that
system, while preserving entire their indi
vidual existence, co-ordinate themselves
into a whole, the parts of which are inde
pendent, although attached to a common
centre, the sun. Beauty of this order
strikes us by the regularity of the move
ments of the celestial bodies. A unity
more real and true is that which is mani
fested in organized and living beings. The
unity here consists in a relation of re-*
ciprocity and of mutual dependence be
tween the organs, so that each of them
loses its independent existence in order to
give place to a wholly ideal unity which
reveals itself as the principle of life ani
mating them.
Life is beautiful in nature : for it is es
sence, force, the idea realized under its
firs'- form. Nevertheless, beauty in nature
is still wholly external; it has no conscious
ness of itself; it is beautiful solely for an
intelligence which sees and contem
plates it.
How do we perceive beauty in natural
beings? Beauty, with living and animate
beings, is neither accidental and capricious
movements, nor simple conformity of those
movements to an end—the uniform and
mutual connection of parts. This point of
view is that of the naturalist, of the man
of science ; it is not that of the Beautiful.
Beauty is total form in so far as it reveals
the force which animates it; it is this
force itself, manifested by a totality of
43
forms, of independent and free move
ments ; it is the internal harmony which
reveals itself in this secret accord of mem
bers, and which betrays itself outwardly,
without the eye’s pausing to consider the
relation of the parts to the whole, and their
functions or reciprocal connection, as sci
ence does. The unity exhibits itself mere
ly externally as the principle which binds
the members together. It manifests itself
especially through the sensibility. The
point of view of beauty is then that of pure
contemplation, not that of reflection,
which analyzes, compares and seizes the
connection of parts and their destination.
This internal and visible unity, this ac
cord, and this harmony, are not distinct
from the material element; they are its
very form. This is the principle which «
serves to determine beauty in its inferior
grades, the beauty of the crystal with its
regular forms, forms produced by an in
ternal and free force. A similar activity
is developed in a more perfect manner in
the living organism, its outlines, the dispo
sition of its members, the movements, and
the expression of sensibility.
Such is beauty in individual beings. It
is otherwise with it when we consider na
ture in its totality, the beauty of a land
scape, for example. There is no longer
question here about an organic disposition
of parts and of the life which animates
them ; we have under our eyes a rich mul
tiplicity of objects which form a whole,
mountains, trees, rivers, etc. In this di
versity there appears an external unity
which interests us by its agreeable or im
posing character. To this aspect there is
added that property of the objects of na
ture through which they awaken in us,
sympathetically, certain sentiments, by the
secret analogy which exists between them
and the situations of the human soul.
Such is the effect produced by the silence
of the night, the calm of a still valley, the
sublime aspect of a vast sea in tumult,
and the imposing grandeur of the starry
heavens. The significance of these objects
is not in themselves ; they are only sym
bols of the sentiments of the soul which
they excite. It is thus we attribute to an
imals the qualities which belong only to
�44
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
man, courage, fortitude, cunning. Physi consists in a totality of elements essen
cal beauty is a reflex of moral beauty.
tially distinct, but whose opposition is
To recapitulate, physical beauty, viewed destroyed and reduced to unity by a secret
in its ground or essence, consists in the accord, a reciprocal adaptation. Such is
manifestation of the concealed principle, the harmony of forms and colors, that of
of the force which is developed in the bo sounds and movements, Here the unity is
som of matter. This force reveals itself stronger, more prononce, precisely be
in a manner more or less perfect, by unity cause the differences and the oppositions
in inert matter, and in living beings by the are more marked. Harmony, however, is
different modes of organization.
not as yet true unity, spiritual unity,
Hegel then devotes a special examination that of the soul, although the latter pos
to the external side, or to beauty of form sesses within it a principle of harmony.
in natural objects. Physical beauty, con Harmony alone, as yet, reveals neither the
sidered externally, presents itself succes soul nor the spirit, as one may see in music
sively under the aspects of regularity and and dancing.
symmetry, of conformity to law and of har
Beauty exists also in matter itself,
mony ; lastly, of purity and simplicity of abstraction being made of its form; it
matter.
consists, then, in the unity and simplicity
1. Regularity, which is only the repeti which constitutes purity. Such is the
tion of a form equal to itself, is the most purity of the sky and of the atmosphere,
elementary and simple form. In symmetry the purity of colors and of sounds ; that of
there already appears a diversity which certain substances—of precious stones, of
breaks the uniformity. These two forms gold, and of the diamond. Pure and sim
of beauty pertain to quantity, and consti ple colors are also the most agreeable.
tute mathematical beauty ; they are found
After having described the beautiful in
in organic and inorganic bodies, minerals nature, in order that the necessity of a
and crystals. In plants are presented less beauty more exalted and more ideal, shall
regular, and freer forms. In the organiza- be comprehended, Hegel sets forth the im
ation of animals, this regular and sym perfections of real beauty. He begins with
metrical disposition becomes more and animal life, which is the most elevated
more subordinated in proportion as we as point we have reached, and he dwells upon
cend to higher degrees of the animal scale. the characteristics and causes of that im
2. Conformity to a law marks a degree perfection.
still more elevated, and serves as a transi
Thus, first in the animal, although the
tion to freer forms. Here there appears organism is more perfect than that of the
an accord more real and more profound, plant, what we see is not the central point
which begins to transcend mathematical of life; the special seat of the operations
rigor. It is no longer a simple numerical of the force which animates the whole, re
relation, where quantity plays the princi mains concealed from us. We see only
pal role ; we discover a relation of quality the outlines of the external form, covered
between different terms. A law rules with hairs, scales, feathers, skin; second
the whole, but it cannot be calcu ly, the human body, it is true, exhibits
lated; it remains a hidden bond, which more beautiful proportions, and a more
reveals itself to the spectator. Such is perfect form, because in it, life and sensi
the oval line, and above all, the undulating bility are everywhere manifested—in the
line, which Hogarth has given as the line color, the flesh, the freer movements,
of beauty. These lines determine, in fact, nobler attitudes, &c. Yet here, besides
the beautiful forms of organic nature in the imperfections in details, the sensibil
living beings of a high order, and, above ity does not appear equally distributed.
all, the beautiful forms of the human body, Certain parts are appropriated to animal
of man and of woman.
functions, and exhibit their destination in
3. Harmony is a degree still superior’to their form. Further, individuals in nature,
the preceding, and it includes them. It placed as they are under a dependence
�Hegels Philosophy of Jiri.
upon external causes, and under the in
fluence of the elements, are under the
dominion of necessity and want. Under
the continual action of these causes, phy
sical being is exposed to losing the fulness
of its forms and the flower of its beauty;
rarely do these causes permit it to attain
to its complete, free and regular develop
ment. The human body is placed under a
like dependence upon external agents. If
we pass from the physical to the moral
world, that dependence appears still more
clearly.
Everywhere there is manifested diver
sity, and opposition of tendencies and
interests. The individual, in the pleni
tude of his life and beauty, cannot pre
serve the appearance of a free force. Each
individual being is limited and particular
ized in his excellence. His life flows in a
narrow circle of space and time; he be
longs to a determinate species ; his type
is given, his form defined, and the condi
tions of his development fixed. The hu
man body itself offers, in respect to beauty,
a progression of forms dependent on the
diversity of races. Then come hereditary
qualities, the peculiarities which are due
to temperament, profession, age, and sex.
All these causes alter and disfigure the
purest and most perfect primitive type.
All these imperfections are summed up
in a word: the finite. Human life and
animal life realize their idea only imper
fectly. Moreover, spirit—not being able
to find, in the limits of the real, the sight
and the enjoyment of its proper freedom—
seeks to satisfy itself in a region more ele
vated, that of ari, or of the ideal.
III. Of the beautiful in Art or of the Ideal.
Art has as its end and aim the repre
sentation of the ideal. Now what is the
ideal7. It is beauty in a degree of perfec
tion superior to real beauty. It is force,
life, spirit, the essence of things, develop
ing themselves harmoniously in a sensu
ous reality, which is its resplendent image,
its faithful expression ; it is beauty dis
engaged and purified from the accidents
which veil and disfigure it, and which alter
its purity in the real world.
The ideal, in art, is not then the con
45
trary of the real, but the real idealized,
purified, rendered conformable to its
idea, and perfectly expressing it. In a
word, it is the perfect accord of the idea
and the sensuous form.
On the other hand, the true ideal is not
life in its inferior degrees—blind, unde
veloped force—but the soul arrived at the
consciousness of itself, free, and in the
full enjoyment of its faculties; it is life,
but spiritual life—in a word, spirit. The
representation of the spiritual principle, in
the plenitude of its life and freedom, with
its high conceptions, its profound and no
ble sentiments, its joys and its sufferings :
this is the true aim of art, the true ideal.
Finally, the ideal is not a lifeless ab
straction, a frigid generality; it is the
spiritual principle under the form of the
living individual, freed from the bonds of
the finite, and developing itself in its per
fect harmony with its inmost nature and
essence.
