{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38427/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38427","id":"gutenberg_38427","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38427","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Idea (Philosophy)","Knowledge, Theory of","Philosophy","Will"],"text":"The World As Will And Idea\n\n                                    By\n\n                           Arthur Schopenhauer\n\n                      Translated From The German By\n\n                           R. B. Haldane, M.A.\n\n                                   And\n\n                              J. Kemp, M.A.\n\n                                 Vol. I.\n\n                          Containing Four Books.\n\n            \u201cOb nicht Natur zuletzt sich doch erg\u00fcnde?\u201d\u2014GOETHE\n\n                             Seventh Edition\n\n                                  London\n\n                    Kegan Paul, Trench, Tr\u00fcbner & Co.\n\n                                   1909\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nTranslators\u2019 Preface.\nPreface To The First Edition.\nPreface To The Second Edition.\nFirst Book. The World As Idea.\n   First Aspect. The Idea Subordinated To The Principle Of Sufficient\n   Reason: The Object Of Experience And Science.\nSecond Book. The World As Will.\n   First Aspect. The Objectification Of The Will.\nThird Book. The World As Idea.\n   Second Aspect. The Idea Independent Of The Principle Of Sufficient\n   Reason: The Platonic Idea: The Object Of Art.\nFourth Book. The World As Will.\n   Second Aspect. The Assertion And Denial Of The Will To Live, When\n   Self-Consciousness Has Been Attained.\nFootnotes\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATORS\u2019 PREFACE.\n\n\nThe style of \u201cDie Welt als Wille und Vorstellung\u201d is sometimes loose and\ninvolved, as is so often the case in German philosophical treatises. The\ntranslation of the book has consequently been a matter of no little\ndifficulty. It was found that extensive alteration of the long and\noccasionally involved sentences, however likely to prove conducive to a\nsatisfactory English style, tended not only to obliterate the form of the\noriginal but even to imperil the meaning. Where a choice has had to be\nmade, the alternative of a somewhat slavish adherence to Schopenhauer\u2019s\n_ipsissima verba_ has accordingly been preferred to that of inaccuracy.\nThe result is a piece of work which leaves much to be desired, but which\nhas yet consistently sought to reproduce faithfully the spirit as well as\nthe letter of the original.\n\nAs regards the rendering of the technical terms about which there has been\nso much controversy, the equivalents used have only been adopted after\ncareful consideration of their meaning in the theory of knowledge. For\nexample, \u201cVorstellung\u201d has been rendered by \u201cidea,\u201d in preference to\n\u201crepresentation,\u201d which is neither accurate, intelligible, nor elegant.\n\u201cIdee,\u201d is translated by the same word, but spelled with a\ncapital,\u2014\u201cIdea.\u201d Again, \u201cAnschauung\u201d has been rendered according to the\ncontext, either by \u201cperception\u201d simply, or by \u201cintuition or perception.\u201d\n\nNotwithstanding statements to the contrary in the text, the book is\nprobably quite intelligible in itself, apart from the treatise \u201cOn the\nFourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason.\u201d It has, however,\nbeen considered desirable to add an abstract of the latter work in an\nappendix to the third volume of this translation.\n\nR. B. H.\n\nJ. K.\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.\n\n\nI propose to point out here how this book must be read in order to be\nthoroughly understood. By means of it I only intend to impart a single\nthought. Yet, notwithstanding all my endeavours, I could find no shorter\nway of imparting it than this whole book. I hold this thought to be that\nwhich has very long been sought for under the name of philosophy, and the\ndiscovery of which is therefore regarded by those who are familiar with\nhistory as quite as impossible as the discovery of the philosopher\u2019s\nstone, although it was already said by Pliny: _Quam multa fieri non posse,\npriusquam sint facta, judicantur?_ (Hist. nat. 7, 1.)\n\nAccording as we consider the different aspects of this one thought which I\nam about to impart, it exhibits itself as that which we call metaphysics,\nthat which we call ethics, and that which we call \u00e6sthetics; and certainly\nit must be all this if it is what I have already acknowledged I take it to\nbe.\n\nA _system of thought_ must always have an architectonic connection or\ncoherence, that is, a connection in which one part always supports the\nother, though the latter does not support the former, in which ultimately\nthe foundation supports all the rest without being supported by it, and\nthe apex is supported without supporting. On the other hand, a _single\nthought_, however comprehensive it may be, must preserve the most perfect\nunity. If it admits of being broken up into parts to facilitate its\ncommunication, the connection of these parts must yet be organic, _i.e._,\nit must be a connection in which every part supports the whole just as\nmuch as it is supported by it, a connection in which there is no first and\nno last, in which the whole thought gains distinctness through every part,\nand even the smallest part cannot be completely understood unless the\nwhole has already been grasped. A book, however, must always have a first\nand a last line, and in this respect will always remain very unlike an\norganism, however like one its content may be: thus form and matter are\nhere in contradiction.\n\nIt is self-evident that under these circumstances no other advice can be\ngiven as to how one may enter into the thought explained in this work than\n_to read the book twice_, and the first time with great patience, a\npatience which is only to be derived from the belief, voluntarily\naccorded, that the beginning presupposes the end almost as much as the end\npresupposes the beginning, and that all the earlier parts presuppose the\nlater almost as much as the later presuppose the earlier. I say \u201calmost;\u201d\nfor this is by no means absolutely the case, and I have honestly and\nconscientiously done all that was possible to give priority to that which\nstands least in need of explanation from what follows, as indeed generally\nto everything that can help to make the thought as easy to comprehend and\nas distinct as possible. This might indeed to a certain extent be achieved\nif it were not that the reader, as is very natural, thinks, as he reads,\nnot merely of what is actually said, but also of its possible\nconsequences, and thus besides the many contradictions actually given of\nthe opinions of the time, and presumably of the reader, there may be added\nas many more which are anticipated and imaginary. That, then, which is\nreally only misunderstanding, must take the form of active disapproval,\nand it is all the more difficult to recognise that it is misunderstanding,\nbecause although the laboriously-attained clearness of the explanation and\ndistinctness of the expression never leaves the immediate sense of what is\nsaid doubtful, it cannot at the same time express its relations to all\nthat remains to be said. Therefore, as we have said, the first perusal\ndemands patience, founded on confidence that on a second perusal much, or\nall, will appear in an entirely different light. Further, the earnest\nendeavour to be more completely and even more easily comprehended in the\ncase of a very difficult subject, must justify occasional repetition.\nIndeed the structure of the whole, which is organic, not a mere chain,\nmakes it necessary sometimes to touch on the same point twice. Moreover\nthis construction, and the very close connection of all the parts, has not\nleft open to me the division into chapters and paragraphs which I should\notherwise have regarded as very important, but has obliged me to rest\nsatisfied with four principal divisions, as it were four aspects of one\nthought. In each of these four books it is especially important to guard\nagainst losing sight, in the details which must necessarily be discussed,\nof the principal thought to which they belong, and the progress of the\nwhole exposition. I have thus expressed the first, and like those which\nfollow, unavoidable demand upon the reader, who holds the philosopher in\nsmall favour just because he himself is a philosopher.\n\nThe second demand is this, that the introduction be read before the book\nitself, although it is not contained in the book, but appeared five years\nearlier under the title, \u201c_Ueber die vierfache Wurzel des Satzes vom\nzureichenden Grunde: eine philosophische Abhandlung_\u201d (On the fourfold\nroot of the principle of sufficient reason: a philosophical essay).\nWithout an acquaintance with this introduction and propadeutic it is\nabsolutely impossible to understand the present work properly, and the\ncontent of that essay will always be presupposed in this work just as if\nit were given with it. Besides, even if it had not preceded this book by\nseveral years, it would not properly have been placed before it as an\nintroduction, but would have been incorporated in the first book. As it\nis, the first book does not contain what was said in the earlier essay,\nand it therefore exhibits a certain incompleteness on account of these\ndeficiencies, which must always be supplied by reference to it. However,\nmy disinclination was so great either to quote myself or laboriously to\nstate again in other words what I had already said once in an adequate\nmanner, that I preferred this course, notwithstanding the fact that I\nmight now be able to give the content of that essay a somewhat better\nexpression, chiefly by freeing it from several conceptions which resulted\nfrom the excessive influence which the Kantian philosophy had over me at\nthe time, such as\u2014categories, outer and inner sense, and the like. But\neven there these conceptions only occur because as yet I had never really\nentered deeply into them, therefore only by the way and quite out of\nconnection with the principal matter. The correction of such passages in\nthat essay will consequently take place of its own accord in the mind of\nthe reader through his acquaintance with the present work. But only if we\nhave fully recognised by means of that essay what the principle of\nsufficient reason is and signifies, what its validity extends to, and what\nit does not extend to, and that that principle is not before all things,\nand the whole world merely in consequence of it, and in conformity to it,\na corollary, as it were, of it; but rather that it is merely the form in\nwhich the object, of whatever kind it may be, which is always conditioned\nby the subject, is invariably known so far as the subject is a knowing\nindividual: only then will it be possible to enter into the method of\nphilosophy which is here attempted for the first time, and which is\ncompletely different from all previous methods.\n\nBut the same disinclination to repeat myself word for word, or to say the\nsame thing a second time in other and worse words, after I have deprived\nmyself of the better, has occasioned another defect in the first book of\nthis work. For I have omitted all that is said in the first chapter of my\nessay \u201cOn Sight and Colour,\u201d which would otherwise have found its place\nhere, word for word. Therefore the knowledge of this short, earlier work\nis also presupposed.\n\nFinally, the third demand I have to make on the reader might indeed be\ntacitly assumed, for it is nothing but an acquaintance with the most\nimportant phenomenon that has appeared in philosophy for two thousand\nyears, and that lies so near us: I mean the principal writings of Kant. It\nseems to me, in fact, as indeed has already been said by others, that the\neffect these writings produce in the mind to which they truly speak is\nvery like that of the operation for cataract on a blind man: and if we\nwish to pursue the simile further, the aim of my own work may be described\nby saying that I have sought to put into the hands of those upon whom that\noperation has been successfully performed a pair of spectacles suitable to\neyes that have recovered their sight\u2014spectacles of whose use that\noperation is the absolutely necessary condition. Starting then, as I do to\na large extent, from what has been accomplished by the great Kant, I have\nyet been enabled, just on account of my earnest study of his writings, to\ndiscover important errors in them. These I have been obliged to separate\nfrom the rest and prove to be false, in order that I might be able to\npresuppose and apply what is true and excellent in his doctrine, pure and\nfreed from error. But not to interrupt and complicate my own exposition by\na constant polemic against Kant, I have relegated this to a special\nappendix. It follows then, from what has been said, that my work\npresupposes a knowledge of this appendix just as much as it presupposes a\nknowledge of the philosophy of Kant; and in this respect it would\ntherefore be advisable to read the appendix first, all the more as its\ncontent is specially related to the first book of the present work. On the\nother hand, it could not be avoided, from the nature of the case, that\nhere and there the appendix also should refer to the text of the work; and\nthe only result of this is, that the appendix, as well as the principal\npart of the work, must be read twice.\n\nThe philosophy of Kant, then, is the only philosophy with which a thorough\nacquaintance is directly presupposed in what we have to say here. But if,\nbesides this, the reader has lingered in the school of the divine Plato,\nhe will be so much the better prepared to hear me, and susceptible to what\nI say. And if, indeed, in addition to this he is a partaker of the benefit\nconferred by the Vedas, the access to which, opened to us through the\nUpanishads, is in my eyes the greatest advantage which this still young\ncentury enjoys over previous ones, because I believe that the influence of\nthe Sanscrit literature will penetrate not less deeply than did the\nrevival of Greek literature in the fifteenth century: if, I say, the\nreader has also already received and assimilated the sacred, primitive\nIndian wisdom, then is he best of all prepared to hear what I have to say\nto him. My work will not speak to him, as to many others, in a strange and\neven hostile tongue; for, if it does not sound too vain, I might express\nthe opinion that each one of the individual and disconnected aphorisms\nwhich make up the Upanishads may be deduced as a consequence from the\nthought I am going to impart, though the converse, that my thought is to\nbe found in the Upanishads, is by no means the case.\n\nBut most readers have already grown angry with impatience, and burst into\nreproaches with difficulty kept back so long. How can I venture to present\na book to the public under conditions and demands the first two of which\nare presumptuous and altogether immodest, and this at a time when there is\nsuch a general wealth of special ideas, that in Germany alone they are\nmade common property through the press, in three thousand valuable,\noriginal, and absolutely indispensable works every year, besides\ninnumerable periodicals, and even daily papers; at a time when especially\nthere is not the least deficiency of entirely original and profound\nphilosophers, but in Germany alone there are more of them alive at the\nsame time, than several centuries could formerly boast of in succession to\neach other? How is one ever to come to the end, asks the indignant reader,\nif one must set to work upon a book in such a fashion?\n\nAs I have absolutely nothing to advance against these reproaches, I only\nhope for some small thanks from such readers for having warned them in\ntime, so that they may not lose an hour over a book which it would be\nuseless to read without complying with the demands that have been made,\nand which should therefore be left alone, particularly as apart from this\nwe might wager a great deal that it can say nothing to them, but rather\nthat it will always be only _pancorum hominum_, and must therefore quietly\nand modestly wait for the few whose unusual mode of thought may find it\nenjoyable. For apart from the difficulties and the effort which it\nrequires from the reader, what cultured man of this age, whose knowledge\nhas almost reached the august point at which the paradoxical and the false\nare all one to it, could bear to meet thoughts almost on every page that\ndirectly contradict that which he has yet himself established once for all\nas true and undeniable? And then, how disagreeably disappointed will many\na one be if he finds no mention here of what he believes it is precisely\nhere he ought to look for, because his method of speculation agrees with\nthat of a great living philosopher,(1) who has certainly written pathetic\nbooks, and who only has the trifling weakness that he takes all he learned\nand approved before his fifteenth year for inborn ideas of the human mind.\nWho could stand all this? Therefore my advice is simply to lay down the\nbook.\n\nBut I fear I shall not escape even thus. The reader who has got as far as\nthe preface and been stopped by it, has bought the book for cash, and asks\nhow he is to be indemnified. My last refuge is now to remind him that he\nknows how to make use of a book in several ways, without exactly reading\nit. It may fill a gap in his library as well as many another, where,\nneatly bound, it will certainly look well. Or he can lay it on the\ntoilet-table or the tea-table of some learned lady friend. Or, finally,\nwhat certainly is best of all, and I specially advise it, he can review\nit.\n\n                  \u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\n\nAnd now that I have allowed myself the jest to which in this two-sided\nlife hardly any page can be too serious to grant a place, I part with the\nbook with deep seriousness, in the sure hope that sooner or later it will\nreach those to whom alone it can be addressed; and for the rest, patiently\nresigned that the same fate should, in full measure, befall it, that in\nall ages has, to some extent, befallen all knowledge, and especially the\nweightiest knowledge of the truth, to which only a brief triumph is\nallotted between the two long periods in which it is condemned as\nparadoxical or disparaged as trivial. The former fate is also wont to\nbefall its author. But life is short, and truth works far and lives long:\nlet us speak the truth.\n\n_Written at Dresden in August 1818._\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.\n\n\nNot to my contemporaries, not to my compatriots\u2014to mankind I commit my now\ncompleted work in the confidence that it will not be without value for\nthem, even if this should be late recognised, as is commonly the lot of\nwhat is good. For it cannot have been for the passing generation,\nengrossed with the delusion of the moment, that my mind, almost against my\nwill, has uninterruptedly stuck to its work through the course of a long\nlife. And while the lapse of time has not been able to make me doubt the\nworth of my work, neither has the lack of sympathy; for I constantly saw\nthe false and the bad, and finally the absurd and senseless,(2) stand in\nuniversal admiration and honour, and I bethought myself that if it were\nnot the case those who are capable of recognising the genuine and right\nare so rare that we may look for them in vain for some twenty years, then\nthose who are capable of producing it could not be so few that their works\nafterwards form an exception to the perishableness of earthly things; and\nthus would be lost the reviving prospect of posterity which every one who\nsets before himself a high aim requires to strengthen him.