We see, thus, what are the characteris
tics of the ideal. It is evident that in all
its degrees it is calmness, serenity, felici
ty, happy existence, freed from the mis
eries and wants of life. This serenity
does not exclude earnestness ; for the ideal
appears in the midst of the conflicts of
life ; but even in the roughest experiences,
in the midst of intense suffering, the soul
preserves an evident calmness as a funda
mental trait. It is felicity in suffering,
the glorification of sorrow, smiling in
tears. The echo of this felicity resounds
in all the spheres of the ideal.
It is important to determine, with still
more precision, the relations of the ideal
and the real.
The opposition of the ideal and the real
has given rise to two conflicting opinions.
Some conceive of the ideal as something
vague, an abstract, lifeless generality,
without individuality. Others extol the
natural, the imitation of the real in the
most minute and prosaic details. Equal
exaggeration I The truth lies between the
two extremes.
In the first place, the ideal may be, in
fact, something external and accidental,
an insignificant form or appearance, a
common existence. But that which con
�4G
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
stitutes the ideal, in this inferior degree,
is the fact that this reality, imitated by
art, is a creation of spirit, and becomes
then something artificial, not real. It is
an image and a metamorphosis. This
image, moreover, is more permanent than
its model, more durable than the real ob
ject. In fixing that which is mobile and
transient, in eternizing that which is mo
mentary and fugitive—a flower, a smile—
art surpasses nature and idealizes it.
But it does not stop here. Instead of
simply reproducing these objects, while
preserving their natural form, it seizeB
their internal and deepest character, it
extends their signification, and gives to
them a more elevated and .more general
significance; for it must manifest the uni
versal in the individual, and render visible
the idea which they represent, their eter
nal and fixed type. It allows this charac
ter of generality to penetrate everywhere,
without reducing it to an abstraction.
Thus the artist does not slavishly repro
duce all the features of the object, and its
accidents, but only the true traits, those
conformable to its idea. If, then, he takes
nature as a model, he still surpasses and
idealizes it. Naturalness, faithfulness,
truth, these are not exact imitation, but
the perfect conformity of the form to the
idea; they are the creation of a more
perfect form, whose essential traits repre
sent the idea more faithfully and more
clearly than it is expressed in nature itself.
To know how to disengage the operative,
energetic, essential and significant ele
ments in objects,—this is the task of the
artist. The ideal, then, is not the real; the
latter contains many elements insignifi
cant, useless, confused and foreign, or op
posed to the idea. The natural here loses
its vulgar significance. By this word must
be understood the more exalted expression
of spirit. The ideal is a transfigured, glo
rified nature.
As to vulgar and common nature, if art
takes it also for its object, it is not for its
own sake, but because of what in it is
true, excellent, interesting, ingenuous or
gay, as in genre painting, in Dutch paint
ing particularly. It occupies, neverthe
less, an inferior rank, and cannot make
pretensions to a place beside the grand
compositions of art.
But there are other subjects—a nature
more elevated and more ideal. Art, at its
culminating stage, represents the develop
ment of the internal powers of the soul,
its grand passions, profound sentiments,
and lofty destinies. Now, it is clear that
the artist does not find in the real world,
forms so pure and ideal that he may safely
confine himself to imitating and copying.
Moreover, if the form itself be given, ex
pression must be added. Besides, he
ought to secure, in a just measure, the
union of the individual and the universal,
of the form and the idea; to create a
living ideal, penetrated with the idea, and
in which it animates the sensuous form
and appearance throughout, so that there
shall be nothing in it empty or insig
nificant, nothing that is not alive with ex
pression itself. Where shall he find in
the real world, this just measure, this
animation, and this exact correspondence
of all the parts and of all the details con
spiring to the same end, to the same effect ?
To say that he will succeed in conceiving
and realizing the ideal, by making a feli
citous selection of ideas and forms, is to
ignore the secret of artistic composition ;
it is to misconceive the entirely sponta
neous method of genius,—inspiration which
creates at a single effort,—to replace it by a
reflective drudgery, which only results in
the production of frigid and lifeless
works.
It does not suffice to define the ideal in
an abstract manner; the ideal is exhibited
to us in the works of art under very va
rious and diverse forms. Thus sculpture
represents it under the motionless features
of its figures. In the other arts it assumes
the form of movement and of action ; in
poetry, particularly, it manifests itself in
the midst of most varied situations and
events, of conflicts between persons ani
mated by diverse passions. IIow, and
under what conditions, is each art in par
ticular’ called upon to represent thus the
ideal ? This will be the object of the
theory of the arts. In the general expo
sition of the principles of art, we may,
nevertheless, attempt to define the degrees
�Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
of this development, to study the princi
pal aspects under which it manifests it
self. Such is the object of those con
siderations, the title of which is, Of
the Determination of the Ideal, and
which the author develops iu this first
part of the work. We can trace only
summarily the principal ideas, devoting
ourselves to marking their order and con
nection.
The gradation which the author estab
lishes between the progressively determ
ined forms of the ideal is as follows :
1. The ideal, under the most elevated
form, is the divine idea, the divine such
as the imagination can represent it under
sensuous forms; such is the Greek ideal
of the divinities of Polytheism ; such the
Christian ideal in its highest purity, under
the form of God the Father, of Christ, of
the Virgin, of the Apostles, etc. It is
given above all to sculpture and painting,
to present us the image of it. Its essen
tial characteristics are calmness, majesty,
serenity.
2. In a degree less elevated, but more
determined, in the circle of human life,
the ideal appears to us, with man, as the
victory of the eternal principles which fill
the human heart, the triumph of the noble
part of the soul over the inferior and
passionate. The noble, the excellent,
the perfect, in the human soul, is the
moral and divine principle which is mani
fested in it, which governs its will, and
causes it to accomplish grand actions;
this is the true source of self-sacrifice and
of heroism.
3. But the idea, when it is manifested
in the real world, can be developed only
under the form of action. Now, action
itself has for its condition a conflict be
tween principles and persons, divided as
to interests, ideas, passions, and charac
ters. It is this especially that is repre
sented by poetry—the art par excellence,
the only art which can reproduce an action
in its successive phases, with its complica
tions, its sudden turns of fortune, its
catastrophe and its denouement.
Action, if one considers it more closely,
includes the following conditions : 1st. A
world which serves it as a basis and thea
47
tre, a form of society which renders it pos
sible, and is favorable to the development
of ideal figures. 2d. A determinate situa
tion, in which the personages are placed
who render necessary the conflict between
opposing interests and passions, whence
a collision may arise. 3d. An action, prop
erly so called, which develops itself in
its essential moments, which has a begin
ning, a middle, and an end. This action,
in order to afford a high interest, should
revolve upon ideas of an elevated order,
which inspire and sustain the personages,
ennobling their passions, and farming the
basis of their character.
Hegel treats, in a general manner, each
of these points, which will appear anew,
under a more special form, in the study of
poetry, and particularly of epic and dra
matic poetry.
1. The state of society most favorable
to the ideal is that which allows the char
acters to act with most freedom, to reveal
a lofty and powerful personality. This
cannot be a social order, where all is fixed
and regulated by laws and a constitution.
Nor can it be the savage state, where all
is subject to caprice and violence, and
where man is dependent upon a thousand
external causes, which render his existence
precarious. Now the state intermediate
between the barbarous state and an ad
vanced civilization, is the heroic age, that
in which the epic poets locate their action,
and from which the tragic poets them
selves have often borrowed their subjects
and their personages. That which char
acterizes heroes in this epoch is, above all,
the independence which is manifested in
their characters and acts. On the other
hand, the hero is all of a piece; he as
sumes not only the responsibility of his
acts and their consequences, but the re
sults of actions he has not perpetrated,
of the faults or crimes of his race; he
bears in his person an entire race.
Another reason why the ideal existences
of art belong to the mythologic ages, and
to remote epochs of history, is that the
artist or the poet, in representing or re
counting events, has a freer scope in his
ideal creations. Art, also, for the same
reason, has a predilection for the higher
�48
Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri.
conditions of society, those of princes par
ticularly, because of the perfect indepen
dence of will and action which character
izes them. In this respect, our actual
society, with its civil and political organi
zation, its manners, administration,police,
etc., is prosaic. The sphere of activity of
the individual is too restricted ; he en
counters everywhere limits and shackles
to his will. Our monarchs themselves are
subject to these conditions ; their power is
limited by institutions, laws and customs.
War, peace, and treaties are determined
by political relations independent of their
will.
The greatest poets have not been able
to escape these conditions ; and when they
have desired to represent personages
nearer to us, as Charles Moor, or Wallen
stein, they have been obliged to place
them in revolt against society or against
their sovereign. Moreover, these heroes
rush on to an inevitable ruin, or they fall
into the ridiculous situation, of which the
Don Quixote of Cervantes gives us the
most striking example.
2. To represent the ideal in personages
or in an action, there is necessary not only
a favorable world from which the subject
is to be borrowed, but a situation. This
situation can be either indeterminate, like
that of many of the immobile personages
of antique or religious sculpture, or de
terminate, but yet of little earnestness.
Such are also the greater number of the
situations of the personages of antique
sculpture. Finally, it may be earnest, and
furnish material for a veritable action. It
supposes, then, an opposition, an action and
a reaction, a conflict, a collision. The
beauty of the ideal consists in absolute
serenity and perfection. Now, collision
destroys this harmony. The problem of
art consists, then, in so managing that the
harmony reappears in the denouement. Po
etry alone is capable of developing this op
position upon which the interest, particu
larly, of tragic art turns.
Without examining here the nature of
the different collisions, the study of which
belongs to the theory of dramatic art, we
must already have remarked that the collis
ions of the highest order are those in
which the conflict takes place between
moral forces, as in the ancient tragedies.
This is the subject of true classic tragedy,
moral as well as religious, as will be seen
from what follows.
Thus the ideal, in this superior degree,
is the manifestation of moral powers and
of the ideas of spirit, of the grand move
ments of the soul, and of the characters
which appear and are revealed in the de
velopment of the representation.
3. In action, properly so-called, three
things are to be considered which consti
tute its ideal object: 1. The general inter
ests, the ideas, the universal principles,
whose opposition forms the very foundation
of the action ; 2. The personages; 3. Their
character and their passions, or the mo
tives which impel them to act.
In the first place, the eternal principles
of religion, of morality, of the family, of
the state—the grand sentiments of the
soul, love, honor, etc.—these constitute the
basis, the true interest of the action.
These are the grand and true motives of
art, the eternal theme of exalted poetry.
To these legitimate and true powers oth
ers are, without doubt, added ; the powers
of evil; but they ought not to be repre
sented as forming the real foundation and
end of the action. ciIf the idea, the end
and aim, be something false in itself, the
hideousness of the ground will allow still
less beauty of form. The sophistry of the
passions may, indeed, by a true picture,
attempt to represent the false under the
colors of the true, but it places under our
eyes only a whited sepulchre. Cruelty and
the violent employment of force can be en
dured in representation, but only when
they are relieved by the grandeur of the
character and ennobled by the aim which
is pursued by the dramatis personae. Per
versity, envy, cowardice, baseness, are only
repulsive.
“ Evil, in itself, is stripped of real in
terest, because nothing but the false can
spring from what is false ; it produces on
ly misfortune, while art should present to
us order and harmony. The great artists,
the great poets of antiquity, never give us
the spectacle of pure wickedness and per
versity.”
�Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt.
We cite this passage because it exhibits
the character and high moral tone which
prevails in the entire work, as we shall
have occasion to observe more than once
hereafter.
If the ideas and interests of human life
form the ground of the action, the latter is
accomplished by the characters upon whom
the interest is fastened. General ideas
may, indeed, be personated by beings su
perior to man, by certain divinities like
those which figure in ancient epic poetry
and tragedy. But it is to man that action,
properly so-called, returns; it is he who
occupies the scene. Now, how reconcile
divine action and human action, the will
of the gods and that of man ? Such is the
problem which has made shipwreck of so
many poets and artists. To maintain a
proper equipoise it is necessary that the
gods have supreme direction, and that man
preserve his freedom and his independence
without which he is no more than the pas
sive instrument of the will of the gods; fa
tality weighs upon all his acts. The true
solution consists in maintaining the ident
ity of the two terms, in spite of their dif
ference ; in so acting that what is attributed
to the gods shall appear at the same time
to emanate from the inner nature of the
dramatis personce and from their character.
The talent of the artist must reconcile the
two aspects’. “ The heart of man must be
revealed in his gods, personifications of
the grand motives which allure him and
govern him within.” This is the problem
resolved by the great poets of antiquity,
Homer, .¿Eschylus, and Sophocles.
The general principles, those grand mo
tives which are the basis of the action, by
the fact that they are living in the soul of
the characters, form, also, the very ground
of the passions; this is the essence of true
pathos. Passion, here, in the elevated ideal
sense, is, in fact, not an arbitrary, capri
cious, irregular movement of the soul ; it is
a noble principle, which blends itself with
a great idea, with^ne of the eternal veri
ties of moral or religious order. Such is
the passion of Antigone, the holy love for
her brother ; such, the vengeance of Orestes.
It is an essentially legitimate power of the
soul which contains one of the eternal
4
49
principles of the reason and the will. This
is still the ideal, the true ideal, although it
appears under the form of a passion. It
relieves, ennobles and purifies it; it thus
gives to the action a serious and profound
interest.
It is in this sense that passion consti
tutes the centre and true domain of art ; it
is the principle of emotion, the source of
true pathos.
Now, this moral verity, this eternal
principle which descends into the heart of
man and there takes the form of great and
noble passion, identifying itself with the
will of ^ie dramatis persona., constitutes,
also, their character. Without this high
idea which serves as support and as basis
to passion, there is no true character.
Character is the culminating point of ideal
representation. It is the embodiment of
all that precedes. It is in the creation
of the characters, that the genius of the art
ist or of the poet is displayed.
Three principal elements must be united
to form the ideal character, richness, vital
ity, and stability. Richness consists in not
being limited to a single quality, which
would make of the person an abstraction,
an allegoric being. To a single dominant
quality there should be added all those
which make of the personage or hero
a real and complete man, capable of be
ing developed in diverse situations and
under varying aspects. Such a multiplici
ty alone can give vitality to the character.
This is not sufficient, however; it is neces
sary that the qualities be moulded together
in such a manner as to form not a simple
assemblage and a complex whole, but one
and the same individual, having peculiar
and original physiognomy. This is the
case when a particular sentiment, a ruling
passion, presents the salient trait of the
character of a person, and gives to him a
fixed aim, to which all his resolutions and
his acts, refer. Unity and variety, sim
plicity and completeness of detail, these
are presented to us in the characters of
Sophocles, Shakspeare, and others.
Lastly, what constitutes essentially the
ideal in character is consistency and stabil
ity. An inconsistent, undecided, irresolute
character, is the utter want of character.
�50
Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt.
Contradictions, without doubt, exist in hu
man nature, but unity should be maintain
ed in spite of these fluctuations. Some
thing identical ought to be found through
out, as a fundamental trait. To be self-de
termining, to follow a design, to embrace a
resolution and persist in it, constitute the
very foundation of personality; to suffer
one’s self to be determined by another, to
hesitate, to vacillate, this is to surrender
one’s will, to cease to be one's self, to lack
character; this is, in all cases, the oppo
site of the ideal character.
Hegel on this subject strongly protests
against the characters which figure in mod
ern pieces and romances, and of which
Werthcr is the type.
These pretended characters, says he, rep
resent only unhealthiness of spirit, and
feebleness of soul. Now true and healthy
art does not represent what is false and
sickly, what lacks consistency and de
cision, but that which is true, healthy and
strong. The ideal, in a word, is the idea
realized ; man can realize it only as a free
person, that is to say, by displaying all
the energy and constancy which can make
it triumph.
We shall find more than once, in the
course of the work, the same ideas de
veloped with the same force and precision.
That which constitutes the very ground
of the ideal is the inmost essence of things,
especially the lofty conceptions of the
spirit, and the development of the powers
of the soul. These ideas are manifest in
an action in which are placed upon the
scene the grand interests of life, the pas
sions of the human heart, the will and the
character of actors. But this action is
itself developed in the midst of an external
nature which, moreover, lends to the ideal,
colors and a determinate form. These
external surroundings must also be con
ceived and fashioned in the meaning of the
ideal, according to the laws of regularity,
symmetry, and harmony, of which mention
has been made above. How-ought man to be
represented in his relations with external
nature ? How ought this prose of life to be
idealized? If art, in fact, frees man from
the wants of material life, it cannot, how
ever, elevate him above the conditions of
human existence, and suppress these con
nections.
Hegel devotes a special examination to
this new phase of the question of the ideal,
which he designates by this title—Of the
external determination of the ideal.
In our days we have given an exaggerated
importance to this external side, which
we have made the principal object. We
are too unmindful that art should repre
sent the ideas and sentiments of the hu
man soul, that this is the true ground of
its works. Hence all these minute de
scriptions, this external care given to the
picturesque element or to the local color,
to furniture, to costumes, to all those arti
ficial means employed to disguise the
emptiness and insignificance of the sub
ject, the absence of ideas, the falsity of
the situations, the feebleness of the char
acters, and the improbability of the
action.
Nevertheless, this side has its place in
art, and should not be neglected. It gives
clearness, truthfulness, life, and interest
to its works, by the secret sympathy which
exists between man and nature. It is
Characteristic of the great masters to rep
resent nature with perfect truthfulness.
Homer is an example of this. Without
forgetting the content for the form, pic
ture for the frame, he presents to us a
faultless and precise image of the theatre
of action. The arts differ much in this
respect. Sculpture limits itself to certain
symbolic indications ; painting, which has
at its disposal means more extended, en
riches with these objects the content of its
pictures. Among the varieties of poetry, the
epic is more circumstantial in its descrip
tions than the drama or lyric poetry. But
this external fidelity should not, in any
art, extend to the representation of insig
nificant details, to the making of them an
object of predeliction, and to subordinat
ing to them the developments which the
subject itself claims. The grand point in
these descriptions is that we perceive a
secret harmony between man and nature,
between the action and the theatre on
which it occurs.