\n\nWhoever seriously takes up and pursues an object that does not lead to\nmaterial advantages, must not count on the sympathy of his contemporaries.\nFor the most part he will see, however, that in the meantime the\nsuperficial aspect of that object becomes current in the world, and enjoys\nits day; and this is as it should be. The object itself must be pursued\nfor its own sake, otherwise it cannot be attained; for any design or\nintention is always dangerous to insight. Accordingly, as the whole\nhistory of literature proves, everything of real value required a long\ntime to gain acceptance, especially if it belonged to the class of\ninstructive, not entertaining, works; and meanwhile the false flourished.\nFor to combine the object with its superficial appearance is difficult,\nwhen it is not impossible. Indeed that is just the curse of this world of\nwant and need, that everything must serve and slave for these; and\ntherefore it is not so constituted that any noble and sublime effort, like\nthe endeavour after light and truth, can prosper unhindered and exist for\nits own sake. But even if such an endeavour has once succeeded in\nasserting itself, and the conception of it has thus been introduced,\nmaterial interests and personal aims will immediately take possession of\nit, in order to make it their tool or their mask. Accordingly, when Kant\nbrought philosophy again into repute, it had soon to become the tool of\npolitical aims from above, and personal aims from below; although,\nstrictly speaking, not philosophy itself, but its ghost, that passes for\nit. This should not really astonish us; for the incredibly large majority\nof men are by nature quite incapable of any but material aims, indeed they\ncan conceive no others. Thus the pursuit of truth alone is far too lofty\nand eccentric an endeavour for us to expect all or many, or indeed even a\nfew, faithfully to take part in. If yet we see, as for example at present\nin Germany, a remarkable activity, a general moving, writing, and talking\nwith reference to philosophical subjects, we may confidently assume that,\nin spite of solemn looks and assurances, only real, not ideal aims, are\nthe actual _primum mobile_, the concealed motive of such a movement; that\nit is personal, official, ecclesiastical, political, in short, material\nends that are really kept in view, and consequently that mere party ends\nset the pens of so many pretended philosophers in such rapid motion. Thus\nsome design or intention, not the desire of insight, is the guiding star\nof these disturbers of the peace, and truth is certainly the last thing\nthat is thought of in the matter. It finds no partisans; rather, it may\npursue its way as silently and unheeded through such a philosophical riot\nas through the winter night of the darkest century bound in the rigid\nfaith of the church, when it was communicated only to a few alchemists as\nesoteric learning, or entrusted it may be only to the parchment. Indeed I\nmight say that no time can be more unfavourable to philosophy than that in\nwhich it is shamefully misused, on the one hand to further political\nobjects, on the other as a means of livelihood. Or is it believed that\nsomehow, with such effort and such a turmoil, the truth, at which it by no\nmeans aims, will also be brought to light? Truth is no prostitute, that\nthrows herself away upon those who do not desire her; she is rather so coy\na beauty that he who sacrifices everything to her cannot even then be sure\nof her favour.\n\nIf Governments make philosophy a means of furthering political ends,\nlearned men see in philosophical professorships a trade that nourishes the\nouter man just like any other; therefore they crowd after them in the\nassurance of their good intentions, that is, the purpose of subserving\nthese ends. And they keep their word: not truth, not clearness, not Plato,\nnot Aristotle, but the ends they were appointed to serve are their guiding\nstar, and become at once the criterion of what is true, valuable, and to\nbe respected, and of the opposites of these. Whatever, therefore, does not\nanswer these ends, even if it were the most important and extraordinary\nthings in their department, is either condemned, or, when this seems\nhazardous, suppressed by being unanimously ignored. Look only at their\nzeal against pantheism; will any simpleton believe that it proceeds from\nconviction? And, in general, how is it possible that philosophy, degraded\nto the position of a means of making one\u2019s bread, can fail to degenerate\ninto sophistry? Just because this is infallibly the case, and the rule, \u201cI\nsing the song of him whose bread I eat,\u201d has always held good, the making\nof money by philosophy was regarded by the ancients as the characteristic\nof the sophists. But we have still to add this, that since throughout this\nworld nothing is to be expected, can be demanded, or is to be had for gold\nbut mediocrity, we must be contented with it here also. Consequently we\nsee in all the German universities the cherished mediocrity striving to\nproduce the philosophy which as yet is not there to produce, at its own\nexpense and indeed in accordance with a predetermined standard and aim, a\nspectacle at which it would be almost cruel to mock.\n\nWhile thus philosophy has long been obliged to serve entirely as a means\nto public ends on the one side and private ends on the other, I have\npursued the course of my thought, undisturbed by them, for more than\nthirty years, and simply because I was obliged to do so and could not help\nmyself, from an instinctive impulse, which was, however, supported by the\nconfidence that anything true one may have thought, and anything obscure\none may have thrown light upon, will appeal to any thinking mind, no\nmatter when it comprehends it, and will rejoice and comfort it. To such an\none we speak as those who are like us have spoken to us, and have so\nbecome our comfort in the wilderness of this life. Meanwhile the object is\npursued on its own account and for its own sake. Now it happens curiously\nenough with philosophical meditations, that precisely that which one has\nthought out and investigated for oneself, is afterwards of benefit to\nothers; not that, however, which was originally intended for others. The\nformer is confessedly nearest in character to perfect honesty; for a man\ndoes not seek to deceive himself, nor does he offer himself empty husks;\nso that all sophistication and all mere talk is omitted, and consequently\nevery sentence that is written at once repays the trouble of reading it.\nThus my writings bear the stamp of honesty and openness so distinctly on\nthe face of them, that by this alone they are a glaring contrast to those\nof three celebrated sophists of the post-Kantian period. I am always to be\nfound at the standpoint of _reflection_, _i.e._, rational deliberation and\nhonest statement, never at that of _inspiration_, called intellectual\nintuition, or absolute thought; though, if it received its proper name, it\nwould be called empty bombast and charlatanism. Working then in this\nspirit, and always seeing the false and bad in universal acceptance, yea,\nbombast(3) and charlatanism(4) in the highest honour, I have long\nrenounced the approbation of my contemporaries. It is impossible that an\nage which for twenty years has applauded a Hegel, that intellectual\nCaliban, as the greatest of the philosophers, so loudly that it echoes\nthrough the whole of Europe, could make him who has looked on at that\ndesirous of its approbation. It has no more crowns of honour to bestow;\nits applause is prostituted, and its censure has no significance. That I\nmean what I say is attested by the fact that if I had in any way sought\nthe approbation of my contemporaries, I would have had to strike out a\nscore of passages which entirely contradict all their opinions, and indeed\nmust in part be offensive to them. But I would count it a crime to\nsacrifice a single syllable to that approbation. My guiding star has, in\nall seriousness, been truth. Following it, I could first aspire only to my\nown approbation, entirely averted from an age deeply degraded as regards\nall higher intellectual efforts, and a national literature demoralised\neven to the exceptions, a literature in which the art of combining lofty\nwords with paltry significance has reached its height. I can certainly\nnever escape from the errors and weaknesses which, in my case as in every\none else\u2019s, necessarily belong to my nature; but I will not increase them\nby unworthy accommodations.\n\nAs regards this second edition, first of all I am glad to say that after\nfive and twenty years I find nothing to retract; so that my fundamental\nconvictions have only been confirmed, as far as concerns myself at least.\nThe alterations in the first volume therefore, which contains the whole\ntext of the first edition, nowhere touch what is essential. Sometimes they\nconcern things of merely secondary importance, and more often consist of\nvery short explanatory additions inserted here and there. Only the\ncriticism of the Kantian philosophy has received important corrections and\nlarge additions, for these could not be put into a supplementary book,\nsuch as those which are given in the second volume, and which correspond\nto each of the four books that contain the exposition of my own doctrine.\nIn the case of the latter, I have chosen this form of enlarging and\nimproving them, because the five and twenty years that have passed since\nthey were composed have produced so marked a change in my method of\nexposition and in my style, that it would not have done to combine the\ncontent of the second volume with that of the first, as both must have\nsuffered by the fusion. I therefore give both works separately, and in the\nearlier exposition, even in many places where I would now express myself\nquite differently, I have changed nothing, because I desired to guard\nagainst spoiling the work of my earlier years through the carping\ncriticism of age. What in this regard might need correction will correct\nitself in the mind of the reader with the help of the second volume. Both\nvolumes have, in the full sense of the word, a supplementary relation to\neach other, so far as this rests on the fact that one age of human life\nis, intellectually, the supplement of another. It will therefore be found,\nnot only that each volume contains what the other lacks, but that the\nmerits of the one consist peculiarly in that which is wanting in the\nother. Thus, if the first half of my work surpasses the second in what can\nonly be supplied by the fire of youth and the energy of first conceptions,\nthe second will surpass the first by the ripeness and complete elaboration\nof the thought which can only belong to the fruit of the labour of a long\nlife. For when I had the strength originally to grasp the fundamental\nthought of my system, to follow it at once into its four branches, to\nreturn from them to the unity of their origin, and then to explain the\nwhole distinctly, I could not yet be in a position to work out all the\nbranches of the system with the fulness, thoroughness, and elaborateness\nwhich is only reached by the meditation of many years\u2014meditation which is\nrequired to test and illustrate the system by innumerable facts, to\nsupport it by the most different kinds of proof, to throw light on it from\nall sides, and then to place the different points of view boldly in\ncontrast, to separate thoroughly the multifarious materials, and present\nthem in a well-arranged whole. Therefore, although it would, no doubt,\nhave been more agreeable to the reader to have my whole work in one piece,\ninstead of consisting, as it now does, of two halves, which must be\ncombined in using them, he must reflect that this would have demanded that\nI should accomplish at one period of life what it is only possible to\naccomplish in two, for I would have had to possess the qualities at one\nperiod of life that nature has divided between two quite different ones.\nHence the necessity of presenting my work in two halves supplementary to\neach other may be compared to the necessity in consequence of which a\nchromatic object-glass, which cannot be made out of one piece, is produced\nby joining together a convex lens of flint glass and a concave lens of\ncrown glass, the combined effect of which is what was sought. Yet, on the\nother hand, the reader will find some compensation for the inconvenience\nof using two volumes at once, in the variety and the relief which is\nafforded by the handling of the same subject, by the same mind, in the\nsame spirit, but in very different years. However, it is very advisable\nthat those who are not yet acquainted with my philosophy should first of\nall read the first volume without using the supplementary books, and\nshould make use of these only on a second perusal; otherwise it would be\ntoo difficult for them to grasp the system in its connection. For it is\nonly thus explained in the first volume, while the second is devoted to a\nmore detailed investigation and a complete development of the individual\ndoctrines. Even those who should not make up their minds to a second\nreading of the first volume had better not read the second volume till\nafter the first, and then for itself, in the ordinary sequence of its\nchapters, which, at any rate, stand in some kind of connection, though a\nsomewhat looser one, the gaps of which they will fully supply by the\nrecollection of the first volume, if they have thoroughly comprehended it.\nBesides, they will find everywhere the reference to the corresponding\npassages of the first volume, the paragraphs of which I have numbered in\nthe second edition for this purpose, though in the first edition they were\nonly divided by lines.\n\nI have already explained in the preface to the first edition, that my\nphilosophy is founded on that of Kant, and therefore presupposes a\nthorough knowledge of it. I repeat this here. For Kant\u2019s teaching produces\nin the mind of every one who has comprehended it a fundamental change\nwhich is so great that it may be regarded as an intellectual new-birth. It\nalone is able really to remove the inborn realism which proceeds from the\noriginal character of the intellect, which neither Berkeley nor\nMalebranche succeed in doing, for they remain too much in the universal,\nwhile Kant goes into the particular, and indeed in a way that is quite\nunexampled both before and after him, and which has quite a peculiar, and,\nwe might say, immediate effect upon the mind in consequence of which it\nundergoes a complete undeception, and forthwith looks at all things in\nanother light. Only in this way can any one become susceptible to the more\npositive expositions which I have to give. On the other hand, he who has\nnot mastered the Kantian philosophy, whatever else he may have studied,\nis, as it were, in a state of innocence; that is to say, he remains in the\ngrasp of that natural and childish realism in which we are all born, and\nwhich fits us for everything possible, with the single exception of\nphilosophy. Such a man then stands to the man who knows the Kantian\nphilosophy as a minor to a man of full age. That this truth should\nnowadays sound paradoxical, which would not have been the case in the\nfirst thirty years after the appearance of the Critique of Reason, is due\nto the fact that a generation has grown up that does not know Kant\nproperly, because it has never heard more of him than a hasty, impatient\nlecture, or an account at second-hand; and this again is due to the fact\nthat in consequence of bad guidance, this generation has wasted its time\nwith the philosophemes of vulgar, uncalled men, or even of bombastic\nsophists, which are unwarrantably commended to it. Hence the confusion of\nfundamental conceptions, and in general the unspeakable crudeness and\nawkwardness that appears from under the covering of affectation and\npretentiousness in the philosophical attempts of the generation thus\nbrought up. But whoever thinks he can learn Kant\u2019s philosophy from the\nexposition of others makes a terrible mistake. Nay, rather I must\nearnestly warn against such accounts, especially the more recent ones; and\nindeed in the years just past I have met with expositions of the Kantian\nphilosophy in the writings of the Hegelians which actually reach the\nincredible. How should the minds that in the freshness of youth have been\nstrained and ruined by the nonsense of Hegelism, be still capable of\nfollowing Kant\u2019s profound investigations? They are early accustomed to\ntake the hollowest jingle of words for philosophical thoughts, the most\nmiserable sophisms for acuteness, and silly conceits for dialectic, and\ntheir minds are disorganised through the admission of mad combinations of\nwords to which the mind torments and exhausts itself in vain to attach\nsome thought. No Critique of Reason can avail them, no philosophy, they\nneed a _medicina mentis_, first as a sort of purgative, _un petit cours de\nsenscommunologie_, and then one must further see whether, in their case,\nthere can even be any talk of philosophy. The Kantian doctrine then will\nbe sought for in vain anywhere else but in Kant\u2019s own works; but these are\nthroughout instructive, even where he errs, even where he fails. In\nconsequence of his originality, it holds good of him in the highest\ndegree, as indeed of all true philosophers, that one can only come to know\nthem from their own works, not from the accounts of others. For the\nthoughts of any extraordinary intellect cannot stand being filtered\nthrough the vulgar mind. Born behind the broad, high, finely-arched brow,\nfrom under which shine beaming eyes, they lose all power and life, and\nappear no longer like themselves, when removed to the narrow lodging and\nlow roofing of the confined, contracted, thick-walled skull from which\ndull glances steal directed to personal ends. Indeed we may say that minds\nof this kind act like an uneven glass, in which everything is twisted and\ndistorted, loses the regularity of its beauty, and becomes a caricature.\nOnly from their authors themselves can we receive philosophical thoughts;\ntherefore whoever feels himself drawn to philosophy must himself seek out\nits immortal teachers in the still sanctuary of their works. The principal\nchapters of any one of these true philosophers will afford a thousand\ntimes more insight into their doctrines than the heavy and distorted\naccounts of them that everyday men produce, who are still for the most\npart deeply entangled in the fashionable philosophy of the time, or in the\nsentiments of their own minds. But it is astonishing how decidedly the\npublic seizes by preference on these expositions at second-hand. It seems\nreally as if elective affinities were at work here, by virtue of which the\ncommon nature is drawn to its like, and therefore will rather hear what a\ngreat man has said from one of its own kind. Perhaps this rests on the\nsame principle as that of mutual instruction, according to which children\nlearn best from children.