Another species of accord is established
between man and the objects of physical
�Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
nature, when, through his free activity, he
impresses upon them his intelligence and
will, and appropriates them to his own
use; the ideal consists in causing misery
and necessity to disappear from the do
main of art, in revealing the freedom
which develops itself without effort under
our eyes, and easily surmounts obstacles.
Such is the ideal considered under this
aspect. Thus the gods of polytheism
themselves have garments and arms ; they
drink nectar and are nourished by ambro
sia. The garment is an ornament designed
to heighten the glory of the features, to
give nobleness to the countenance, to fa
cilitate movement, or to indicate force and
agility. The most brilliant objects, the
metals, precious stones, purple and ivory,
are employed for the same end. All con
cur to produce the effect of grace and
beauty.
In the satisfaction of physical wants the
ideal consists, above all, in the simplicity
of the means. Instead of being artificial,
factitious, complex, the latter emanate
directly from the activity of man, and free
dom. The heroes of Homer themselves
slay the oxen which are to serve for the
feast, and roast them; they forge their
arms, and prepare their couches. This is
not, as one might think, a relic of barbar
ous manners, something prosaic; but we
see, penetrating everywhere the delight of
invention, the pleasure of easy toil and
free activity exercised on material objects.
Everything is peculiar to and inherent in
his character, and a means for the hero
of revealing the force of his arm and the
skill of his hand ; while, in civilized so
ciety, these objects depend on a thousand
foreign causes, on a complex adjustment
in which man is converted into a machine
subordinated to other machines. Things
have lost their freshness and vitality;
they remain inanimate, and are no longer
proper, direct creations of the human per
son, in which the man loves to solace and
contemplate himself.
A final point relative to the external
form of the ideal is that which concerns
the relation of works of art to the public,
that is to say, to the nation and epoch for
which the artist or the poet composes his
51
works. Ought the artist, when he treats a
subject, to consult, above all, the spirit,
taste and manners of the people whom he
addresses, and conform himself to their
ideas ? This is the means of exciting in
terest in fabulous and imaginary or even
historic persons. But then there is a lia
bility to distort history and tradition.
Ought he, on the other hand, to repro
duce with scrupulous exactness the man
ners and customs of another time, to give
to the facts and the characters their proper
coloring and their original and primitive
costume? This is the problem. Hence
arise two schools and two opposite modes
of representation. In the age of Louis
XIV., for example, the Greeks and Romans
are conceived in the likeness of French
men. Since then, by a natural reaction,
the contrary tendency has prevailed. • To
day the poet must have the knowledge of
an archeologist, and possess his scrupu
lous exactness, and pay close attention,
above all, to local color, and historic verity
has become the principal and essential
aim of art.
Truth here, as always, lies between the
two extremes. It is necessary to maintain,
at the same time, the rights of art and
those of the public, to have a proper re
gard for the spirit of the epoch, and to
satisfy the exigencies of the subject
treated. These are the very judicious
rules which the author states upon this
delicate point.
The subject should be intelligible and
interesting to the public to which it is ad
dressed. But this end the poet or the
artist will attain only so far as, by his
general spirit, his work responds to some
one of the essential ideas of the human
spirit and to the general interests of hu
manity. The particularities of an epoch
are not of true and enduring interest
to us.
If, then, the subject is borrowed from re
mote epochs of history, or from some faroff tradition, it is necessary that, by our
general culture, we should be familiarized
with it. It is thus only that we can sym
pathize with an epoch and with manners
that are no more. Hence the two essen
tial conditions ; that the subject present
�52
Hegel's Philosophy of Art.
the general human character, then that it
be in relation with our ideas.
Art is not designed for a small number
of scholars and men of science; it is ad
dressed to the entire nation. Its works
should be comprehended and relished of
themselves, and not after a course of diffi
cult research. Thus national subjects are
the most favorable. All great poems are
national poems. The Bible histories have
for us a particular charm, because we are
familiar with them from our infancy. Nev
ertheless, in the measure that relations are
multiplied between peoples, art can bor
row its subjects from all latitudes and from
all epochs. It should, indeed, as to the
principal features, preserve, to the tradi
tions, events, and personages, to manners
and institutions, their historic or tradi
tional character ; but the duty of the artist,
above all, is to place the idea which consti
tutes its content in harmony with the
spirit of his own age, and the peculiar
genius of his nation.
In this necessity lies the reason and ex
cuse for what is called anachronism in art.
When the anachronism bears only upon
external circumstances it is unimportant.
It becomes a matter of more moment if
we attribute to the characters, the ideas,
and sentiments of another epoch. Re
spect must be paid to historic truth, but
regard must also be had to the manners
and intellectual culture of one’s own time.
The heroes of Homer themselves are more
than were the real personages of the epoch
which he presents ; and the characters of
Sophocles are brought still nearer to us.
To violate thus the rules of historic reali
ty, is a necessary anachronism in art. Fi
nally, another form of anachronism, which
the utmost moderation and genius can
alone make pardonable, is that which
transfers the religious or moral ideas of a
more advanced civilization to an anterior
epoch; when one attributes, for example,
to the ancients the ideas of the mod
erns. Some great poets have ventured up
on this intentionally ; few have been suc
cessful in it.
The general conclusion is this: “ The
artist should be required to make himself
the cotemporary of past ages, and become
penetrated himself with their spirit. For if
the substance of those ideas be true, it re
mains clear for all time. But to undertake
to reproduce with a scrupulous exactness
the external element of history, with all its
details and particulars,—in a word, all the
rust of antiquity, is the work of a puerile
erudition, which attaches itself only to a
superficial aim. We should not wrest from
art the right which it has to float between
reality and fiction.”
This first part concludes with an exam
ination of the qualities necessary to an
artist, such as imagination, genius, inspi
ration, originality, etc. The author does
not deem it obligatory to treat at much
length this subject, which appears to him
to allow only a small number of general
rules or psychological observations. The
manner in which he treats of many points,
and particularly of the imagination, causes
us to regret that he has not thought it
worth while to give a larger space to these
questions, which occupy the principal
place in the majority of aesthetical treati
ses; we shall find them again under an
other form in the theory of the arts.
[The next number will continue this trans
lation through the treatment of the Sym
bolic, Classic, and Romantic forms of art.]
�Raphael's Transfiguration.
53
NOTES ON RAPHAEL’S “ TRANSFIGURATION.”
[Bead before the St. Louis Art Society in November, 1866.]
I. THE ENGRAVING.
He who studies the ei Transfiguration ”
of Raphael is fortunate if he has access to
the engraving of it by Raphael Morghen.
This engraver, as one learns from the En
cyclopaedia, was a Florentine, and executed
this—his most elaborate work—in 1795,
from a drawing of Tofanelli, after having
discovered that a copy he had partly fin
ished from another drawing, was very in
adequate when compared with the origi
nal.
Upon comparison with engravings by
other artists, it seems to me that this en
graving has not received all the praise it
deserves ; I refer especially to the seizing of
the “motives” of the picture, which are so
essential in a work of great scope, to give it
the requisite unity. What the engraver has
achieved in the present instance, I hope to
be able to show in some degree. But one
will not be able to verify my results if he
takes up an engraving by a less fortunate
artist; e. g. : one by Pavoni, of recent
origin.
IL HISTORICAL.
It is currently reported that Raphael
painted the “ Transfiguration ” at the in
stance of Cardinal Giulio de Medici, and
that in honor of the latter he introduced
the two saints—Julian and Lawrence—on
the mount; St. Julian suggesting the illfated Giuliano de Medici, the Cardinal’s
father, and St. Lawrence representing his
uncle, “Lorenzo the Magnificent,” the
greatest of the Medici line, and greatest
man of his time in Italy. (( The haughty
Michael Angelo refused to enter the lists
in person against Raphael, but put forward
as a fitting rival Sebastian del Piombo, a
Venetian.” Raphael painted, as his mas
terpiece, the “ Transfiguration,” and Se
bastian, with the help of Michael Angelo,
painted the “ Raising of Lazarus.” In
1520, before the picture was quite finished,
Raphael died. His favorite disciple, Giu
lio Romano, finished the lower part of the
picture (especially the demoniac) in the
spirit of Raphael, who had completed the
upper portion and most of the lower.
III. LEGEND.
The Legend portrayed here—slightly va
rying from the one in the New Testament,
but not contradicting it—is as follows :
Christ goes out with his twelve disciples to
Mount Tabor, (?) and, leaving the nine
others at the foot, ascends with the favor
ed three to the summit, where the scene of
the Transfiguration takes place. While
this transpires, the family group approach
with the demoniac, seeking help from a
miraculous source.
Raphael has added to this legend the
circumstance that two sympathetic strang
ers, passing that way up the mount, carry
to the Beatified One the intelligence of the
event below, and solicit his immediate and
gracious interference.
The Testament account leads us to sup
pose the scene to be Mount Tabor, south
east of Nazareth, at whose base he had
healed many, a few days before, and
where he had held many conversations
with his disciples. “ On the following
day, when they were come down, they met
the family,” says Luke ; but Matthew and
Mark do not fix so precisely the day.
IV. CHARACTERIZATION.
It may be safely affirmed that there is
scarcely a picture in existence in which
the individualities are more strongly mark
ed by internal essential characteristics.
Above, there is no figure to be mistaken :
Christ floats toward the source of light—
the Invisible Father, by whom all is made
visible that is visible. On the right, Moses
appears in strong contrast to Elias on the
left—the former the law-giver, and the
latter the spontaneous, fiery, eagle-eyed
prophet.
On the mountain top—prostrate beneath,
are the three disciples—one recognizes on
the right hand, John, gracefully bending
his face down from the overpowering light,
while on the left James buries his face in
�54
Raphaels Transfiguration.
his humility. But Peter, the bold one, is
fain to gaze directly on the splendor. He
turns his face up in the act, but is, as on
another occasion, mistaken in his estimate
of his own endurance, and is obliged to
cover his eyes, involuntarily, with his hand.
Below the mount, are two opposed groups.
On the right, coming from the hamlet in
the distance, is the family group, of which
a demoniac boy forms the centre. They,
without doubt, saw Christ pass on his way
to this solitude, and, at length, concluded
to follow him and test his might which had
been c£ noised abroad” in that region. It
is easy to see the relationship of the whole
group. First the boy, actually “ possess
ed,” or a maniac ; then his father—a man
evidently predisposed to insanity—support
ing and restraining him. Kneeling at the
right of the boy is his mother, whose fair
Grecian face has become haggard with the
trials she has endured from her son. Just
beyond her is her brother, and in the shade
of the mountain, is her father. In the fore
ground is her sister. Back of the father,
to the right, is seen an uncle (on the fa
ther’s side) of the demoniac boy, whose
features and gestures show him to be a sim
pleton, and near him is seen the face of the
father’s sister, also a weak-minded person.
The parents of the father are not to be
seen, for the obvious reason that old age
is not a characteristic of persons predis
posed to insanity. Again, it is marked
that in a family thus predisposed, some
will be brilliant to a degree resembling ge
nius, and others will be simpletons. The
whole group at the right are supplicating
the nine disciples, in the most earnest
manner, for relief. The disciples, group
ed on the left, are full of sympathy, but
their looks tell plainly that they can do
nothing. One, at the left and near the
front, holds the books of the Law in his
right hand, but the letter needs the spirit
to give life, and the mere Law of Moses
does not help the demoniac, and only ex
cites the sorrowful indignation of the
beautiful sister in the foreground.
The curious student of the New Testa
ment may succeed in identifying the differ
ent disciples : Andrew, holding the books
of the Law, is Peter’s brother, and bears a
family resemblance. Judas, at the extreme
left, cannot be mistaken. Matthew looks
over the shoulder of Bartholomew, who is
pointing to the demoniac ; while Thomas—
distinguished by his youthful appearance—
bends over toward the boy with a look of
intense interest. Simon (?), kneeling be
tween Thomas and Bartholomew, is indi
cating to the mother, by the gesture with
his left hand, the absence of the Master.
Philip, whose face is turned towards Ju
das, is pointing to the scene on the mount,
and apparently suggesting the propriety of
going for the absent one. James, the son
of Alpheus, resembles Christ in features,
and stands behind Jude, his brother, who
points up to the mount while looking at
the father.
V. ORGANIC UNITY.
(а) Doubtless every true work of art
should have what is called an ‘‘organic uni
ty.” That is to say, all the parts of the work
should be related to each other in such a
way that a harmony of design arises. Two
entirely unrelated things brought into the
piece would form two centres of attraction
and hence divide the work into two differ
ent works. It should be so constituted
that the study of one part leads to all the
other parts as being necessarily implied in
it. This common life of the whole work
is the central idea which necessitates all
the parts, and hence makes the work an or
ganism instead of a mare conglomerate or
mechanical aggregate,—a fortuitous con
course of atoms which would make a chaos
only.
(б) This central idea, however, cannot
be represented in a work of art without
contrasts, and hence there must be antithe
ses present.
(c) And these antitheses must be again
reduced to unity by the manifest depend
ence of each side upon the central idea.
What is the central idea of this picture 2
(a) Almost every thoughtful person that
has examined it, has said : “ Here is the
Divine in contrast with the Human, and
the dependence of the latter upon the
former.” This may be stated in a variety
of ways. The Infinite is there above, and
the Finite here below seeking it.
(Z>) The grandest antithesis iB that be
�Raphael's Transfiguration,
tween the two parts of the Picture, the
above and the below. The transfigured
Christ, there,dazzling with light; below, the
shadow of mortal life, only illuminated by
such rays as come from above. There, se
renity ; and here, rending calamity.
Then there are minor antitheses.
(1) Above we have a Twofold. The
three celestial light-seekers who soar rap
turously to the invisible source of light,
and below them, the three disciples swoon
ing beneath the power of the celestial vis
ion. (2) Then below the mountain we
have a similar contrast in the two groups ;
the one broken in spirit by the calamity
that “ pierces their own souls,” and the
other group powerfully affected by sympa
thy, and feeling keenly their impotence
during the absence of their Lord.
Again even, there appear other anti
theses. So completely does the idea pen
etrate the material in this work of art, that
everywhere we see the mirror of the whole.
In the highest and most celestial we have
the antithesis of Christ and the twain ;
Moses the law or letter, Elias the spirit or
the prophet, and Christ the living unity.
Even Christ himself, though comparative
ly the point of repose of the whole picture,
is a contrast of soul striving against the
visible body. So, too, the antitheses of
the three disciples, John, Peter, James,—
grace, strength, and humility. Everywhere
the subject is exhaustively treated; the
family in its different members, the disci
ples with the different shades of sympa
thy and concern. (The maniac boy is a
perfect picture of a being, torn asunder by
violent internal contradiction.)
(c) The unity is no less remarkable.
First, the absolute unity of the piece, is the
transfigured Christ. To it, mediately or
immediately, everything refers. All the
light in the picture streams thence. All the
action in the piece has its motive power in
Him;—first, the two celestials soar to gaze
in his light ; then the three disciples are
expressing, by the posture of every limb,
the intense effect of the same light. On
the left, the mediating strangers stand im
ploring Christ to descend and be merciful
to the miserable of this life. Below, the
disciples are painfully reminded of Him
55
absent, by the present need of his all-heal
ing power, and their gestures refer to his
stay on the mountain top ; while the group
at the right, are frantic in supplications for
his assistance.
Besides the central unity, we find minor
unities that do not contradict the higher
unity, for the reason that they are only re
flections of it, and each one carries us, of
its own accord, to the higher unity, and
loses itself in it. Toillustrate: Below, the
immediate unity of all (centre of interest)
is the maniac boy, and yet he convulsively
points to the miraculous scene above, and
the perfect unrest exhibited in his attitude
repels the soul irresistibly to seek another
unity. The Christ above, gives^us a com
paratively serene point of repose, while
the unity of the Below or finite side of the
picture is an absolute antagonism, hurling
us beyond to the higher unity.
Before the approach of the distressed
family, the others were intently listening
to the grave and elderly disciple, Andrew,
who was reading and expounding the
Scriptures to them. This was a different
unity, and would have clashed with the
organic unity of the piece; the approach of
the boy brings in a new unity, which im
mediately reflects all to the higher unity.
VI.
SENSE AND REASON VS. UNDERSTANDING.
At this point a few reflections are sug
gested to render more obvious, certain
higher phases in the unity of this work of
art, which must now be considered.
A work of art, it will be conceded, must,
first of all, appeal to the senses. Equally,
too, its content must be an idea of the Rea
son, and this is not so readily granted by
every one. But if there were no idea of
the Reason in it, there would be no unity
to the work, and it could not be distin
guished from any other work not a work
of art. Between the Reason and the Senses
there lies a broad realm, called the “ Un
derstanding” by modern speculative wri
ters. It was formerly called the ‘‘discur
sive intellect.” The Understanding applies
the criterion “use.” It does not know
beauty, or, indeed, anything which is
for itself-, it knows only what is good for
something else. In a work of art, after it
�56
Raphael's Transfiguration.
has asked what it is good for, it proceeds
to construe it all into prose, for it is the
prose faculty. It must have the picture
tell us what is the external fact in nature,
and not trouble us with any transcendental
imaginative products. It wants imitation
of nature merely.
But the artist frequently neglects this
faculty, and shocks it to the uttermost by
such things as the abridged mountain in
this picture, or the shadow cast toward the
sun, that Eckermann tells of.
The artist must never violate the sensu
ous harmony, nor fail to have*the deeper
unity of the Idea. It is evident that the
sensuous side is always cared for by Ra
phael.
Here are some of the effects in the pic
ture that are purely sensuous and yet
of such a kind that they immediately call
up the idea. The source of light in the
picture is Christ’s form; below, it is re
flected in the garments of the conspicuous
figure in the foreground. Above, is Christ;
opposite and below, a female that suggests
the Madonna. In the same manner Elias,
or the inspired prophet, is the opposite to
the maniac boy ; the former inspired by the
celestial', the latter, by the demonic. So
Moses, the law-giver, is antithetic to the
old disciple that has the roll of the Law in
his hand. So, too, in the posture, Elias
floats freely, while Moses is brought against
the tree, and mars the impression of free
self-support. The heavy tables of the Law
seem to draw him down, while Elias seems
to have difficulty in descending sufficiently
to place himself in subordination to
Christ.