\n\n                  \u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\n\nOne word more for the professors of philosophy. I have always been\ncompelled to admire not merely the sagacity, the true and fine tact with\nwhich, immediately on its appearance, they recognised my philosophy as\nsomething altogether different from and indeed dangerous to their own\nattempts, or, in popular language, something that would not suit their\nturn; but also the sure and astute policy by virtue of which they at once\ndiscovered the proper procedure with regard to it, the complete harmony\nwith which they applied it, and the persistency with which they have\nremained faithful to it. This procedure, which further commended itself by\nthe great ease of carrying it out, consists, as is well known, in\naltogether ignoring and thus in secreting\u2014according to Goethe\u2019s malicious\nphrase, which just means the appropriating of what is of weight and\nsignificance. The efficiency of this quiet means is increased by the\nCorybantic shouts with which those who are at one reciprocally greet the\nbirth of their own spiritual children\u2014shouts which compel the public to\nlook and note the air of importance with which they congratulate\nthemselves on the event. Who can mistake the object of such proceedings?\nIs there then nothing to oppose to the maxim, _primum vivere, deinde\nphilosophari_? These gentlemen desire to live, and indeed to live by\nphilosophy. To philosophy they are assigned with their wives and children,\nand in spite of Petrarch\u2019s _povera e nuda vai filosofia_, they have staked\neverything upon it. Now my philosophy is by no means so constituted that\nany one can live by it. It lacks the first indispensable requisite of a\nwell-paid professional philosophy, a speculative theology, which\u2014in spite\nof the troublesome Kant with his Critique of Reason\u2014should and must, it is\nsupposed, be the chief theme of all philosophy, even if it thus takes on\nitself the task of talking straight on of that of which it can know\nabsolutely nothing. Indeed my philosophy does not permit to the professors\nthe fiction they have so cunningly devised, and which has become so\nindispensable to them, of a reason that knows, perceives, or apprehends\nimmediately and absolutely. This is a doctrine which it is only necessary\nto impose upon the reader at starting, in order to pass in the most\ncomfortable manner in the world, as it were in a chariot and four, into\nthat region beyond the possibility of all experience, which Kant has\nwholly and for ever shut out from our knowledge, and in which are found\nimmediately revealed and most beautifully arranged the fundamental dogmas\nof modern, Judaising, optimistic Christianity. Now what in the world has\nmy subtle philosophy, deficient as it is in these essential requisites,\nwith no intentional aim, and unable to afford a means of subsistence,\nwhose pole star is truth alone the naked, unrewarded, unbefriended, often\npersecuted truth, and which steers straight for it without looking to the\nright hand or the left,\u2014what, I say, has this to do with that _alma\nmater_, the good, well-to-do university philosophy which, burdened with a\nhundred aims and a thousand motives, comes on its course cautiously\ntacking, while it keeps before its eyes at all times the fear of the Lord,\nthe will of the ministry, the laws of the established church, the wishes\nof the publisher, the attendance of the students, the goodwill of\ncolleagues, the course of current politics, the momentary tendency of the\npublic, and Heaven knows what besides? Or what has my quiet, earnest\nsearch for truth in common with the noisy scholastic disputations of the\nchair and the benches, the inmost motives of which are always personal\naims. The two kinds of philosophy are, indeed, radically different. Thus\nit is that with me there is no compromise and no fellowship, that no one\nreaps any benefit from my works but the man who seeks the truth alone, and\ntherefore none of the philosophical parties of the day; for they all\nfollow their own aims, while I have only insight into truth to offer,\nwhich suits none of these aims, because it is not modelled after any of\nthem. If my philosophy is to become susceptible of professorial\nexposition, the times must entirely change. What a pretty thing it would\nbe if a philosophy by which nobody could live were to gain for itself\nlight and air, not to speak of the general ear! This must be guarded\nagainst, and all must oppose it as one man. But it is not just such an\neasy game to controvert and refute; and, moreover, these are mistaken\nmeans to employ, because they just direct the attention of the public to\nthe matter, and its taste for the lucubrations of the professors of\nphilosophy might be destroyed by the perusal of my writings. For whoever\nhas tasted of earnest will not relish jest, especially when it is\ntiresome. Therefore the silent system, so unanimously adopted, is the only\nright one, and I can only advise them to stick to it and go on with it as\nlong as it will answer, that is, until to ignore is taken to imply\nignorance; then there will just be time to turn back. Meanwhile it remains\nopen to every one to pluck out a small feather here and there for his own\nuse, for the superfluity of thoughts at home should not be very\noppressive. Thus the ignoring and silent system may hold out a good while,\nat least the span of time I may have yet to live, whereby much is already\nwon. And if, in the meantime, here and there an indiscreet voice has let\nitself be heard, it is soon drowned by the loud talking of the professors,\nwho, with important airs, know how to entertain the public with very\ndifferent things. I advise, however, that the unanimity of procedure\nshould be somewhat more strictly observed, and especially that the young\nmen should be looked after, for they are sometimes so fearfully\nindiscreet. For even so I cannot guarantee that the commended procedure\nwill last for ever, and cannot answer for the final issue. It is a nice\nquestion as to the steering of the public, which, on the whole, is good\nand tractable. Although we nearly at all times see the Gorgiases and the\nHippiases uppermost, although the absurd, as a rule, predominates, and it\nseems impossible that the voice of the individual can ever penetrate\nthrough the chorus of the befooling and the befooled, there yet remains to\nthe genuine works of every age a quite peculiar, silent, slow, and\npowerful influence; and, as if by a miracle, we see them rise at last out\nof the turmoil like a balloon that floats up out of the thick atmosphere\nof this globe into purer regions, where, having once arrived, it remains\nat rest, and no one can draw it down again.\n\n_Written at Frankfort-on-the-Maine in February 1844._\n\n\n\n\n\nFIRST BOOK. THE WORLD AS IDEA.\n\n\n\n\nFirst Aspect. The Idea Subordinated To The Principle Of Sufficient Reason:\nThe Object Of Experience And Science.\n\n\n    Sors de l\u2019enfance, ami r\u00e9veille toi!\n\n    \u2014_Jean Jacques Rousseau._\n\n\n\u00a7 1. \u201cThe world is my idea:\u201d\u2014this is a truth which holds good for\neverything that lives and knows, though man alone can bring it into\nreflective and abstract consciousness. If he really does this, he has\nattained to philosophical wisdom. It then becomes clear and certain to him\nthat what he knows is not a sun and an earth, but only an eye that sees a\nsun, a hand that feels an earth; that the world which surrounds him is\nthere only as idea, _i.e._, only in relation to something else, the\nconsciousness, which is himself. If any truth can be asserted _a priori_,\nit is this: for it is the expression of the most general form of all\npossible and thinkable experience: a form which is more general than time,\nor space, or causality, for they all presuppose it; and each of these,\nwhich we have seen to be just so many modes of the principle of sufficient\nreason, is valid only for a particular class of ideas; whereas the\nantithesis of object and subject is the common form of all these classes,\nis that form under which alone any idea of whatever kind it may be,\nabstract or intuitive, pure or empirical, is possible and thinkable. No\ntruth therefore is more certain, more independent of all others, and less\nin need of proof than this, that all that exists for knowledge, and\ntherefore this whole world, is only object in relation to subject,\nperception of a perceiver, in a word, idea. This is obviously true of the\npast and the future, as well as of the present, of what is farthest off,\nas of what is near; for it is true of time and space themselves, in which\nalone these distinctions arise. All that in any way belongs or can belong\nto the world is inevitably thus conditioned through the subject, and\nexists only for the subject. The world is idea.\n\nThis truth is by no means new. It was implicitly involved in the sceptical\nreflections from which Descartes started. Berkeley, however, was the first\nwho distinctly enunciated it, and by this he has rendered a permanent\nservice to philosophy, even though the rest of his teaching should not\nendure. Kant\u2019s primary mistake was the neglect of this principle, as is\nshown in the appendix. How early again this truth was recognised by the\nwise men of India, appearing indeed as the fundamental tenet of the\nVed\u00e2nta philosophy ascribed to Vyasa, is pointed out by Sir William Jones\nin the last of his essays: \u201cOn the philosophy of the Asiatics\u201d (Asiatic\nResearches, vol. iv. p. 164), where he says, \u201cThe fundamental tenet of the\nVedanta school consisted not in denying the existence of matter, that is,\nof solidity, impenetrability, and extended figure (to deny which would be\nlunacy), but in correcting the popular notion of it, and in contending\nthat it has no essence independent of mental perception; that existence\nand perceptibility are convertible terms.\u201d These words adequately express\nthe compatibility of empirical reality and transcendental ideality.\n\nIn this first book, then, we consider the world only from this side, only\nso far as it is idea. The inward reluctance with which any one accepts the\nworld as merely his idea, warns him that this view of it, however true it\nmay be, is nevertheless one-sided, adopted in consequence of some\narbitrary abstraction. And yet it is a conception from which he can never\nfree himself. The defectiveness of this view will be corrected in the next\nbook by means of a truth which is not so immediately certain as that from\nwhich we start here; a truth at which we can arrive only by deeper\nresearch and more severe abstraction, by the separation of what is\ndifferent and the union of what is identical. This truth, which must be\nvery serious and impressive if not awful to every one, is that a man can\nalso say and must say, \u201cthe world is my will.\u201d\n\nIn this book, however, we must consider separately that aspect of the\nworld from which we start, its aspect as knowable, and therefore, in the\nmeantime, we must, without reserve, regard all presented objects, even our\nown bodies (as we shall presently show more fully), merely as ideas, and\ncall them merely ideas. By so doing we always abstract from will (as we\nhope to make clear to every one further on), which by itself constitutes\nthe other aspect of the world. For as the world is in one aspect entirely\n_idea_, so in another it is entirely _will_. A reality which is neither of\nthese two, but an object in itself (into which the thing in itself has\nunfortunately dwindled in the hands of Kant), is the phantom of a dream,\nand its acceptance is an _ignis fatuus_ in philosophy.\n\n\u00a7 2. That which knows all things and is known by none is the subject. Thus\nit is the supporter of the world, that condition of all phenomena, of all\nobjects which is always pre-supposed throughout experience; for all that\nexists, exists only for the subject. Every one finds himself to be\nsubject, yet only in so far as he knows, not in so far as he is an object\nof knowledge. But his body is object, and therefore from this point of\nview we call it idea. For the body is an object among objects, and is\nconditioned by the laws of objects, although it is an immediate object.\nLike all objects of perception, it lies within the universal forms of\nknowledge, time and space, which are the conditions of multiplicity. The\nsubject, on the contrary, which is always the knower, never the known,\ndoes not come under these forms, but is presupposed by them; it has\ntherefore neither multiplicity nor its opposite unity. We never know it,\nbut it is always the knower wherever there is knowledge.\n\nSo then the world as idea, the only aspect in which we consider it at\npresent, has two fundamental, necessary, and inseparable halves. The one\nhalf is the object, the forms of which are space and time, and through\nthese multiplicity. The other half is the subject, which is not in space\nand time, for it is present, entire and undivided, in every percipient\nbeing. So that any one percipient being, with the object, constitutes the\nwhole world as idea just as fully as the existing millions could do; but\nif this one were to disappear, then the whole world as idea would cease to\nbe. These halves are therefore inseparable even for thought, for each of\nthe two has meaning and existence only through and for the other, each\nappears with the other and vanishes with it. They limit each other\nimmediately; where the object begins the subject ends. The universality of\nthis limitation is shown by the fact that the essential and hence\nuniversal forms of all objects, space, time, and causality, may, without\nknowledge of the object, be discovered and fully known from a\nconsideration of the subject, _i.e._, in Kantian language, they lie _a\npriori_ in our consciousness. That he discovered this is one of Kant\u2019s\nprincipal merits, and it is a great one. I however go beyond this, and\nmaintain that the principle of sufficient reason is the general expression\nfor all these forms of the object of which we are _a priori_ conscious;\nand that therefore all that we know purely _a priori_, is merely the\ncontent of that principle and what follows from it; in it all our certain\n_a priori_ knowledge is expressed. In my essay on the principle of\nsufficient reason I have shown in detail how every possible object comes\nunder it; that is, stands in a necessary relation to other objects, on the\none side as determined, on the other side as determining: this is of such\nwide application, that the whole existence of all objects, so far as they\nare objects, ideas and nothing more, may be entirely traced to this their\nnecessary relation to each other, rests only in it, is in fact merely\nrelative; but of this more presently. I have further shown, that the\nnecessary relation which the principle of sufficient reason expresses\ngenerally, appears in other forms corresponding to the classes into which\nobjects are divided, according to their possibility; and again that by\nthese forms the proper division of the classes is tested. I take it for\ngranted that what I said in this earlier essay is known and present to the\nreader, for if it had not been already said it would necessarily find its\nplace here.\n\n\u00a7 3. The chief distinction among our ideas is that between ideas of\nperception and abstract ideas. The latter form just one class of ideas,\nnamely concepts, and these are the possession of man alone of all\ncreatures upon earth. The capacity for these, which distinguishes him from\nall the lower animals, has always been called reason.(5) We shall consider\nthese abstract ideas by themselves later, but, in the first place, we\nshall speak exclusively of the _ideas of perception_. These comprehend the\nwhole visible world, or the sum total of experience, with the conditions\nof its possibility. We have already observed that it is a highly important\ndiscovery of Kant\u2019s, that these very conditions, these forms of the\nvisible world, _i.e._, the absolutely universal element in its perception,\nthe common property of all its phenomena, space and time, even when taken\nby themselves and apart from their content, can, not only be thought in\nthe abstract, but also be directly perceived; and that this perception or\nintuition is not some kind of phantasm arising from constant recurrence in\nexperience, but is so entirely independent of experience that we must\nrather regard the latter as dependent on it, inasmuch as the qualities of\nspace and time, as they are known in _a priori_ perception or intuition,\nare valid for all possible experience, as rules to which it must\ninvariably conform. Accordingly, in my essay on the principle of\nsufficient reason, I have treated space and time, because they are\nperceived as pure and empty of content, as a special and independent class\nof ideas. This quality of the universal forms of intuition, which was\ndiscovered by Kant, that they may be perceived in themselves and apart\nfrom experience, and that they may be known as exhibiting those laws on\nwhich is founded the infallible science of mathematics, is certainly very\nimportant. Not less worthy of remark, however, is this other quality of\ntime and space, that the principle of sufficient reason, which conditions\nexperience as the law of causation and of motive, and thought as the law\nof the basis of judgment, appears here in quite a special form, to which I\nhave given the name of the ground of being. In time, this is the\nsuccession of its moments, and in space the position of its parts, which\nreciprocally determine each other _ad infinitum_.\n\nAny one who has fully understood from the introductory essay the complete\nidentity of the content of the principle of sufficient reason in all its\ndifferent forms, must also be convinced of the importance of the knowledge\nof the simplest of these forms, as affording him insight into his own\ninmost nature. This simplest form of the principle we have found to be\ntime. In it each instant is, only in so far as it has effaced the\npreceding one, its generator, to be itself in turn as quickly effaced. The\npast and the future (considered apart from the consequences of their\ncontent) are empty as a dream, and the present is only the indivisible and\nunenduring boundary between them. And in all the other forms of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, we shall find the same emptiness, and\nshall see that not time only but also space, and the whole content of both\nof them, _i.e._, all that proceeds from causes and motives, has a merely\nrelative existence, is only through and for another like to itself,\n_i.e._, not more enduring. The substance of this doctrine is old: it\nappears in Heraclitus when he laments the eternal flux of things; in Plato\nwhen he degrades the object to that which is ever becoming, but never\nbeing; in Spinoza as the doctrine of the mere accidents of the one\nsubstance which is and endures. Kant opposes what is thus known as the\nmere phenomenon to the thing in itself. Lastly, the ancient wisdom of the\nIndian philosophers declares, \u201cIt is M\u00e2y\u00e2, the veil of deception, which\nblinds the eyes of mortals, and makes them behold a world of which they\ncannot say either that it is or that it is not: for it is like a dream; it\nis like the sunshine on the sand which the traveller takes from afar for\nwater, or the stray piece of rope he mistakes for a snake.\u201d (These similes\nare repeated in innumerable passages of the Vedas and the Puranas.) But\nwhat all these mean, and that of which they all speak, is nothing more\nthan what we have just considered\u2014the world as idea subject to the\nprinciple of sufficient reason.