Even the contradiction that the under
standing finds in the abridgment of the
mountain, is corrected sensuously by the
perspective at the right, and the shade that
the edge of the rock casts which isolates
the above so completely from the below.
We see that Raphael has brought them
to a secluded spot just near the top of the
mountain. The view of the distant vale
tells us as effectually that this is ar moun
tain top as could be done by a full length
painting of it. Hence the criticism rests
upon a misunderstanding of the fact Ra
phael has portrayed.
VII. ROMANTIC VS. CLASSIC.
Finally, we must recur to those distinc
tions so much talked of, in order to intro
duce the consideration of the grandest
strokes of genius which Raphael has dis
played in this work.
The distinction of Classic and Romantic
Art, of Greek Art from Christian : the form
er is characterized by a complete repose, or
equilibrium between the Sense and Rea
son—or between matter and form. The
idea seems completely expressed, and the
expression completely adequate to the idea.
But in Christian Art we do not find this
equilibrium; but everywhere we find an
intimation that the idea is too transcend
ent for the matter to express. Hence, Ro
mantic Art is self contradictory—it ex
presses the inadequacy of expression.
“ I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.”
In Gothic Architecture, all strives up
ward and seems to derive its support from
above (i. e. the Spiritual, light). All Ro
mantic Art points to a beyond. The Ma
donnas seem to say : "'lama beyond which
cannot be represented in a sensuous form;”
“a saintly contempt for the flesh hovers
about their features.” as some one has ex
pressed it.
But in this picture, Christ himself, no
more a child in the Madonna’s arms, but
even in his meridian glory, looks beyond,
and expresses dependence on a Being who
is not and cannot be represented. His face
is serene, beatific ; he is at unity with this
Absolute Being, but the unity is an inter
nal one, and his upraised gaze towards the
source of light is a plain statement that the
True which supports him is not a sensuous
one. <£ God dwelleth not in temples made
with hands; but those who would ap
proach Him must do it in spirit and in
truth.”
This is the idea which belongs to the
method of all modern Art; but Raphael
has not left this as the general spirit of
the picture merely, but has emphasized it
in a way that exhibits the happy temper of
his genius in dealing with refractory sub
jects. And this last point has proved too
much for his critics. Reference is made
�Introduction to Philosophy.
to the two saints painted at the left. How
fine it would be, thought the Cardinal de
Medici, to have St. Lawrence and St. Ju
lian painted in there, to commemorate my
father and uncle! They can represent
mediators, and thereby connect the two
parts of the picture more closely !
Of course, Raphael put them in there !
“Alas 1” say his critics, “ what a fatal mis
take ! What have those two figures to
do there but to mar the work! All for
the gratification of a selfish pride!”
Always trust an Artist to dispose of the
Finite ; he, of all men, knows how to digest
it and subordinate it to the idea.
Raphael wanted just such figures in just
that place. Of course, the most natural
thing in the world that could happen, would
be the ascent of some one to bear the mes
sage to Christ that there was need of him
below. But what is the effect of that upon
the work as a piece of Romantic Art? It
would destroy that characteristic- if per
mitted in certain forms. Raphael, how
ever, seizes upon this incident to show the
entire spiritual character of the upper part
of the picture. The disciples are dazzled
so, that even the firm Peter cannot endure
the light at all. Is this a physical light?
Look at the messengers that have come up
the mountain ! Do their eyes indicate any
thing bright, not to say dazzling? They
stand there with supplicating looks and
gestures, but see no transfiguration. It
must be confessed, Cardinal de Medici,
57
that your uncle and father are not much
complimented, after all; they are merely
natural men, and have no inner sense by
which to see the Eternal Verities that il
lume the mystery of existence! Even if
you are Cardinal, and they were Popes’
counselors, they never saw anything higher
in Religion than what should add comfort
to us here below!
No! The transfiguration, as Raphael
clearly tells us, was a Spiritual one : Christ,
on the mountain with his favored three
disciples, opened up such celestial clear
ness in his exposition of the truth, that
they saw Moses and Elias, as it were, com
bined in one Person, and a new Heaven
and a new Earth arose before them, and
they were lost in that revelation of infinite
splendor.
In closing, a remark forces itself upon
us with reference to the comparative mer
its of Raphael and Michael Angelo.
Raphael is the perfection of Romantic
Art. Michael Angelo is almost a Greek.
His paintings all seem to bei pictures of
statuary. In his grandest—The Last Judg
ment—we have the visible presence as the
highest. Art with him could represent the
Absolute. With Raphael it could only, in
its loftiest flights, express its own impo
tence.
Whether we are to consider Raphael or
Michael Angelo as the higher artist, must
be decided by an investigation of the mer
its of the “Last Judgment.”
INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
The object of this series is to furnish,
in as popular a form as possible, a course
of discipline for those who are beginning
the study of philosophy. Strictly popular,
in the sense the word is used—i. e. sig
nifying that which holds fast to the ordi
nary consciousness of men, and does not
take flights beyond—I am well aware, no
philosophy can be. The nearest approach
to it that can be made, consists in starting
from the common external views, and
1
drawing them into the speculative, stepbv
step. For this purpose the method of defi
nitions and axioms, with deductions there
from, as employed by Spinoza, is more ap
propriate at first, and afterwards a gradual
approach to the Dialectic, or true philoso
phic method. In the mathematical method
(that of Spinoza just alluded to) the con
tent may be speculative, but its form,
never. Hence the student of philosophy
needs only to turn his attention to the
content at first ; when that becomes in a
�58
Introduction to Philosophy.
measure familiar, he can then the more others put into ordinary phrases. He
readily pass over to the true form of the does not seem to think that the concepts
speculative content, and thus achieve com likewise are new. It is just as though an
plete insight. A course of discipline in Indian were to say to the carpenter, “I
the speculative content, though under an could make as good work as you, if I only
inadequate form, would make a grand had the secret of using my finger-nails and
preparation for the study of Hegel or teeth as you do the plane and saw.” Spec
Plato; while a study of these, or, in short, ulative philosophy—it cannot be too early
of any writers who employ speculative inculcated—does not “ conceal under cum
methods in treating speculative content— brous terminology views which men ordin
a study of these without previous ac arily hold.” The ordinary reflection would
quaintance with the content is well nigh say that Being is the ground of thought,
fruitless. One needs only to read the while speculative philosophy would say
comments of translators of Plato upon his that thought is the ground of Being;
speculative passages, or the prevailing whether of other being, or of itself as
verdicts upon Hegel, to be satisfied on this being—for it is causa sui.
point.
Let us now address ourselves to the task
The course that I shall here present will of elaborating our technique—the tools of
embody my own experience, to a great ex thought—and see what new worlds become
tent, in the chronological order of its de accessible through our mental telescopes
velopment. Each lesson will endeavor to and microscopes, our analytical scalpels
present an aperçu derived from some great and psychological plummets.
philosopher. Those coming later will pre
I.---- A PRIORI AND A POSTERIORI.
suppose the earlier ones, and frequently
throw new light upon them.
A priori, as applied to knowledge, signi
As one who undertakes the manufacture fies that which belongs to the nature of' the
of an elegant piece of furniture needs mind itself. Knowledge which is before
carefully elaborated tools for that end, so experience, or not dependent on it, is a
must the thinker who wishes to compre priori.
hend the universe be equipped with the
A posteriori or empirical knowledge is
tools of thought, or else he will come off derived from experience.
as poorly as he who should undertake to
A criterion to be applied in order to test
make a carved mahogany chair with no the application of these categories to any
tools except his teeth and finger nails. knowledge in question, is to be found in
What complicated machinery is required universality and necessity. If the truth ex
to transmute the rough ores into an Ameri pressed has universal and necessary valid
can watch! And yet how common is the ity it must be a priori, for it could not have
delusion that no elaboration of tools of been derived from experience. Of empir
thought is required to enable the common ical knowledge we can only say: “ It is
est mind to manipulate the highest sub true so far as experience has extended.”
jects of investigation. The alchemy that Of a priori knowledge, on the contrary, we
turned base metal into gold is only a sym affirm: “ It is universally and necessarily
bol of that cunning alchemy of thought true and no experience of its opposite can
that by means of the philosopher’s stone possibly occur; from the very nature of
(scientific method) dissolves the base/ac/s things it must be so.”
of experience into universal truths.
II.---- ANALYTICAL AND SYNTHETICAL.
The uninitiated regards the philosophic
treatment of a theme as difficult solely by
A judgment which, in the predicate,
reason of its technical terms. “If I only adds nothing new to the subject, is said to
understood your use of words, I think I be analytical, as e. g. “ Horse is an ani
should find no difficulty in your thought.” mal;”—the concept “animal” is already
He supposes that under those bizarre terms contained in that of “horse.”
there lurks only the meaning that he and
Synthetical judgments, on the contrary,
�59
Introduction to Philosophy.
add in the predicate something new to the
conception of the subject, as e. g. “This
rose is red,” or “ The shortest distance
between two points is a straight line ;”—in
the first judgment we have “red” added
to the general concept “rose;” while in
the second example we have straightness,
which is quality, added to shortest, which
is quantity.