\n\n\u00a7 4. Whoever has recognised the form of the principle of sufficient\nreason, which appears in pure time as such, and on which all counting and\narithmetical calculation rests, has completely mastered the nature of\ntime. Time is nothing more than that form of the principle of sufficient\nreason, and has no further significance. Succession is the form of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason in time, and succession is the whole nature\nof time. Further, whoever has recognised the principle of sufficient\nreason as it appears in the presentation of pure space, has exhausted the\nwhole nature of space, which is absolutely nothing more than that\npossibility of the reciprocal determination of its parts by each other,\nwhich is called position. The detailed treatment of this, and the\nformulation in abstract conceptions of the results which flow from it, so\nthat they may be more conveniently used, is the subject of the science of\ngeometry. Thus also, whoever has recognised the law of causation, the\naspect of the principle of sufficient reason which appears in what fills\nthese forms (space and time) as objects of perception, that is to say\nmatter, has completely mastered the nature of matter as such, for matter\nis nothing more than causation, as any one will see at once if he\nreflects. Its true being is its action, nor can we possibly conceive it as\nhaving any other meaning. Only as active does it fill space and time; its\naction upon the immediate object (which is itself matter) determines that\nperception in which alone it exists. The consequence of the action of any\nmaterial object upon any other, is known only in so far as the latter acts\nupon the immediate object in a different way from that in which it acted\nbefore; it consists only of this. Cause and effect thus constitute the\nwhole nature of matter; its true being is its action. (A fuller treatment\nof this will be found in the essay on the Principle of Sufficient Reason,\n\u00a7 21, p. 77.) The nature of all material things is therefore very\nappropriately called in German _Wirklichkeit_,(6) a word which is far more\nexpressive than _Realit\u00e4t_. Again, that which is acted upon is always\nmatter, and thus the whole being and essence of matter consists in the\norderly change, which one part of it brings about in another part. The\nexistence of matter is therefore entirely relative, according to a\nrelation which is valid only within its limits, as in the case of time and\nspace.\n\nBut time and space, each for itself, can be mentally presented apart from\nmatter, whereas matter cannot be so presented apart from time and space.\nThe form which is inseparable from it presupposes space, and the action in\nwhich its very existence consists, always imports some change, in other\nwords a determination in time. But space and time are not only, each for\nitself, presupposed by matter, but a union of the two constitutes its\nessence, for this, as we have seen, consists in action, _i.e._, in\ncausation. All the innumerable conceivable phenomena and conditions of\nthings, might be coexistent in boundless space, without limiting each\nother, or might be successive in endless time without interfering with\neach other: thus a necessary relation of these phenomena to each other,\nand a law which should regulate them according to such a relation, is by\nno means needful, would not, indeed, be applicable: it therefore follows\nthat in the case of all co-existence in space and change in time, so long\nas each of these forms preserves for itself its condition and its course\nwithout any connection with the other, there can be no causation, and\nsince causation constitutes the essential nature of matter, there can be\nno matter. But the law of causation receives its meaning and necessity\nonly from this, that the essence of change does not consist simply in the\nmere variation of things, but rather in the fact that at the _same part of\nspace_ there is now _one thing_ and then _another_, and at _one_ and the\nsame point of time there is _here_ one thing and there _another_: only\nthis reciprocal limitation of space and time by each other gives meaning,\nand at the same time necessity, to a law, according to which change must\ntake place. What is determined by the law of causality is therefore not\nmerely a succession of things in time, but this succession with reference\nto a definite space, and not merely existence of things in a particular\nplace, but in this place at a different point of time. Change, _i.e._,\nvariation which takes place according to the law of causality, implies\nalways a determined part of space and a determined part of time together\nand in union. Thus causality unites space with time. But we found that the\nwhole essence of matter consisted in action, _i.e._, in causation,\nconsequently space and time must also be united in matter, that is to say,\nmatter must take to itself at once the distinguishing qualities both of\nspace and time, however much these may be opposed to each other, and must\nunite in itself what is impossible for each of these independently, that\nis, the fleeting course of time, with the rigid unchangeable perduration\nof space: infinite divisibility it receives from both. It is for this\nreason that we find that co-existence, which could neither be in time\nalone, for time has no contiguity, nor in space alone, for space has no\nbefore, after, or now, is first established through matter. But the\nco-existence of many things constitutes, in fact, the essence of reality,\nfor through it permanence first becomes possible; for permanence is only\nknowable in the change of something which is present along with what is\npermanent, while on the other hand it is only because something permanent\nis present along with what changes, that the latter gains the special\ncharacter of change, _i.e._, the mutation of quality and form in the\npermanence of substance, that is to say, in matter.(7) If the world were\nin space alone, it would be rigid and immovable, without succession,\nwithout change, without action; but we know that with action, the idea of\nmatter first appears. Again, if the world were in time alone, all would be\nfleeting, without persistence, without contiguity, hence without\nco-existence, and consequently without permanence; so that in this case\nalso there would be no matter. Only through the union of space and time do\nwe reach matter, and matter is the possibility of co-existence, and,\nthrough that, of permanence; through permanence again matter is the\npossibility of the persistence of substance in the change of its\nstates.(8) As matter consists in the union of space and time, it bears\nthroughout the stamp of both. It manifests its origin in space, partly\nthrough the form which is inseparable from it, but especially through its\npersistence (substance), the _a priori_ certainty of which is therefore\nwholly deducible from that of space(9) (for variation belongs to time\nalone, but in it alone and for itself nothing is persistent). Matter shows\nthat it springs from time by quality (accidents), without which it never\nexists, and which is plainly always causality, action upon other matter,\nand therefore change (a time concept). The law of this action, however,\nalways depends upon space and time together, and only thus obtains\nmeaning. The regulative function of causality is confined entirely to the\ndetermination of what must occupy _this time and this space_. The fact\nthat we know _a priori_ the unalterable characteristics of matter, depends\nupon this derivation of its essential nature from the forms of our\nknowledge of which we are conscious _a priori_. These unalterable\ncharacteristics are space-occupation, _i.e._, impenetrability, _i.e._,\ncausal action, consequently, extension, infinite divisibility,\npersistence, _i.e._, indestructibility, and lastly mobility: weight, on\nthe other hand, notwithstanding its universality, must be attributed to _a\nposteriori_ knowledge, although Kant, in his \u201cMetaphysical Introduction to\nNatural Philosophy,\u201d p. 71 (p. 372 of Rosenkranz\u2019s edition), treats it as\nknowable _a priori_.\n\nBut as the object in general is only for the subject, as its idea, so\nevery special class of ideas is only for an equally special quality in the\nsubject, which is called a faculty of perception. This subjective\ncorrelative of time and space in themselves as empty forms, has been named\nby Kant pure sensibility; and we may retain this expression, as Kant was\nthe first to treat of the subject, though it is not exact, for sensibility\npresupposes matter. The subjective correlative of matter or of causation,\nfor these two are the same, is understanding, which is nothing more than\nthis. To know causality is its one function, its only power; and it is a\ngreat one, embracing much, of manifold application, yet of unmistakable\nidentity in all its manifestations. Conversely all causation, that is to\nsay, all matter, or the whole of reality, is only for the understanding,\nthrough the understanding, and in the understanding. The first, simplest,\nand ever-present example of understanding is the perception of the actual\nworld. This is throughout knowledge of the cause from the effect, and\ntherefore all perception is intellectual. The understanding could never\narrive at this perception, however, if some effect did not become known\nimmediately, and thus serve as a starting-point. But this is the affection\nof the animal body. So far, then, the animal body is the _immediate\nobject_ of the subject; the perception of all other objects becomes\npossible through it. The changes which every animal body experiences, are\nimmediately known, that is, felt; and as these effects are at once\nreferred to their causes, the perception of the latter as _objects_\narises. This relation is no conclusion in abstract conceptions; it does\nnot arise from reflection, nor is it arbitrary, but immediate, necessary,\nand certain. It is the method of knowing of the pure understanding,\nwithout which there could be no perception; there would only remain a dull\nplant-like consciousness of the changes of the immediate object, which\nwould succeed each other in an utterly unmeaning way, except in so far as\nthey might have a meaning for the will either as pain or pleasure. But as\nwith the rising of the sun the visible world appears, so at one stroke,\nthe understanding, by means of its one simple function, changes the dull,\nmeaningless sensation into perception. What the eye, the ear, or the hand\nfeels, is not perception; it is merely its data. By the understanding\npassing from the effect to the cause, the world first appears as\nperception extended in space, varying in respect of form, persistent\nthrough all time in respect of matter; for the understanding unites space\nand time in the idea of matter, that is, causal action. As the world as\nidea exists only through the understanding, so also it exists only for the\nunderstanding. In the first chapter of my essay on \u201cLight and Colour,\u201d I\nhave already explained how the understanding constructs perceptions out of\nthe data supplied by the senses; how by comparison of the impressions\nwhich the various senses receive from the object, a child arrives at\nperceptions; how this alone affords the solution of so many phenomena of\nthe senses; the single vision of two eyes, the double vision in the case\nof a squint, or when we try to look at once at objects which lie at\nunequal distances behind each other; and all illusion which is produced by\na sudden alteration in the organs of sense. But I have treated this\nimportant subject much more fully and thoroughly in the second edition of\nthe essay on \u201cThe Principle of Sufficient Reason,\u201d \u00a7 21. All that is said\nthere would find its proper place here, and would therefore have to be\nsaid again; but as I have almost as much disinclination to quote myself as\nto quote others, and as I am unable to explain the subject better than it\nis explained there, I refer the reader to it, instead of quoting it, and\ntake for granted that it is known.\n\nThe process by which children, and persons born blind who have been\noperated upon, learn to see, the single vision of the double sensation of\ntwo eyes, the double vision and double touch which occur when the organs\nof sense have been displaced from their usual position, the upright\nappearance of objects while the picture on the retina is upside down, the\nattributing of colour to the outward objects, whereas it is merely an\ninner function, a division through polarisation, of the activity of the\neye, and lastly the stereoscope,\u2014all these are sure and incontrovertible\nevidence that perception is not merely of the senses, but\nintellectual\u2014that is, _pure knowledge through the understanding of the\ncause from the effect_, and that, consequently, it presupposes the law of\ncausality, in a knowledge of which all perception\u2014that is to say all\nexperience, by virtue of its primary and only possibility, depends. The\ncontrary doctrine that the law of causality results from experience, which\nwas the scepticism of Hume, is first refuted by this. For the independence\nof the knowledge of causality of all experience,\u2014that is, its _a priori_\ncharacter\u2014can only be deduced from the dependence of all experience upon\nit; and this deduction can only be accomplished by proving, in the manner\nhere indicated, and explained in the passages referred to above, that the\nknowledge of causality is included in perception in general, to which all\nexperience belongs, and therefore in respect of experience is completely\n_a priori_, does not presuppose it, but is presupposed by it as a\ncondition. This, however, cannot be deduced in the manner attempted by\nKant, which I have criticised in the essay on \u201cThe Principle of Sufficient\nReason,\u201d \u00a7 23.\n\n\u00a7 5. It is needful to guard against the grave error of supposing that\nbecause perception arises through the knowledge of causality, the relation\nof subject and object is that of cause and effect. For this relation\nsubsists only between the immediate object and objects known indirectly,\nthus always between objects alone. It is this false supposition that has\ngiven rise to the foolish controversy about the reality of the outer\nworld; a controversy in which dogmatism and scepticism oppose each other,\nand the former appears, now as realism, now as idealism. Realism treats\nthe object as cause, and the subject as its effect. The idealism of Fichte\nreduces the object to the effect of the subject. Since however, and this\ncannot be too much emphasised, there is absolutely no relation according\nto the principle of sufficient reason between subject and object, neither\nof these views could be proved, and therefore scepticism attacked them\nboth with success. Now, just as the law of causality precedes perception\nand experience as their condition, and therefore cannot (as Hume thought)\nbe derived from them, so object and subject precede all knowledge, and\nhence the principle of sufficient reason in general, as its first\ncondition; for this principle is merely the form of all objects, the whole\nnature and possibility of their existence as phenomena: but the object\nalways presupposes the subject; and therefore between these two there can\nbe no relation of reason and consequent. My essay on the principle of\nsufficient reason accomplishes just this: it explains the content of that\nprinciple as the essential form of every object\u2014that is to say, as the\nuniversal nature of all objective existence, as something which pertains\nto the object as such; but the object as such always presupposes the\nsubject as its necessary correlative; and therefore the subject remains\nalways outside the province in which the principle of sufficient reason is\nvalid. The controversy as to the reality of the outer world rests upon\nthis false extension of the validity of the principle of sufficient reason\nto the subject also, and starting with this mistake it can never\nunderstand itself. On the one side realistic dogmatism, looking upon the\nidea as the effect of the object, desires to separate these two, idea and\nobject, which are really one, and to assume a cause quite different from\nthe idea, an object in itself, independent of the subject, a thing which\nis quite inconceivable; for even as object it presupposes subject, and so\nremains its idea. Opposed to this doctrine is scepticism, which makes the\nsame false presupposition that in the idea we have only the effect, never\nthe cause, therefore never real being; that we always know merely the\naction of the object. But this object, it supposes, may perhaps have no\nresemblance whatever to its effect, may indeed have been quite erroneously\nreceived as the cause, for the law of causality is first to be gathered\nfrom experience, and the reality of experience is then made to rest upon\nit. Thus both of these views are open to the correction, firstly, that\nobject and idea are the same; secondly, that the true being of the object\nof perception is its action, that the reality of the thing consists in\nthis, and the demand for an existence of the object outside the idea of\nthe subject, and also for an essence of the actual thing different from\nits action, has absolutely no meaning, and is a contradiction: and that\nthe knowledge of the nature of the effect of any perceived object,\nexhausts such an object itself, so far as it is object, _i.e._, idea, for\nbeyond this there is nothing more to be known. So far then, the perceived\nworld in space and time, which makes itself known as causation alone, is\nentirely real, and is throughout simply what it appears to be, and it\nappears wholly and without reserve as idea, bound together according to\nthe law of causality. This is its empirical reality. On the other hand,\nall causality is in the understanding alone, and for the understanding.\nThe whole actual, that is, active world is determined as such through the\nunderstanding, and apart from it is nothing. This, however, is not the\nonly reason for altogether denying such a reality of the outer world as is\ntaught by the dogmatist, who explains its reality as its independence of\nthe subject. We also deny it, because no object apart from a subject can\nbe conceived without contradiction. The whole world of objects is and\nremains idea, and therefore wholly and for ever determined by the subject;\nthat is to say, it has transcendental ideality. But it is not therefore\nillusion or mere appearance; it presents itself as that which it is, idea,\nand indeed as a series of ideas of which the common bond is the principle\nof sufficient reason. It is according to its inmost meaning quite\ncomprehensible to the healthy understanding, and speaks a language quite\nintelligible to it. To dispute about its reality can only occur to a mind\nperverted by over-subtilty, and such discussion always arises from a false\napplication of the principle of sufficient reason, which binds all ideas\ntogether of whatever kind they may be, but by no means connects them with\nthe subject, nor yet with a something which is neither subject nor object,\nbut only the ground of the object; an absurdity, for only objects can be\nand always are the ground of objects. If we examine more closely the\nsource of this question as to the reality of the outer world, we find that\nbesides the false application of the principle of sufficient reason\ngenerally to what lies beyond its province, a special confusion of its\nforms is also involved; for that form which it has only in reference to\nconcepts or abstract ideas, is applied to perceived ideas, real objects;\nand a ground of knowing is demanded of objects, whereas they can have\nnothing but a ground of being. Among the abstract ideas, the concepts\nunited in the judgment, the principle of sufficient reason appears in such\na way that each of these has its worth, its validity, and its whole\nexistence, here called _truth_, simply and solely through the relation of\nthe judgment to something outside of it, its ground of knowledge, to which\nthere must consequently always be a return. Among real objects, ideas of\nperception, on the other hand, the principle of sufficient reason appears\nnot as the principle of the ground of _knowing_, but of _being_, as the\nlaw of causality: every real object has paid its debt to it, inasmuch as\nit has come to be, _i.e._, has appeared as the effect of a cause. The\ndemand for a ground of knowing has therefore here no application and no\nmeaning, but belongs to quite another class of things. Thus the world of\nperception raises in the observer no question or doubt so long as he\nremains in contact with it: there is here neither error nor truth, for\nthese are confined to the province of the abstract\u2014the province of\nreflection. But here the world lies open for sense and understanding;\npresents itself with naive truth as that which it really is\u2014ideas of\nperception which develop themselves according to the law of causality.\n\nSo far as we have considered the question of the reality of the outer\nworld, it arises from a confusion which amounts even to a misunderstanding\nof reason itself, and therefore thus far, the question could be answered\nonly by explaining its meaning. After examination of the whole nature of\nthe principle of sufficient reason, of the relation of subject and object,\nand the special conditions of sense perception, the question itself\ndisappeared because it had no longer any meaning. There is, however, one\nother possible origin of this question, quite different from the purely\nspeculative one which we have considered, a specially empirical origin,\nthough the question is always raised from a speculative point of view, and\nin this form it has a much more comprehensible meaning than it had in the\nfirst. We have dreams; may not our whole life be a dream? or more exactly:\nis there a sure criterion of the distinction between dreams and reality?\nbetween phantasms and real objects? The assertion that what is dreamt is\nless vivid and distinct than what we actually perceive is not to the\npoint, because no one has ever been able to make a fair comparison of the\ntwo; for we can only compare the recollection of a dream with the present\nreality. Kant answers the question thus: \u201cThe connection of ideas among\nthemselves, according to the law of causality, constitutes the difference\nbetween real life and dreams.\u201d But in dreams, as well as in real life,\neverything is connected individually at any rate, in accordance with the\nprinciple of sufficient reason in all its forms, and this connection is\nbroken only between life and dreams, or between one dream and another.\nKant\u2019s answer therefore could only run thus:\u2014the _long_ dream (life) has\nthroughout complete connection according to the principle of sufficient\nreason; it has not this connection, however, with _short_ dreams, although\neach of these has in itself the same connection: the bridge is therefore\nbroken between the former and the latter, and on this account we\ndistinguish them.\n\nBut to institute an inquiry according to this criterion, as to whether\nsomething was dreamt or seen, would always be difficult and often\nimpossible. For we are by no means in a position to trace link by link the\ncausal connection between any experienced event and the present moment,\nbut we do not on that account explain it as dreamt. Therefore in real life\nwe do not commonly employ that method of distinguishing between dreams and\nreality. The only sure criterion by which to distinguish them is in fact\nthe entirely empirical one of awaking, through which at any rate the\ncausal connection between dreamed events and those of waking life, is\ndistinctly and sensibly broken off. This is strongly supported by the\nremark of Hobbes in the second chapter of Leviathan, that we easily\nmistake dreams for reality if we have unintentionally fallen asleep\nwithout taking off our clothes, and much more so when it also happens that\nsome undertaking or design fills all our thoughts, and occupies our dreams\nas well as our waking moments. We then observe the awaking just as little\nas the falling asleep, dream and reality run together and become\nconfounded. In such a case there is nothing for it but the application of\nKant\u2019s criterion; but if, as often happens, we fail to establish by means\nof this criterion, either the existence of causal connection with the\npresent, or the absence of such connection, then it must for ever remain\nuncertain whether an event was dreamt or really happened. Here, in fact,\nthe intimate relationship between life and dreams is brought out very\nclearly, and we need not be ashamed to confess it, as it has been\nrecognised and spoken of by many great men. The Vedas and Puranas have no\nbetter simile than a dream for the whole knowledge of the actual world,\nwhich they call the web of M\u00e2y\u00e2, and they use none more frequently. Plato\noften says that men live only in a dream; the philosopher alone strives to\nawake himself. Pindar says (ii. \u03b7. 135): \u03c3\u03ba\u03b9\u03b1\u03c2 \u03bf\u03bd\u03b1\u03c1 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2 (umbr\u00e6\nsomnium homo), and Sophocles:\u2014\n\n\n    \u1f48\u03bd\u03c9 \u03b3\u03c5\u03bd \u1f21\u03bc\u03b1\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5\u03b4\u03b5\u03bd \u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf, \u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03bd\n    \u03a3\u03b9\u03b4\u03c9\u03bb\u1fbd \u1f41\u03c3\u03bf\u03b9\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1 \u03b6\u03c9\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd, \u1f74 \u03ba\u03bf\u03c5\u03c6\u03b7\u03bd \u03c3\u03ba\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd.\u2014Ajax, 125.\n\n\n(Nos enim, quicunque vivimus, nihil aliud esse comperio quam simulacra et\nlevem umbram.) Beside which most worthily stands Shakespeare:\u2014\n\n\n          \u201cWe are such stuff\n    As dreams are made on, and our little life\n    Is rounded with a sleep.\u201d\u2014_Tempest_, Act iv. Sc. 1.\n\n\nLastly, Calderon was so deeply impressed with this view of life that he\nsought to embody it in a kind of metaphysical drama\u2014\u201cLife a Dream.\u201d\n\nAfter these numerous quotations from the poets, perhaps I also may be\nallowed to express myself by a metaphor. Life and dreams are leaves of the\nsame book. The systematic reading of this book is real life, but when the\nreading hours (that is, the day) are over, we often continue idly to turn\nover the leaves, and read a page here and there without method or\nconnection: often one we have read before, sometimes one that is new to\nus, but always in the same book. Such an isolated page is indeed out of\nconnection with the systematic study of the book, but it does not seem so\nvery different when we remember that the whole continuous perusal begins\nand ends just as abruptly, and may therefore be regarded as merely a\nlarger single page.\n\nThus although individual dreams are distinguished from real life by the\nfact that they do not fit into that continuity which runs through the\nwhole of experience, and the act of awaking brings this into\nconsciousness, yet that very continuity of experience belongs to real life\nas its form, and the dream on its part can point to a similar continuity\nin itself. If, therefore, we consider the question from a point of view\nexternal to both, there is no distinct difference in their nature, and we\nare forced to concede to the poets that life is a long dream.\n\nLet us turn back now from this quite independent empirical origin of the\nquestion of the reality of the outer world, to its speculative origin. We\nfound that this consisted, first, in the false application of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason to the relation of subject and object; and\nsecondly, in the confusion of its forms, inasmuch as the principle of\nsufficient reason of knowing was extended to a province in which the\nprinciple of sufficient reason of being is valid. But the question could\nhardly have occupied philosophers so constantly if it were entirely devoid\nof all real content, and if some true thought and meaning did not lie at\nits heart as its real source. Accordingly, we must assume that when the\nelement of truth that lies at the bottom of the question first came into\nreflection and sought its expression, it became involved in these confused\nand meaningless forms and problems. This at least is my opinion, and I\nthink that the true expression of that inmost meaning of the question,\nwhich it failed to find, is this:\u2014What is this world of perception besides\nbeing my idea? Is that of which I am conscious only as idea, exactly like\nmy own body, of which I am doubly conscious, in one aspect as _idea_, in\nanother aspect as _will_? The fuller explanation of this question and its\nanswer in the affirmative, will form the content of the second book, and\nits consequences will occupy the remaining portion of this work.\n\n\u00a7 6. For the present, however, in this first book we consider everything\nmerely as idea, as object for the subject. And our own body, which is the\nstarting-point for each of us in our perception of the world, we consider,\nlike all other real objects, from the side of its knowableness, and in\nthis regard it is simply an idea. Now the consciousness of every one is in\ngeneral opposed to the explanation of objects as mere ideas, and more\nespecially to the explanation of our bodies as such; for the thing in\nitself is known to each of us immediately in so far as it appears as our\nown body; but in so far as it objectifies itself in the other objects of\nperception, it is known only indirectly. But this abstraction, this\none-sided treatment, this forcible separation of what is essentially and\nnecessarily united, is only adopted to meet the demands of our argument;\nand therefore the disinclination to it must, in the meantime, be\nsuppressed and silenced by the expectation that the subsequent treatment\nwill correct the one-sidedness of the present one, and complete our\nknowledge of the nature of the world.\n\nAt present therefore the body is for us immediate object; that is to say,\nthat idea which forms the starting-point of the subject\u2019s knowledge;\nbecause the body, with its immediately known changes, precedes the\napplication of the law of causality, and thus supplies it with its first\ndata. The whole nature of matter consists, as we have seen, in its causal\naction. But cause and effect exist only for the understanding, which is\nnothing but their subjective correlative. The understanding, however,\ncould never come into operation if there were not something else from\nwhich it starts. This is simple sensation\u2014the immediate consciousness of\nthe changes of the body, by virtue of which it is immediate object. Thus\nthe possibility of knowing the world of perception depends upon two\nconditions; the first, _objectively expressed_, is the power of material\nthings to act upon each other, to produce changes in each other, without\nwhich common quality of all bodies no perception would be possible, even\nby means of the sensibility of the animal body. And if we wish to express\nthis condition _subjectively_ we say: The understanding first makes\nperception possible; for the law of causality, the possibility of effect\nand cause, springs only from the understanding, and is valid only for it,\nand therefore the world of perception exists only through and for it. The\nsecond condition is the sensibility of animal bodies, or the quality of\nbeing immediate objects of the subject which certain bodies possess. The\nmere modification which the organs of sense sustain from without through\ntheir specific affections, may here be called ideas, so far as these\naffections produce neither pain nor pleasure, that is, have no immediate\nsignificance for the will, and are yet perceived, exist therefore only for\n_knowledge_. Thus far, then, I say that the body is immediately _known_,\nis _immediate object_. But the conception of object is not to be taken\nhere in its fullest sense, for through this immediate knowledge of the\nbody, which precedes the operation of the understanding, and is mere\nsensation, our own body does not exist specifically as _object_, but first\nthe material things which affect it: for all knowledge of an object\nproper, of an idea perceived in space, exists only through and for the\nunderstanding; therefore not before, but only subsequently to its\noperation. Therefore the body as object proper, that is, as an idea\nperceived in space, is first known indirectly, like all other objects,\nthrough the application of the law of causality to the action of one of\nits parts upon another, as, for example, when the eye sees the body or the\nhand touches it. Consequently the form of our body does not become known\nto us through mere feeling, but only through knowledge, only in idea; that\nis to say, only in the brain does our own body first come to appear as\nextended, articulate, organic. A man born blind receives this idea only\nlittle by little from the data afforded by touch. A blind man without\nhands could never come to know his own form; or at the most could infer\nand construct it little by little from the effects of other bodies upon\nhim. If, then, we call the body an immediate object, we are to be\nunderstood with these reservations.\n\nIn other respects, then, according to what has been said, all animal\nbodies are immediate objects; that is, starting-points for the subject\nwhich always knows and therefore is never known in its perception of the\nworld. Thus the distinctive characteristic of animal life is knowledge,\nwith movement following on motives, which are determined by knowledge,\njust as movement following on stimuli is the distinctive characteristic of\nplant-life. Unorganised matter, however, has no movement except such as is\nproduced by causes properly so called, using the term in its narrowest\nsense. All this I have thoroughly discussed in my essay on the principle\nof sufficient reason, \u00a7 20, in the \u201cEthics,\u201d first essay, iii., and in my\nwork on Sight and Colour, \u00a7 1, to which I therefore refer.\n\nIt follows from what has been said, that all animals, even the least\ndeveloped, have understanding; for they all know objects, and this\nknowledge determines their movements as motive. Understanding is the same\nin all animals and in all men; it has everywhere the same simple form;\nknowledge of causality, transition from effect to cause, and from cause to\neffect, nothing more; but the degree of its acuteness, and the extension\nof the sphere of its knowledge varies enormously, with innumerable\ngradations from the lowest form, which is only conscious of the causal\nconnection between the immediate object and objects affecting it\u2014that is\nto say, perceives a cause as an object in space by passing to it from the\naffection which the body feels, to the higher grades of knowledge of the\ncausal connection among objects known indirectly, which extends to the\nunderstanding of the most complicated system of cause and effect in\nnature. For even this high degree of knowledge is still the work of the\nunderstanding, not of the reason. The abstract concepts of the reason can\nonly serve to take up the objective connections which are immediately\nknown by the understanding, to make them permanent for thought, and to\nrelate them to each other; but reason never gives us immediate knowledge.\nEvery force and law of nature, every example of such forces and laws, must\nfirst be immediately known by the understanding, must be apprehended\nthrough perception before it can pass into abstract consciousness for\nreason. Hooke\u2019s discovery of the law of gravitation, and the reference of\nso many important phenomena to this one law, was the work of immediate\napprehension by the understanding; and such also was the proof of Newton\u2019s\ncalculations, and Lavoisier\u2019s discovery of acids and their important\nfunction in nature, and also Goethe\u2019s discovery of the origin of physical\ncolours. All these discoveries are nothing more than a correct immediate\npassage from the effect to the cause, which is at once followed by the\nrecognition of the ideality of the force of nature which expresses itself\nin all causes of the same kind; and this complete insight is just an\nexample of that single function of the understanding, by which an animal\nperceives as an object in space the cause which affects its body, and\ndiffers from such a perception only in degree. Every one of these great\ndiscoveries is therefore, just like perception, an operation of the\nunderstanding, an immediate intuition, and as such the work of an instant,\nan _apper\u00e7u_, a flash of insight. They are not the result of a process of\nabstract reasoning, which only serves to make the immediate knowledge of\nthe understanding permanent for thought by bringing it under abstract\nconcepts, _i.e._, it makes knowledge distinct, it puts us in a position to\nimpart it and explain it to others. The keenness of the understanding in\napprehending the causal relations of objects which are known indirectly,\ndoes not find its only application in the sphere of natural science\n(though all the discoveries in that sphere are due to it), but it also\nappears in practical life. It is then called good sense or prudence, as in\nits other application it is better called acuteness, penetration,\nsagacity. More exactly, good sense or prudence signifies exclusively\nunderstanding at the command of the will. But the limits of these\nconceptions must not be too sharply defined, for it is always that one\nfunction of the understanding by means of which all animals perceive\nobjects in space, which, in its keenest form, appears now in the phenomena\nof nature, correctly inferring the unknown causes from the given effects,\nand providing the material from which the reason frames general rules as\nlaws of nature; now inventing complicated and ingenious machines by\nadapting known causes to desired effects; now in the sphere of motives,\nseeing through and frustrating intrigues and machinations, or fitly\ndisposing the motives and the men who are susceptible to them, setting\nthem in motion, as machines are moved by levers and wheels, and directing\nthem at will to the accomplishment of its ends. Deficiency of\nunderstanding is called _stupidity_. It is just _dulness in applying the\nlaw of causality_, incapacity for the immediate apprehension of the\nconcatenations of causes and effects, motives and actions. A stupid person\nhas no insight into the connection of natural phenomena, either when they\nfollow their own course, or when they are intentionally combined, _i.e._,\nare applied to machinery. Such a man readily believes in magic and\nmiracles. A stupid man does not observe that persons, who apparently act\nindependently of each other, are really in collusion; he is therefore\neasily mystified, and outwitted; he does not discern the hidden motives of\nproffered advice or expressions of opinion, &c. But it is always just one\nthing that he lacks\u2014keenness, rapidity, ease in applying the law of\ncausality, _i.e._, power of understanding. The greatest, and, in this\nreference, the most instructive example of stupidity I ever met with, was\nthe case of a totally imbecile boy of about eleven years of age, in an\nasylum. He had reason, because he spoke and comprehended, but in respect\nof understanding he was inferior to many of the lower animals. Whenever I\nvisited him he noticed an eye-glass which I wore round my neck, and in\nwhich the window of the room and the tops of the trees beyond were\nreflected: on every occasion he was greatly surprised and delighted with\nthis, and was never tired of looking at it with astonishment, because he\ndid not understand the immediate causation of reflection.