III.—APODEICTICAL.
Omitting the consideration of aposteriori
knowledge for the present, let us investi
gate the a priori in order to learn some
thing of the constitution of the intelligence
which knows—always a proper subject for
philosophy. Since, moreover, the a priori
analytical (“ A horse is an animal ”) adds
nothing to our knowledge, we may con
fine ourselves, as Kant does, to a priori
synthetical knowledge. The axioms of
mathematics are of this character. They
are universal and necessary in their appli
cation, and we know this without milking
a single practical experiment. “Only one
straight line can be drawn between two
points,” or the proposition : “The sum of
the three angles of a triangle is equal to
two right angles,”—these are true in all
possible experiences, and hence transcend
any actual experience. Take any a poste
riori judgment, e. g. “All bodies are
heavy,” and we see at once that it im
plies the restriction, “ So far as we have
experienced,” or else is a mere analytical
judgment. The universal and necessary is
sometimes called the apodeictical. The
conception of the apodeictical lies at the
basis of all true philosophical thinking.
He who does not distinguish between apodeictic and contingent judgments must
pause here until he can do so.
IV. SPACE AND TIME.
In order to give a more exhaustive appli
cation to our technique, let us seek the
universal conditions of experience. The
mathematical truths that we quoted re
late to Space, and similar ones relate to
Time. No experience would be possible
without presupposing Time and Space as
its logical condition. Indeed, we should
never conceive our sensations to have an
origin outside of ourselves and in distinct
objects, unless we had the conception of
Space a priori by which to render it pos
sible. Instead, therefore, of our being
able to generalize particular experiences,
and collect therefrom the idea of Space
and Time in general, we must have added
the idea of Space and Time to our sensa
tion before it could possibly become an
experience at all. This becomes more clear
when we recur to the apodeictic nature of
Space and Time. Time and Space are
thought as infinites, i. e. they can only be
limited by themselves, and hence are uni
versally continuous. But no 6uch concep
tion as infinite can be derived analytically
from an object of experience, for it does
not contain it. All objects of experience
must be within Time and Space, and not
vice versa. All that is limited in extent
and duration presupposes Time and Space
as its logical condition, and this we know,
not from the senses but from the constitu
tion of Reason itself. “ The third side of a
triangle is less than the sum of the two
other sides.” This we never measured, and
yet we are certain that we cannot be mis
taken about it. It is so in all triangles,
present, past, future, actual, or possible.
If this was an inference a posteriori, we
could only say : “ It has been found to be
so in all cases that have been measured
and reported to us.”
v. MIND.
Mind has a certain a priori constitution ;
this is our inference. It must be so, or
else we could never have any experience
whatever. It is the only way in which the
possibility of apodeictic knowledge can be
accounted for. What I do not get from
without I must get from within, if I have
it at all. Mind, it would seem from this,
cannot be, according to its nature, a finite
affair—a thing with properties. Were it
limited in Time or Space, it could never
(without transcending itself) conceive Time
and Space as universally continuous or in
finite. Mind is not within Time and Space,
it is as universal and necessary as the
apodeictic judgments it forms, and hence
it is the substantial essence of all that ex
ists. Time and Space are the logical con
ditions of finite existences, and Mind is
�60
Seed Life.
the logical condition of Time and Space.
Hence it is ridiculous to speak of my mind
and your mind, for mind is rather the uni
versal substrate of all individuality than
owned by any particular individual.
These results are so startling to the one
who first begins to think, that he is tempt
ed to reject the whole. If he does not do
this, but scrutinizes the whole fabric keen
ly, he will discover wThat he supposes to be
fallacies. We cannot anticipate the an
swer to his objections here, for his objec
tions arise from his inability to distinguish
between his imagination and his thinking
and this must be treated of in the next
chapter. Here, we can only interpose an
earnest request to the reader to persevere
and thoroughly refute the whole argument
before he leaves it. But this is only one
and the most elementary position from
which the philosophic traveller sees the
Eternal Verities. Every perfect analysis
—no matter what the subject be—will bring
us to the same result, though the degrees
of concreteness will vary,—some leaving
the solution in an abstract and vague form,
—others again arriving at a complete and
satisfactory view of the matter in detail.
SEED LIFE.
BY E. V.
Ah ! woe for the endless stirring,
The hunger for air and light,
The fire of the blazing noonday
Wrapped round in a chilling night!
The muffled throb of an instinct
That is kin to the mystic To Be ;
Strong muscles, cut with their fetters,
As they writhe with claim to be free.
A voice that cries out in the silence,
And is choked in a stifling air;
Arms full of an endless reaching,
While the “Nay” stands everywhere.
The burning of conscious selfhood,
That fights with pitiless fate !
God grant that deliverance stay not,
Till it come at last too late ;
Till the crushed out instinct waver,
And fainter and fainter grow,
And by suicide, through unusing,
Seek freedom from its woe.
Oh ! despair of constant losing
The life that is clutched in vain!
Is it death or a joyous growing
That shall put an end to pain ?
�Dialogue on Immortality.
61
A DIALOGUE ON IMMORTALITY.
BY ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER.
(Translated from the German, by Chas. L. Bernays.)
Philalethes.—I could tell you that, after
your death, you will be what you were pre
vious to your birth; I could tell you that
we are never born, and that we only seem
to die—that we have always been precisely
the same that we are now, and that we
shall always remain the same—that Time
is the apparatus which prevents us from
being aware of all this; I could tell you
that our consciousness stands always in
the centre of Time — never on one of its
termini; and that any one among us,
therefore, has the immovable centre of
the whole infinite Time in himself. I then
could tell you that those who, by that
knowledge, are assured that the present
time always originates in ourselves, can
never doubt the indestructibility of their
own essence.
Thrasymachus.—All of that is too long
and too ambiguous for me. Tell me,
briefly, what I shall be after death.
Phil.—All and nothing.
Thras.—There we are ! Instead of a so
lution to the problem you give me a con
tradiction ; that is an old trick.
Phil.—To answer transcendental ques
tions in language that is only made for
immanent perceptions, may in fact lead us
into contradictions.
Thras.—What do you mean by “ trans
cendental” and “immanent” perceptions?
Phil.—Well! Transcendental perception
is rather the knowledge, which, by exceed
ing any possibility of experience, tends to
discover the essence of things as they are
by themselves ; immanent perception it is,
if it keeps inside of the limits of experi
ence. In this case, it can only speak of
appearances. You, as an individual, end
with your death. Yet individuality is not
your true and final essence, but only a
mere appearance of it. It is not the thing
in itself, but only its appearance, estab
lished in the form of time, thereby having
a beginning and an end. That which is es
sential in you, knows neither of beginning
nor ending, nor of Time itself; it knows
no limits such as belong to a given indi
viduality, but exists in all and in each. In
the first sense, therefore, you will become
nothing after your death; in the second
sense, you are and remain all. For that
reason I said you would be all and nothing.
You desired a short answer, and I believe
that hardly a more correct answer could be
given briefly. No wonder, too, that it con
tains a contradiction; for your life is in
Time, while your immortality is in Eter
nity.
Thras. — Without the continuation of
my individuality, I would not give a far
thing for all youi- “immortality/’
Phil.—Perhaps you could have it even
cheaper. Suppose that I warrant to you
the continuation of your individuality, but
under the condition that a perfectly un
conscious slumber of death for three
months should precede its resuscitation.
Thras.—Well, I accept the condition.
Phil. — Now, in an absolutely uncon
scious condition, we have no measure of
time; hence it is perfectly indifferent
whether, whilst we lie asleep in death in
the unconscious world, three months or
ten thousand years are passing away. We
do not know either of the one or of the
other, and have to accept some one’s word
with regard to the duration of our sleep,
when we awake. Hence it is indifferent
to you whether your individuality is given
back to you after three months or after
ten thousand years.
Thras.—That I cannot deny.
Phil. — Now, suppose that after ten
thousand years, one had' forgotten to
awake you at all, then I believe that the
long, long state of non-being would be
come so habitual to you that your mis
fortune could hardly be very great. Cer
tain it is, any way, that you would know
nothing of it; nay, you would even console
yourself very easily, if you were aware
that the secret mechanism which now keeps
�62
Dialogue on Immortality.
your actual appearance in motion, had not
ceased during all the ten thousand years
for a single moment to establish and to
move other beings of the same kind.
Thras.—In that manner you mean to
cheat me out of my individuality, do you?
I will not be fooled in that way. I have
bargained for the continuation of my in
dividuality, and none of your motives can
console me for the loss of that; I have it
at heart, and I never will abandon it.
Phil.—It seems that you hold individu
ality to be so noble, so perfect, so incom
parable, that there can be nothing superior
to it; you therefore would not like to ex
change it for another one, though in that,
you could live with greater ease and per
fection.
Thras.—Let my individuality be as it'
may, it is always myself. It is I—I my
self—who want to be. That is the indi
viduality which I insist upon, and not such
a one as needs argument to convince me
that it may be my own or a better one.