\n\nWhile the difference in degree of the acuteness of the understanding, is\nvery great between man and man, it is even greater between one species of\nanimal and another. In all species of animals, even those which are\nnearest to plants, there is at least as much understanding as suffices for\nthe inference from the effect on the immediate object, to the indirectly\nknown object as its cause, _i.e._, sufficient for perception, for the\napprehension of an object. For it is this that constitutes them animals,\nas it gives them the power of movement following on motives, and thereby\nthe power of seeking for food, or at least of seizing it; whereas plants\nhave only movement following on stimuli, whose direct influence they must\nawait, or else decay, for they cannot seek after them nor appropriate\nthem. We marvel at the great sagacity of the most developed species of\nanimals, such as the dog, the elephant, the monkey or the fox, whose\ncleverness has been so admirably sketched by Buffon. From these most\nsagacious animals, we can pretty accurately determine how far\nunderstanding can go without reason, _i.e._, abstract knowledge embodied\nin concepts. We could not find this out from ourselves, for in us\nunderstanding and reason always reciprocally support each other. We find\nthat the manifestation of understanding in animals is sometimes above our\nexpectation, and sometimes below it. On the one hand, we are surprised at\nthe sagacity of the elephant, who, after crossing many bridges during his\njourney in Europe, once refused to go upon one, because he thought it was\nnot strong enough to bear his weight, though he saw the rest of the party,\nconsisting of men and horses, go upon it as usual. On the other hand, we\nwonder that the intelligent Orang-outangs, who warm themselves at a fire\nthey have found, do not keep it alight by throwing wood on it; a proof\nthat this requires a deliberation which is not possible without abstract\nconcepts. It is clear that the knowledge of cause and effect, as the\nuniversal form of understanding, belongs to all animals _a priori_,\nbecause to them as to us it is the prior condition of all perception of\nthe outer world. If any one desires additional proof of this, let him\nobserve, for example, how a young dog is afraid to jump down from a table,\nhowever much he may wish to do so, because he foresees the effect of the\nweight of his body, though he has not been taught this by experience. In\njudging of the understanding of animals, we must guard against ascribing\nto it the manifestations of instinct, a faculty which is quite distinct\nboth from understanding and reason, but the action of which is often very\nanalogous to the combined action of the two. We cannot, however, discuss\nthis here; it will find its proper place in the second book, when we\nconsider the harmony or so-called teleology of nature: and the 27th\nchapter of the supplementary volume is expressly devoted to it.\n\nDeficiency of _understanding_ we call _stupidity_: deficiency in the\napplication of _reason_ to practice we shall recognise later as\n_foolishness_: deficiency of judgment as _silliness_, and lastly, partial\nor entire deficiency of _memory_ as _madness_. But each of these will be\nconsidered in its own place. That which is correctly known by _reason_ is\n_truth_, that is, an abstract judgment on sufficient grounds (Essay on the\nPrinciple of Sufficient Reason, \u00a7 29 and following paragraphs); that which\nis correctly known by _understanding_ is _reality_, that is correct\ninference from effect on the immediate object to its cause. _Error_ is\nopposed to _truth_, as deception of the _reason_: _illusion_ is opposed to\n_reality_, as deception of the _understanding_. The full discussion of all\nthis will be found in the first chapter of my essay on Light and Colour.\nIllusion takes place when the same effect may be attributed to two causes,\nof which one occurs very frequently, the other very seldom; the\nunderstanding having no data to decide which of these two causes operates\nin any particular case,\u2014for their effects are exactly alike,\u2014always\nassumes the presence of the commoner cause, and as the activity of the\nunderstanding is not reflective and discursive, but direct and immediate,\nthis false cause appears before us as a perceived object, whereas it is\nmerely illusion. I have explained in the essay referred to, how in this\nway double sight and double feeling take place if the organs of sense are\nbrought into an unusual position; and have thus given an incontrovertible\nproof that perception exists only through and for the understanding. As\nadditional examples of such illusions or deceptions of the understanding,\nwe may mention the broken appearance of a stick dipped in water; the\nreflections in spherical mirrors, which, when the surface is convex appear\nsomewhat behind it, and when the surface is concave appear a long way in\nfront of it. To this class also belongs the apparently greater extension\nof the moon at the horizon than at the zenith. This appearance is not\noptical, for as the micrometre proves, the eye receives the image of the\nmoon at the zenith, at an even greater angle of vision than at the\nhorizon. The mistake is due to the understanding, which assumes that the\ncause of the feebler light of the moon and of all stars at the horizon is\nthat they are further off, thus treating them as earthly objects,\naccording to the laws of atmospheric perspective, and therefore it takes\nthe moon to be much larger at the horizon than at the zenith, and also\nregards the vault of heaven as more extended or flattened out at the\nhorizon. The same false application of the laws of atmospheric perspective\nleads us to suppose that very high mountains, whose summits alone are\nvisible in pure transparent air, are much nearer than they really are, and\ntherefore not so high as they are; for example, Mont Blanc seen from\nSalenche. All such illusions are immediately present to us as perceptions,\nand cannot be dispelled by any arguments of the reason. Reason can only\nprevent error, that is, a judgment on insufficient grounds, by opposing to\nit a truth; as for example, the abstract knowledge that the cause of the\nweaker light of the moon and the stars at the horizon is not greater\ndistance, but the denser atmosphere; but in all the cases we have referred\nto, the illusion remains in spite of every abstract explanation. For the\nunderstanding is in itself, even in the case of man, irrational, and is\ncompletely and sharply distinguished from the reason, which is a faculty\nof knowledge that belongs to man alone. The reason can only _know_;\nperception remains free from its influence and belongs to the\nunderstanding alone.\n\n\u00a7 7. With reference to our exposition up to this point, it must be\nobserved that we did not start either from the object or the subject, but\nfrom the idea, which contains and presupposes them both; for the\nantithesis of object and subject is its primary, universal and essential\nform. We have therefore first considered this form as such; then (though\nin this respect reference has for the most part been made to the\nintroductory essay) the subordinate forms of time, space and causality.\nThe latter belong exclusively to the _object_, and yet, as they are\nessential to the object _as such_, and as the object again is essential to\nthe subject _as such_, they may be discovered from the subject, _i.e._,\nthey may be known _a priori_, and so far they are to be regarded as the\ncommon limits of both. But all these forms may be referred to one general\nexpression, the principle of sufficient reason, as we have explained in\nthe introductory essay.\n\nThis procedure distinguishes our philosophical method from that of all\nformer systems. For they all start either from the object or from the\nsubject, and therefore seek to explain the one from the other, and this\naccording to the principle of sufficient reason. We, on the contrary, deny\nthe validity of this principle with reference to the relation of subject\nand object, and confine it to the object. It may be thought that the\nphilosophy of identity, which has appeared and become generally known in\nour own day, does not come under either of the alternatives we have named,\nfor it does not start either from the subject or from the object, but from\nthe absolute, known through \u201cintellectual intuition,\u201d which is neither\nobject nor subject, but the identity of the two. I will not venture to\nspeak of this revered identity, and this absolute, for I find myself\nentirely devoid of all \u201cintellectual intuition.\u201d But as I take my stand\nmerely on those manifestoes of the \u201cintellectual intuiter\u201d which are open\nto all, even to profane persons like myself, I must yet observe that this\nphilosophy is not to be excepted from the alternative errors mentioned\nabove. For it does not escape these two opposite errors in spite of its\nidentity of subject and object, which is not thinkable, but only\n\u201cintellectually intuitable,\u201d or to be experienced by a losing of oneself\nin it. On the contrary, it combines them both in itself; for it is divided\ninto two parts, firstly, transcendental idealism, which is just Fichte\u2019s\ndoctrine of the _ego_, and therefore teaches that the object is produced\nby the subject, or evolved out of it in accordance with the principle of\nsufficient reason; secondly, the philosophy of nature, which teaches that\nthe subject is produced little by little from the object, by means of a\nmethod called construction, about which I understand very little, yet\nenough to know that it is a process according to various forms of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. The deep wisdom itself which that\nconstruction contains, I renounce; for as I entirely lack \u201cintellectual\nintuition,\u201d all those expositions which presuppose it must for me remain\nas a book sealed with seven seals. This is so truly the case that, strange\nto say, I have always been unable to find anything at all in this doctrine\nof profound wisdom but atrocious and wearisome bombast.\n\nThe systems starting from the object had always the whole world of\nperception and its constitution as their problem; yet the object which\nthey take as their starting-point is not always this whole world of\nperception, nor its fundamental element, matter. On the contrary, a\ndivision of these systems may be made, based on the four classes of\npossible objects set forth in the introductory essay. Thus Thales and the\nIonic school, Democritus, Epicurus, Giordano Bruno, and the French\nmaterialists, may be said to have started from the first class of objects,\nthe real world: Spinoza (on account of his conception of substance, which\nis purely abstract, and exists only in his definition) and, earlier, the\nEleatics, from the second class, the abstract conception: the Pythagoreans\nand Chinese philosophy in Y-King, from the third class, time, and\nconsequently number: and, lastly, the schoolmen, who teach a creation out\nof nothing by the act of will of an extra-mundane personal being, started\nfrom the fourth class of objects, the act of will directed by knowledge.\n\nOf all systems of philosophy which start from the object, the most\nconsistent, and that which may be carried furthest, is simple materialism.\nIt regards matter, and with it time and space, as existing absolutely, and\nignores the relation to the subject in which alone all this really exists.\nIt then lays hold of the law of causality as a guiding principle or clue,\nregarding it as a self-existent order (or arrangement) of things, _veritas\naeterna_, and so fails to take account of the understanding, in which and\nfor which alone causality is. It seeks the primary and most simple state\nof matter, and then tries to develop all the others from it; ascending\nfrom mere mechanism, to chemism, to polarity, to the vegetable and to the\nanimal kingdom. And if we suppose this to have been done, the last link in\nthe chain would be animal sensibility\u2014that is knowledge\u2014which would\nconsequently now appear as a mere modification or state of matter produced\nby causality. Now if we had followed materialism thus far with clear\nideas, when we reached its highest point we would suddenly be seized with\na fit of the inextinguishable laughter of the Olympians. As if waking from\na dream, we would all at once become aware that its final\nresult\u2014knowledge, which it reached so laboriously, was presupposed as the\nindispensable condition of its very starting-point, mere matter; and when\nwe imagined that we thought matter, we really thought only the subject\nthat perceives matter; the eye that sees it, the hand that feels it, the\nunderstanding that knows it. Thus the tremendous _petitio principii_\nreveals itself unexpectedly; for suddenly the last link is seen to be the\nstarting-point, the chain a circle, and the materialist is like Baron\nM\u00fcnchausen who, when swimming in water on horseback, drew the horse into\nthe air with his legs, and himself also by his cue. The fundamental\nabsurdity of materialism is that it starts from the _objective_, and takes\nas the ultimate ground of explanation something _objective_, whether it be\nmatter in the abstract, simply as it is _thought_, or after it has taken\nform, is empirically given\u2014that is to say, is _substance_, the chemical\nelement with its primary relations. Some such thing it takes, as existing\nabsolutely and in itself, in order that it may evolve organic nature and\nfinally the knowing subject from it, and explain them adequately by means\nof it; whereas in truth all that is objective is already determined as\nsuch in manifold ways by the knowing subject through its forms of knowing,\nand presupposes them; and consequently it entirely disappears if we think\nthe subject away. Thus materialism is the attempt to explain what is\nimmediately given us by what is given us indirectly. All that is\nobjective, extended, active\u2014that is to say, all that is material\u2014is\nregarded by materialism as affording so solid a basis for its explanation,\nthat a reduction of everything to this can leave nothing to be desired\n(especially if in ultimate analysis this reduction should resolve itself\ninto action and reaction). But we have shown that all this is given\nindirectly and in the highest degree determined, and is therefore merely a\nrelatively present object, for it has passed through the machinery and\nmanufactory of the brain, and has thus come under the forms of space, time\nand causality, by means of which it is first presented to us as extended\nin space and ever active in time. From such an indirectly given object,\nmaterialism seeks to explain what is immediately given, the idea (in which\nalone the object that materialism starts with exists), and finally even\nthe will from which all those fundamental forces, that manifest\nthemselves, under the guidance of causes, and therefore according to law,\nare in truth to be explained. To the assertion that thought is a\nmodification of matter we may always, with equal right, oppose the\ncontrary assertion that all matter is merely the modification of the\nknowing subject, as its idea. Yet the aim and ideal of all natural science\nis at bottom a consistent materialism. The recognition here of the obvious\nimpossibility of such a system establishes another truth which will appear\nin the course of our exposition, the truth that all science properly so\ncalled, by which I understand systematic knowledge under the guidance of\nthe principle of sufficient reason, can never reach its final goal, nor\ngive a complete and adequate explanation: for it is not concerned with the\ninmost nature of the world, it cannot get beyond the idea; indeed, it\nreally teaches nothing more than the relation of one idea to another.\n\nEvery science must start from two principal data. One of these is always\nthe principle of sufficient reason in some form or another, as organon;\nthe other is its special object as problem. Thus, for example, geometry\nhas space as problem, and the ground of existence in space as organon.\nArithmetic has time as problem, and the ground of existence in time as\norganon. Logic has the combination of concepts as such as problem, and the\nground of knowledge as organon. History has the past acts of men treated\nas a whole as problem, and the law of human motives as organon. Natural\nscience has matter as problem, and the law of causality as organon. Its\nend and aim is therefore, by the guidance of causality, to refer all\npossible states of matter to other states, and ultimately to one single\nstate; and again to deduce these states from each other, and ultimately\nfrom one single state. Thus two states of matter stand over against each\nother in natural science as extremes: that state in which matter is\nfurthest from being the immediate object of the subject, and that state in\nwhich it is most completely such an immediate object, _i.e._, the most\ndead and crude matter, the primary element, as the one extreme, and the\nhuman organism as the other. Natural science as chemistry seeks for the\nfirst, as physiology for the second. But as yet neither extreme has been\nreached, and it is only in the intermediate ground that something has been\nwon. The prospect is indeed somewhat hopeless. The chemists, under the\npresupposition that the qualitative division of matter is not, like\nquantitative division, an endless process, are always trying to decrease\nthe number of the elements, of which there are still about sixty; and if\nthey were to succeed in reducing them to two, they would still try to find\nthe common root of these. For, on the one hand, the law of homogeneity\nleads to the assumption of a primary chemical state of matter, which alone\nbelongs to matter as such, and precedes all others which are not\nessentially matter as such, but merely contingent forms and qualities. On\nthe other hand, we cannot understand how this one state could ever\nexperience a chemical change, if there did not exist a second state to\naffect it. Thus the same difficulty appears in chemistry which Epicurus\nmet with in mechanics. For he had to show how the first atom departed from\nthe original direction of its motion. Indeed this contradiction, which\ndevelops entirely of itself and can neither be escaped nor solved, might\nquite properly be set up as a chemical _antinomy_. Thus an antinomy\nappears in the one extreme of natural science, and a corresponding one\nwill appear in the other. There is just as little hope of reaching this\nopposite extreme of natural science, for we see ever more clearly that\nwhat is chemical can never be referred to what is mechanical, nor what is\norganic to what is chemical or electrical. Those who in our own day are\nentering anew on this old, misleading path, will soon slink back silent\nand ashamed, as all their predecessors have done before them. We shall\nconsider this more fully in the second book. Natural science encounters\nthe difficulties which we have cursorily mentioned, in its own province.