Phil. — Only look about you! That
which cries out—{CI, I myself, wish to ex
ist”—that is not yourself alone, but all
that has the least vestige of consciousness.
Hence this desire of yours, is just that
which is not individual, but common
rather to all without exception; it does
not originate in individuality, but in the
very nature of existence itself; it is es
sential to anybody who lives, nay, it is
that through which it is at all; it seems
to belong only to the individual because
it can become conscious only in the indi
vidual. What cries in us so loud for ex
istence, does so only through the media
tion of the individual; immediately and
essentially it is the will to exist or to live,
and this will is one and the same in all of
us. Our existence being only the free
work of the will, existence can never fail
to belong to it, as far, at least, as that
eternally dissatisfied will, can be satisfied.
The individualities are indifferent to the
will; it never speaks of them; though it
seems to the individual, who, in himself is
the immediate percipient of it, as if it
spoke only of his own individuality. The
consequence is, that the individual cares
for his own existence with so great
anxiety, and that he thereby secures the
preservation of his kind. Hence it fol
lows that individuality is no perfection,
but rather a restriction or imperfection ;
to get rid of it is not a loss but a gain.
Hence, if you would not appeal at once
childish and ridiculous, you should aban
don that care for mere individuality; for
childish and ridiculous it will appear
when you perceive your own essence to be
the universal will to live.
Thras.—You yourself and all philoso
phers are childish and ridiculous, and in
fact it is only for a momentary diversion
that a man of good common sense ever
consents to squander away an idle hour
with the like of you. I leave your talk for
weightier matters.
[The reader will perceive by the posi
tions here assumed that Schopenhauer has
a truly speculative stand-point; that he
holds self-determination to be the only
substantial (or abiding) reality. But
while Aristotle and those like him have
seized this more definitely as the selfconscious thinking, it is evident that
Schopenhauer seizes it only from its im
mediate side, i. e. as the will. On this
account he meets with some difficulty in
solving the problem of immortality, and
leaves the question of conscious identity
hereafter, not a little obscure. Ilegel, on
the contrary, for whom Schopenhauer
everywhere evinces a hearty contempt,
does not leave the individual in any doubt
as to his destiny, but shows how individu
ality and universality coincide in self-con
sciousness, so that the desire for eternal
existence is fully satisfied. This is the
legitimate result that Philalethes arrives
at in his last speech, when he makes the
individuality a product of the will; for if
the will is the essential that he holds it to
be, and the product of its activity is indi
viduality, of course individuality belongs
eternally to it. At the close of his Philos
ophy of Nature, (Encyclopaedia, vol. II.,)
Ilegel shows how death which follows life
in the mere animal—and in man as mere
animal—enters consciousness as one of its
necessary elements, and hence does not
stand opposed to it as it does to animal
life. Conscious being (Spirit or Mind as
it may be called,) is therefore immortal
because it contains already, within itself,
its limits or determinations, and thus can
not, like finite things, encounter dissolu
tion through external ones.—Ed.]
�Goethes Theory oj Colors.
63
GOETHE’S THEORY OF COLORS.
Krom an exposition given before the St. Louis Philosophical Society, Nov. 2nd, 1866.
I. —Color arises through the reciprocal
action of light and darkness.
(a.) When a light object is seen through
a medium that dims it, it appears of differ
ent degrees of yellow; if the medium is
dark or dense, the color is orange, or ap
proaches red. Examples : the sun seen in
the morning through a slightly hazy atmos
phere appears yellow, but if the air is
thick with mist or smoke the sun looks red.
(&.) On the other hand a dark object,
seen through a medium slightly illuminat
ed, looks blue. If the medium is very
strongly illuminated, the blue approaches
a light blue; if less so, then indigo; if
still less, the deep violet appears. Ex
amples: a mountain situated at a great
distance, from which very few rays of light
come, looks blue, because we see it through
a light medium, the air illuminated by the
sun. The sky at high altitudes appears of
a deep violet; at still higher ones, almost
perfectly black; at lower ones, of a faint
blue. Smoke—an illuminated medium—
appears blue against a dark ground, but
yellow or fiery against a light ground.
(c.) The process of bluing steel is a
fine illustration of Goethe’s theory. The
steel is polished so that it reflects light
like a mirror. On placing it in the char
coal furnace a film of oxydization begins to
form so that the light is reflected through
this dimming medium; this gives a straw
color. Then, as the film thickens, the
color deepens, passing through red to blue
and indigo.
(d.) The prism is the grand instrument
in the experimental field of research into
light. The current theory that light, when
pure, is composed of seven colors, is de
rived from supposed actual verifications
with this instrument. The Goethean ex
planation is by far the simplest, and, in
the end, it propounds a question which
the Newtonian theory cannot answer with
out admitting the truth of Goethe’s theory.
II. —The phenomenon of refraction is
produced by interposing different trans
parent media between the luminous object
and the illuminated one, in such a manner
that there arises an apparent displacement
of one of the objects as viewed from the
other. By means of a prism the displace
ment is caused to lack uniformity; one
part of the light image is displaced more
than another part; several images, as it
were, being formed with different de
grees of displacement, so that they to
gether make an image whose edges are
blurred in the line of displacement. If
the displacement were perfectly uniform,
no color would arise, as is’demonstrated
by the achromatic prism or lens. The
difference of degrees of refraction causes
the elongation of the image into a spec
trum, and hence a mingling of the edges
of the image with the outlying dark sur
face of the wall, (which dark surface is
essential to the production of the ordinary
spectrum). Its rationale is the following :
(a) The light image refracted by the
prism is extended over the dark on one
side, while the dark on the other side is
extended over it.
(Z>) The bright over the dark produces
the blue in different degrees. The side
nearest the dark being the deepest or vio
let, and the side nearest the light image
being the lightest blue.
(c) On the other side, the dark over light
produces yellow in different degrees; near
est the dark we have the deepest color,
(orange approaching to red) and on the
side nearest the light, the light yellow or
saffron tint.
(d) If the image is large and but little
refracted (as with a water prism) there will
appear between the two opposite colored
edges a colorless image, proving that the
colors arise from the mingling of the light
and dark edges, and not from any peculiar
property of the prism which should “ de
compose the ray of light,” as the current
theory expresses it. If the latter theory
�64
Goethe's Theory of Colors.
were correct the decomposition would be
throughout, and the whole image be col
ored.
fe) If the image is a small one, or it is
very strongly refracted, the colored edges
come together in the middle, and the ming
ling of the light yellow with the light blue
produces green—a new color which did
not appear so long as the light ground
appeared in the middle.
(/) If the refraction is still stronger,
the edges of the opposite colors lap still
more, and the green vanishes. The New
tonian theory cannot explain this, but it is
to be expected according to Goethe’s the
ory.
(<7) According to Goethe’s theory, if the
object were a dark one instead of a light
one, and were refracted on a light surface,
the order of colors would be reversed on
each edge of the image. This is the same
experiment as one makes by looking
through a prism at the bar of a window
appearing against the sky. Where in the
light image we had the yellow colors we
should now expect the blue, for now it is
dark over light where before it was light
over dark. So, also, where we had blue
we should now have yellow. This experi
ment may be so conducted that the cur
rent doctrine that violet is refracted the
most, and red the least, shall be refuted^
(h) This constitutes the experimentum
crucis. If the prism be a large water prism,
and a black strip be pasted across the mid
dle of it, parallel with its axis, so that in
the midst of the image a dark shadow in
tervenes, the spectrum appears inverted in
the middle, so that the red is seen where
the green would otherwise appear, and
those rays supposed to be the least re
frangible are found refracted the most.
(i) When the two colored edges do not
meet in this latter experiment, we have
blue, indigo, violet, as the ordQf on one
side; and on the other, orange, yellow,
saffron ; the deeper colors being next to
the dark image. If the two colored edges
come together the union of the orange with
the violet produces the perfect red (called
by Goethe (f purpur
(J) The best method of making experi
ments is not the one that Newton employ
ed—that of a dark room and a pencil of
light—but it is better to look at dark and
bright stripes on grounds of the opposite
hue, or at the bars of a window, the prism
being held in the hand of the investigator.
In the Newtonian form of the experiment
one is apt to forget the importance of the
dark edge where it meets the light.
[For further information on this inter
esting subject the English reader is refer
red to Eastlake’s translation of Goethe’s
Philosophy of Colors, published in Lon
don.]
�
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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The Journal of Speculative Philosophy. Vol. 1, No. 1, 1867
Description
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Place of publication: [St. Louis, Miss.]
Collation: [1]-64 p. ; 25 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Journal edited by William Torrey Harris. Printed in double columns. Complete issue: Contents include an article on Herbert Spencer -- Introduction to Fichte's science of knowledge / trans. A.E. Kroeger -- Analytical and critical essay upon the aesthetics of Hegel / M. Ch. Bebards, trans. J.A. Martling -- Notes on Raphael's 'Transfiguration' -- A dialogue on immortality / Arthur Schopenhauer -- Goethe's theory of colours.
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1867
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[Pennsylvania State University Press]
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Philosophy
Periodicals
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Conway Tracts
Philosophy