\nRegarded as philosophy, it would further be materialism; but this, as we\nhave seen, even at its birth, has death in its heart, because it ignores\nthe subject and the forms of knowledge, which are presupposed, just as\nmuch in the case of the crudest matter, from which it desires to start, as\nin that of the organism, at which it desires to arrive. For, \u201cno object\nwithout a subject,\u201d is the principle which renders all materialism for\never impossible. Suns and planets without an eye that sees them, and an\nunderstanding that knows them, may indeed be spoken of in words, but for\nthe idea, these words are absolutely meaningless. On the other hand, the\nlaw of causality and the treatment and investigation of nature which is\nbased upon it, lead us necessarily to the conclusion that, in time, each\nmore highly organised state of matter has succeeded a cruder state: so\nthat the lower animals existed before men, fishes before land animals,\nplants before fishes, and the unorganised before all that is organised;\nthat, consequently, the original mass had to pass through a long series of\nchanges before the first eye could be opened. And yet, the existence of\nthis whole world remains ever dependent upon the first eye that opened,\neven if it were that of an insect. For such an eye is a necessary\ncondition of the possibility of knowledge, and the whole world exists only\nin and for knowledge, and without it is not even thinkable. The world is\nentirely idea, and as such demands the knowing subject as the supporter of\nits existence. This long course of time itself, filled with innumerable\nchanges, through which matter rose from form to form till at last the\nfirst percipient creature appeared,\u2014this whole time itself is only\nthinkable in the identity of a consciousness whose succession of ideas,\nwhose form of knowing it is, and apart from which, it loses all meaning\nand is nothing at all. Thus we see, on the one hand, the existence of the\nwhole world necessarily dependent upon the first conscious being, however\nundeveloped it may be; on the other hand, this conscious being just as\nnecessarily entirely dependent upon a long chain of causes and effects\nwhich have preceded it, and in which it itself appears as a small link.\nThese two contradictory points of view, to each of which we are led with\nthe same necessity, we might again call an _antinomy_ in our faculty of\nknowledge, and set it up as the counterpart of that which we found in the\nfirst extreme of natural science. The fourfold antinomy of Kant will be\nshown, in the criticism of his philosophy appended to this volume, to be a\ngroundless delusion. But the necessary contradiction which at last\npresents itself to us here, finds its solution in the fact that, to use\nKant\u2019s phraseology, time, space, and causality do not belong to the\nthing-in-itself, but only to its phenomena, of which they are the form;\nwhich in my language means this: The objective world, the world as idea,\nis not the only side of the world, but merely its outward side; and it has\nan entirely different side\u2014the side of its inmost nature\u2014its kernel\u2014the\nthing-in-itself. This we shall consider in the second book, calling it\nafter the most immediate of its objective manifestations\u2014will. But the\nworld as idea, with which alone we are here concerned, only appears with\nthe opening of the first eye. Without this medium of knowledge it cannot\nbe, and therefore it was not before it. But without that eye, that is to\nsay, outside of knowledge, there was also no before, no time. Thus time\nhas no beginning, but all beginning is in time. Since, however, it is the\nmost universal form of the knowable, in which all phenomena are united\ntogether through causality, time, with its infinity of past and future, is\npresent in the beginning of knowledge. The phenomenon which fills the\nfirst present must at once be known as causally bound up with and\ndependent upon a sequence of phenomena which stretches infinitely into the\npast, and this past itself is just as truly conditioned by this first\npresent, as conversely the present is by the past. Accordingly the past\nout of which the first present arises, is, like it, dependent upon the\nknowing subject, without which it is nothing. It necessarily happens,\nhowever, that this first present does not manifest itself as the first,\nthat is, as having no past for its parent, but as being the beginning of\ntime. It manifests itself rather as the consequence of the past, according\nto the principle of existence in time. In the same way, the phenomena\nwhich fill this first present appear as the effects of earlier phenomena\nwhich filled the past, in accordance with the law of causality. Those who\nlike mythological interpretations may take the birth of Kronos (\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2),\nthe youngest of the Titans, as a symbol of the moment here referred to at\nwhich time appears, though, indeed it has no beginning; for with him,\nsince he ate his father, the crude productions of heaven and earth cease,\nand the races of gods and men appear upon the scene.\n\nThis explanation at which we have arrived by following the most consistent\nof the philosophical systems which start from the object, materialism, has\nbrought out clearly the inseparable and reciprocal dependence of subject\nand object, and at the same time the inevitable antithesis between them.\nAnd this knowledge leads us to seek for the inner nature of the world, the\nthing-in-itself, not in either of the two elements of the idea, but in\nsomething quite distinct from it, and which is not encumbered with such a\nfundamental and insoluble antithesis.\n\nOpposed to the system we have explained, which starts from the object in\norder to derive the subject from it, is the system which starts from the\nsubject and tries to derive the object from it. The first of these has\nbeen of frequent and common occurrence throughout the history of\nphilosophy, but of the second we find only one example, and that a very\nrecent one; the \u201cphilosophy of appearance\u201d of J. G. Fichte. In this\nrespect, therefore, it must be considered; little real worth or inner\nmeaning as the doctrine itself had. It was indeed for the most part merely\na delusion, but it was delivered with an air of the deepest earnestness,\nwith sustained loftiness of tone and zealous ardour, and was defended with\neloquent polemic against weak opponents, so that it was able to present a\nbrilliant exterior and seemed to be something. But the genuine earnestness\nwhich keeps truth always steadfastly before it as its goal, and is\nunaffected by any external influences, was entirely wanting to Fichte, as\nit is to all philosophers who, like him, concern themselves with questions\nof the day. In his case, indeed, it could not have been otherwise. A man\nbecomes a philosopher by reason of a certain perplexity, from which he\nseeks to free himself. This is Plato\u2019s \u03b8\u03b1\u03c5\u03bc\u03b1\u03be\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, which he calls a \u03bc\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\n\u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2. But what distinguishes the false philosopher from the\ntrue is this: the perplexity of the latter arises from the contemplation\nof the world itself, while that of the former results from some book, some\nsystem of philosophy which is before him. Now Fichte belongs to the class\nof the false philosophers. He was made a philosopher by Kant\u2019s doctrine of\nthe thing-in-itself, and if it had not been for this he would probably\nhave pursued entirely different ends, with far better results, for he\ncertainly possessed remarkable rhetorical talent. If he had only\npenetrated somewhat deeply into the meaning of the book that made him a\nphilosopher, \u201cThe Critique of Pure Reason,\u201d he would have understood that\nits principal teaching about mind is this. The principle of sufficient\nreason is not, as all scholastic philosophy maintains, a _veritas\naeterna_\u2014that is to say, it does not possess an unconditioned validity\nbefore, outside of, and above the world. It is relative and conditioned,\nand valid only in the sphere of phenomena, and thus it may appear as the\nnecessary nexus of space and time, or as the law of causality, or as the\nlaw of the ground of knowledge. The inner nature of the world, the\nthing-in-itself can never be found by the guidance of this principle, for\nall that it leads to will be found to be dependent and relative and merely\nphenomenal, not the thing-in-itself. Further, it does not concern the\nsubject, but is only the form of objects, which are therefore not\nthings-in-themselves. The subject must exist along with the object, and\nthe object along with the subject, so that it is impossible that subject\nand object can stand to each other in a relation of reason and consequent.\nBut Fichte did not take up the smallest fragment of all this. All that\ninterested him about the matter was that the system started from the\nsubject. Now Kant had chosen this procedure in order to show the fallacy\nof the prevalent systems, which started from the object, and through which\nthe object had come, to be regarded as a thing-in-itself. Fichte, however,\ntook this departure from the subject for the really important matter, and\nlike all imitators, he imagined that in going further than Kant he was\nsurpassing him. Thus he repeated the fallacy with regard to the subject,\nwhich all the previous dogmatism had perpetrated with regard to the\nobject, and which had been the occasion of Kant\u2019s \u201cCritique\u201d. Fichte then\nmade no material change, and the fundamental fallacy, the assumption of a\nrelation of reason and consequent between object and subject, remained\nafter him as it was before him. The principle of sufficient reason\npossessed as before an unconditioned validity, and the only difference was\nthat the thing-in-itself was now placed in the subject instead of, as\nformerly, in the object. The entire relativity of both subject and object,\nwhich proves that the thing-in-itself, or the inner nature of the world,\nis not to be sought in them at all, but outside of them, and outside\neverything else that exists merely relatively, still remained unknown.\nJust as if Kant had never existed, the principle of sufficient reason is\nto Fichte precisely what it was to all the schoolmen, a _veritas aeterna_.\nAs an eternal fate reigned over the gods of old, so these _aetern\u00e6\nveritates_, these metaphysical, mathematical and metalogical truths, and\nin the case of some, the validity of the moral law also, reigned over the\nGod of the schoolmen. These _veritates_ alone were independent of\neverything, and through their necessity both God and the world existed.\nAccording to the principle of sufficient reason, as such a _veritas\naeterna_, the _ego_ is for Fichte the ground of the world, or of the\n_non-ego_, the object, which is just its consequent, its creation. He has\ntherefore taken good care to avoid examining further or limiting the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. If, however, it is thought I should\nspecify the form of the principle of sufficient reason under the guidance\nof which Fichte derives the _non-ego_ from the _ego_, as a spider spins\nits web out of itself, I find that it is the principle of sufficient\nreason of existence in space: for it is only as referred to this that some\nkind of meaning and sense can be attached to the laboured deductions of\nthe way in which the _ego_ produces and fabricates the _non-ego_ from\nitself, which form the content of the most senseless, and consequently the\nmost wearisome book that was ever written. This philosophy of Fichte,\notherwise not worth mentioning, is interesting to us only as the tardy\nexpression of the converse of the old materialism. For materialism was the\nmost consistent system starting from the object, as this is the most\nconsistent system starting from the subject. Materialism overlooked the\nfact that, with the simplest object, it assumed the subject also; and\nFichte overlooked the fact that with the subject (whatever he may call it)\nhe assumed the object also, for no subject is thinkable without an object.\nBesides this he forgot that all _a priori_ deduction, indeed all\ndemonstration in general, must rest upon some necessity, and that all\nnecessity is based on the principle of sufficient reason, because to be\nnecessary, and to follow from given grounds are convertible\nconceptions.(10) But the principle of sufficient reason is just the\nuniversal form of the object as such. Thus it is in the object, but is not\nvalid before and outside of it; it first produces the object and makes it\nappear in conformity with its regulative principle. We see then that the\nsystem which starts from the subject contains the same fallacy as the\nsystem, explained above, which starts from the object; it begins by\nassuming what it proposes to deduce, the necessary correlative of its\nstarting-point.\n\nThe method of our own system is _toto genere_ distinct from these two\nopposite misconceptions, for we start neither from the object nor from the\nsubject, but from the _idea_, as the first fact of consciousness. Its\nfirst essential, fundamental form is the antithesis of subject and object.\nThe form of the object again is the principle of sufficient reason in its\nvarious forms. Each of these reigns so absolutely in its own class of\nideas that, as we have seen, when the special form of the principle of\nsufficient reason which governs any class of ideas is known, the nature of\nthe whole class is known also: for the whole class, as idea, is no more\nthan this form of the principle of sufficient reason itself; so that time\nitself is nothing but the principle of existence in it, _i.e._,\nsuccession; space is nothing but the principle of existence in it, _i.e._,\nposition; matter is nothing but causality; the concept (as will appear\nimmediately) is nothing but relation to a ground of knowledge. This\nthorough and consistent relativity of the world as idea, both according to\nits universal form (subject and object), and according to the form which\nis subordinate to this (the principle of sufficient reason) warns us, as\nwe said before, to seek the inner nature of the world in an aspect of it\nwhich is _quite different and quite distinct from the idea_; and in the\nnext book we shall find this in a fact which is just as immediate to every\nliving being as the idea.\n\nBut we must first consider that class of ideas which belongs to man alone.\nThe matter of these is the concept, and the subjective correlative is\nreason, just as the subjective correlative of the ideas we have already\nconsidered was understanding and sensibility, which are also to be\nattributed to all the lower animals.(11)\n\n\u00a7 8. As from the direct light of the sun to the borrowed light of the\nmoon, we pass from the immediate idea of perception, which stands by\nitself and is its own warrant, to reflection, to the abstract, discursive\nconcepts of the reason, which obtain their whole content from knowledge of\nperception, and in relation to it. As long as we continue simply to\nperceive, all is clear, firm, and certain. There are neither questions nor\ndoubts nor errors; we desire to go no further, can go no further; we find\nrest in perceiving, and satisfaction in the present. Perception suffices\nfor itself, and therefore what springs purely from it, and remains true to\nit, for example, a genuine work of art, can never be false, nor can it be\ndiscredited through the lapse of time, for it does not present an opinion\nbut the thing itself. But with abstract knowledge, with reason, doubt and\nerror appear in the theoretical, care and sorrow in the practical. In the\nidea of perception, illusion may at moments take the place of the real;\nbut in the sphere of abstract thought, error may reign for a thousand\nyears, impose its yoke upon whole nations, extend to the noblest impulses\nof humanity, and, by the help of its slaves and its dupes, may chain and\nfetter those whom it cannot deceive. It is the enemy against which the\nwisest men of all times have waged unequal war, and only what they have\nwon from it has become the possession of mankind. Therefore it is well to\ndraw attention to it at once, as we already tread the ground to which its\nprovince belongs. It has often been said that we ought to follow truth\neven although no utility can be seen in it, because it may have indirect\nutility which may appear when it is least expected; and I would add to\nthis, that we ought to be just as anxious to discover and to root out all\nerror even when no harm is anticipated from it, because its mischief may\nbe very indirect, and may suddenly appear when we do not expect it, for\nall error has poison at its heart. If it is mind, if it is knowledge, that\nmakes man the lord of creation, there can be no such thing as harmless\nerror, still less venerable and holy error. And for the consolation of\nthose who in any way and at any time may have devoted strength and life to\nthe noble and hard battle against error, I cannot refrain from adding\nthat, so long as truth is absent, error will have free play, as owls and\nbats in the night; but sooner would we expect to see the owls and the bats\ndrive back the sun in the eastern heavens, than that any truth which has\nonce been known and distinctly and fully expressed, can ever again be so\nutterly vanquished and overcome that the old error shall once more reign\nundisturbed over its wide kingdom. This is the power of truth; its\nconquest is slow and laborious, but if once the victory be gained it can\nnever be wrested back again.\n\nBesides the ideas we have as yet considered, which, according to their\nconstruction, could be referred to time, space, and matter, if we consider\nthem with reference to the object, or to pure sensibility and\nunderstanding (_i.e._, knowledge of causality), if we consider them with\nreference to the subject, another faculty of knowledge has appeared in man\nalone of all earthly creatures, an entirely new consciousness, which, with\nvery appropriate and significant exactness, is called _reflection_. For it\nis in fact derived from the knowledge of perception, and is a reflected\nappearance of it. But it has assumed a nature fundamentally different. The\nforms of perception do not affect it, and even the principle of sufficient\nreason which reigns over all objects has an entirely different aspect with\nregard to it. It is just this new, more highly endowed, consciousness,\nthis abstract reflex of all that belongs to perception in that conception\nof the reason which has nothing to do with perception, that gives to man\nthat thoughtfulness which distinguishes his consciousness so entirely from\nthat of the lower animals, and through which his whole behaviour upon\nearth is so different from that of his irrational fellow-creatures. He far\nsurpasses them in power and also in suffering. They live in the present\nalone, he lives also in the future and the past. They satisfy the needs of\nthe moment, he provides by the most ingenious preparations for the future,\nyea for days that he shall never see. They are entirely dependent on the\nimpression of the moment, on the effect of the perceptible motive; he is\ndetermined by abstract conceptions independent of the present. Therefore\nhe follows predetermined plans, he acts from maxims, without reference to\nhis surroundings or the accidental impression of the moment. Thus, for\nexample, he can make with composure deliberate preparations for his own\ndeath, he can dissemble past finding out, and can carry his secret with\nhim to the grave; lastly, he has an actual choice between several motives;\nfor only in the abstract can such motives, present together in\nconsciousness, afford the knowledge with regard to themselves, that the\none excludes the other, and can thus measure themselves against each other\nwith reference to their power over the will. The motive that overcomes, in\nthat it decides the question at issue, is the deliberate determinant of\nthe will, and is a sure indication of its character. The brute, on the\nother hand, is determined by the present impression; only the fear of\npresent compulsion can constrain its desires, until at last this fear has\nbecome custom, and as such continues to determine it; this is called\ntraining. The brute feels and perceives; man, in addition to this,\n_thinks_ and _knows_: both _will_. The brute expresses its feelings and\ndispositions by gestures and sounds; man communicates his thought to\nothers, or, if he wishes, he conceals it, by means of speech. Speech is\nthe first production, and also the necessary organ of his reason.\nTherefore in Greek and Italian, speech and reason are expressed by the\nsame word; \u1f41 \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03c2, _il discorso_. _Vernunft_ is derived from _vernehmen_,\nwhich is not a synonym for the verb to hear, but signifies the\nconsciousness of the meaning of thoughts communicated in words. It is by\nthe help of language alone that reason accomplishes its most important\nachievements,\u2014the united action of several individuals, the planned\nco-operation of many thousands, civilisation, the state; also science, the\nstoring up of experience, the uniting of common properties in one concept,\nthe communication of truth, the spread of error, thoughts and poems,\ndogmas and superstitions. The brute first knows death when it dies, but\nman draws consciously nearer to it every hour that he lives; and this\nmakes life at times a questionable good even to him who has not recognised\nthis character of constant annihilation in the whole of life. Principally\non this account man has philosophies and religions, though it is uncertain\nwhether the qualities we admire most in his conduct, voluntary rectitude\nand nobility of feeling, were ever the fruit of either of them. As results\nwhich certainly belong only to them, and as productions of reason in this\nsphere, we may refer to the marvellous and monstrous opinions of\nphilosophers of various schools, and the extraordinary and sometimes cruel\ncustoms of the priests of different religions.\n\nIt is the universal opinion of all times and of all nations that these\nmanifold and far-reaching achievements spring from a common principle,\nfrom that peculiar intellectual power which belongs distinctively to man\nand which has been called reason, \u1f41 \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03c2, \u03c4\u03bf \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd, \u03c4\u03bf \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03b9\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd,\n_ratio_. Besides this, no one finds any difficulty in recognising the\nmanifestations of this faculty, and in saying what is rational and what is\nirrational, where reason appears as distinguished from the other faculties\nand qualities of man, or lastly, in pointing out what, on account of the\nwant of reason, we must never expect even from the most sensible brute.\nThe philosophers of all ages may be said to be on the whole at one about\nthis general knowledge of reason, and they have also given prominence to\nseveral very important manifestations of it; such as, the control of the\nemotions and passions, the capacity for drawing conclusions and\nformulating general principles, even such as are true prior to all\nexperience, and so forth. Still all their explanations of the peculiar\nnature of reason are wavering, not clearly defined, discursive, without\nunity and concentration; now laying stress on one manifestation, now on\nanother, and therefore often at variance with each other. Besides this,\nmany start from the opposition between reason and revelation, a\ndistinction which is unknown to philosophy, and which only increases\nconfusion. It is very remarkable that up till now no philosopher has\nreferred these manifold expressions of reason to one simple function which\nwould be recognised in them all, from which they would all be explained,\nand which would therefore constitute the real inner nature of reason. It\nis true that the excellent Locke in the \u201cEssay on the Human Understanding\u201d\n(Book II., ch. xi., \u00a7\u00a7 10 and 11), very rightly refers to general concepts\nas the characteristic which distinguishes man from the brutes, and\nLeibnitz quotes this with full approval in the \u201cNouveaux Essais sur\nl\u2019Entendement Humaine\u201d (Book II., ch. xi., \u00a7\u00a7 10 and 11.) But when Locke\n(in Book IV., ch. xvii., \u00a7\u00a7 2 and 3) comes to the special explanation of\nreason he entirely loses sight of this simple, primary characteristic, and\nhe also falls into a wavering, undetermined, incomplete account of mangled\nand derivative manifestations of it. Leibnitz also, in the corresponding\npart of his work, behaves in a similar manner, only with more confusion\nand indistinctness. In the Appendix, I have fully considered how Kant\nconfused and falsified the conception of the nature of reason. But whoever\nwill take the trouble to go through in this reference the mass of\nphilosophical writing which has appeared since Kant, will find out, that\njust as the faults of princes must be expiated by whole nations, the\nerrors of great minds extend their influence over whole generations, and\neven over centuries; they grow and propagate themselves, and finally\ndegenerate into monstrosities. All this arises from the fact that, as\nBerkeley says, \u201cFew men think; yet all will have opinions.\u201d\n\nThe understanding has only one function\u2014immediate knowledge of the\nrelation of cause and effect. Yet the perception of the real world, and\nall common sense, sagacity, and inventiveness, however multifarious their\napplications may be, are quite clearly seen to be nothing more than\nmanifestations of that one function. So also the reason has one function;\nand from it all the manifestations of reason we have mentioned, which\ndistinguish the life of man from that of the brutes, may easily be\nexplained. The application or the non-application of this function is all\nthat is meant by what men have everywhere and always called rational and\nirrational.(12)\n\n\u00a7 9. Concepts form a distinct class of ideas, existing only in the mind of\nman, and entirely different from the ideas of perception which we have\nconsidered up till now. We can therefore never attain to a sensuous and,\nproperly speaking, evident knowledge of their nature, but only to a\nknowledge which is abstract and discursive. It would, therefore, be absurd\nto demand that they should be verified in experience, if by experience is\nmeant the real external world, which consists of ideas of perception, or\nthat they should be brought before the eyes or the imagination like\nobjects of perception. They can only be thought, not perceived, and only\nthe effects which men accomplish through them are properly objects of\nexperience. Such effects are language, preconceived and planned action and\nscience, and all that results from these. Speech, as an object of outer\nexperience, is obviously nothing more than a very complete telegraph,\nwhich communicates arbitrary signs with the greatest rapidity and the\nfinest distinctions of difference. But what do these signs mean? How are\nthey interpreted? When some one speaks, do we at once translate his words\ninto pictures of the fancy, which instantaneously flash upon us, arrange\nand link themselves together, and assume form and colour according to the\nwords that are poured forth, and their grammatical inflections? What a\ntumult there would be in our brains while we listened to a speech, or to\nthe reading of a book? But what actually happens is not this at all. The\nmeaning of a speech is, as a rule, immediately grasped, accurately and\ndistinctly taken in, without the imagination being brought into play. It\nis reason which speaks to reason, keeping within its own province. It\ncommunicates and receives abstract conceptions, ideas that cannot be\npresented in perceptions, which are framed once for all, and are\nrelatively few in number, but which yet encompass, contain, and represent\nall the innumerable objects of the actual world. This itself is sufficient\nto prove that the lower animals can never learn to speak or comprehend,\nalthough they have the organs of speech and ideas of perception in common\nwith us. But because words represent this perfectly distinct class of\nideas, whose subjective correlative is reason, they are without sense and\nmeaning for the brutes. Thus language, like every other manifestation\nwhich we ascribe to reason, and like everything which distinguishes man\nfrom the brutes, is to be explained from this as its one simple\nsource\u2014conceptions, abstract ideas which cannot be presented in\nperception, but are general, and have no individual existence in space and\ntime. Only in single cases do we pass from the conception to the\nperception, do we construct images as _representatives of concepts_ in\nperception, to which, however, they are never adequate. These cases are\nfully discussed in the essay on the principle of sufficient reason, \u00a7 28,\nand therefore I shall not repeat my explanation here. It may be compared,\nhowever, with what is said by Hume in the twelfth of his \u201cPhilosophical\nEssays,\u201d p. 244, and by Herder in the \u201cMetacritik,\u201d pt. i. p. 274 (an\notherwise worthless book). The Platonic idea, the possibility of which\ndepends upon the union of imagination and reason, is the principal subject\nof the third book of this work.\n\nAlthough concepts are fundamentally different from ideas of perception,\nthey stand in a necessary relation to them, without which they would be\nnothing. This relation therefore constitutes the whole nature and\nexistence of concepts. Reflection is the necessary copy or repetition of\nthe originally presented world of perception, but it is a special kind of\ncopy in an entirely different material. Thus concepts may quite properly\nbe called ideas of ideas. The principle of sufficient reason has here also\na special form. Now we have seen that the form under which the principle\nof sufficient reason appears in a class of ideas always constitutes and\nexhausts the whole nature of the class, so far as it consists of ideas, so\nthat time is throughout succession, and nothing more; space is throughout\nposition, and nothing more; matter is throughout causation, and nothing\nmore. In the same way the whole nature of concepts, or the class of\nabstract ideas, consists simply in the relation which the principle of\nsufficient reason expresses in them; and as this is the relation to the\nground of knowledge, the whole nature of the abstract idea is simply and\nsolely its relation to another idea, which is its ground of knowledge.\nThis, indeed, may, in the first instance, be a concept, an abstract idea,\nand this again may have only a similar abstract ground of knowledge; but\nthe chain of grounds of knowledge does not extend _ad infinitum_; it must\nend at last in a concept which has its ground in knowledge of perception;\nfor the whole world of reflection rests on the world of perception as its\nground of knowledge. Hence the class of abstract ideas is in this respect\ndistinguished from other classes; in the latter the principle of\nsufficient reason always demands merely a relation to another idea of the\n_same_ class, but in the case of abstract ideas, it at last demands a\nrelation to an idea of _another_ class.\n\nThose concepts which, as has just been pointed out, are not immediately\nrelated to the world of perception, but only through the medium of one, or\nit may be several other concepts, have been called by preference\n_abstracta_, and those which have their ground immediately in the world of\nperception have been called _concreta_. But this last name is only loosely\napplicable to the concepts denoted by it, for they are always merely\n_abstracta_, and not ideas of perception. These names, which have\noriginated in a very dim consciousness of the distinctions they imply, may\nyet, with this explanation, be retained. As examples of the first kind of\nconcepts, _i.e._, _abstracta_ in the fullest sense, we may take\n\u201crelation,\u201d \u201cvirtue,\u201d \u201cinvestigation,\u201d \u201cbeginning,\u201d and so on. As examples\nof the second kind, loosely called _concreta_, we may take such concepts\nas \u201cman,\u201d \u201cstone,\u201d \u201chorse,\u201d &c. If it were not a somewhat too pictorial\nand therefore absurd simile, we might very appropriately call the latter\nthe ground floor, and the former the upper stories of the building of\nreflection.(13)\n\nIt is not, as is commonly supposed, an essential characteristic of a\nconcept that it should contain much under it, that is to say, that many\nideas of perception, or it may be other abstract ideas, should stand to it\nin the relation of its ground of knowledge, _i.e._, be thought through it.\nThis is merely a derived and secondary characteristic, and, as a matter of\nfact, does not always exist, though it must always exist potentially. This\ncharacteristic arises from the fact that a concept is an idea of an idea,\n_i.e._, its whole nature consists in its relation to another idea; but as\nit is not this idea itself, which is generally an idea of perception and\ntherefore belongs to quite a different class, the latter may have\ntemporal, spacial, and other determinations, and in general many relations\nwhich are not thought along with it in the concept. Thus we see that\nseveral ideas which are different in unessential particulars may be\nthought by means of one concept, _i.e._, may be brought under it. Yet this\npower of embracing several things is not an essential but merely an\naccidental characteristic of the concept. There may be concepts through\nwhich only one real object is thought, but which are nevertheless abstract\nand general, by no means capable of presentation individually and as\nperceptions. Such, for example, is the conception which any one may have\nof a particular town which he only knows from geography; although only\nthis one town is thought under it, it might yet be applied to several\ntowns differing in certain respects. We see then that a concept is not\ngeneral because of being abstracted from several objects; but conversely,\nbecause generality, that is to say, non-determination of the particular,\nbelongs to the concept as an abstract idea of the reason, different things\ncan be thought by means of the same one.\n\nIt follows from what has been said that every concept, just because it is\nabstract and incapable of presentation in perception, and is therefore not\na completely determined idea, has what is called extension or sphere, even\nin the case in which only one real object exists that corresponds to it.\nNow we always find that the sphere of one concept has something in common\nwith the sphere of other concepts. That is to say, part of what is thought\nunder one concept is the same as what is thought under other concepts; and\nconversely, part of what is thought under these concepts is the same as\nwhat is thought under the first; although, if they are really different\nconcepts, each of them, or at least one of them, contains something which\nthe other does not contain; this is the relation in which every subject\nstands to its predicate. The recognition of this relation is called\njudgment. The representation of these spheres by means of figures in\nspace, is an exceedingly happy idea. It first occurred to Gottfried\nPlouquet, who used squares for the purpose. Lambert, although later than\nhim, used only lines, which he placed under each other. Euler carried out\nthe idea completely with circles. Upon what this complete analogy between\nthe relations of concepts, and those of figures in space, ultimately\nrests, I am unable to say. It is, however, a very fortunate circumstance\nfor logic that all the relations of concepts, according to their\npossibility, _i.e._, _a priori_, may be made plain in perception by the\nuse of such figures, in the following way:\u2014\n\n(1.) The spheres of two concepts coincide: for example the concept of\nnecessity and the concept of following from given grounds, in the same way\nthe concepts of _Ruminantia_ and _Bisulca_ (ruminating and cloven-hoofed\nanimals), also those of vertebrate and red-blooded animals (although there\nmight be some doubt about this on account of the annelida): they are\nconvertible concepts. Such concepts are represented by a single circle\nwhich stands for either of them.\n\n(2.) The sphere of one concept includes that of the other.\n\n        [Illustration: Category \"horse\" within category \"animal\".]\n\n(3.) A sphere includes two or more spheres which exclude each other and\nfill it.\n\n[Illustration: Circle divided into thirds \"right\", \"acute\", and \"obtuse\".]\n\n(4.) Two spheres include each a part of the other.\n\n   [Illustration: Two overlapping circles, one \"flower\" and one \"red\".]\n\n(5.) Two spheres lie in a third, but do not fill it.\n\n   [Illustration: A large circle, \"matter\", within which are two other\n                      circles, \"water\" and \"earth\".]\n\nThis last case applies to all concepts whose spheres have nothing\nimmediately in common, for there is always a third sphere, often a much\nwider one, which includes both.\n\nTo these cases all combinations of concepts may be referred, and from them\nthe entire doctrine of the judgment, its conversion, contraposition,\nequipollence, disjunction (this according to the third figure) may be\ndeduced. From these also may be derived the properties of the judgment,\nupon which Kant based his pretended categories of the understanding, with\nthe exception however of the hypothetical form, which is not a combination\nof concepts, but of judgments. A full account is given in the Appendix of\n\u201cModality,\u201d and indeed of every property of judgments on which the\ncategories are founded.\n\nWith regard to the possible combinations of concepts which we have given,\nit has only further to be remarked that they may also be combined with\neach other in many ways. For example, the fourth figure with the second.\nOnly if one sphere, which partly or wholly contains another, is itself\ncontained in a third sphere, do these together exemplify the syllogism in\nthe first figure, _i.e._, that combination of judgments, by means of which\nit is known that a concept which is partly or wholly contained in another\nconcept, is also contained in a third concept, which again contains the\nfirst: and also, conversely, the negation; the pictorial representation of\nwhich can, of course, only be two connected spheres which do not lie\nwithin a third sphere. If many spheres are brought together in this way we\nget a long train of syllogisms. This schematism of concepts, which has\nalready been fairly well explained in more than one textbook, may be used\nas the foundation of the doctrine of the judgment, and indeed of the whole\nsyllogistic theory, and in this way the treatment of both becomes very\neasy and simple. Because, through it, all syllogistic rules may be seen in\ntheir origin, and may be deduced and explained. It is not necessary,\nhowever, to load the memory with these rules, as logic is never of\npractical use, but has only a theoretical interest for philosophy. For\nalthough it may be said that logic is related to rational thinking as\nthorough-bass is to music, or less exactly, as ethics is to virtue, or\n\u00e6sthetics to art; we must yet remember that no one ever became an artist\nby the study of \u00e6sthetics; that a noble character was never formed by the\nstudy of ethics; that long before Rameau, men composed correctly and\nbeautifully, and that we do not need to know thorough-bass in order to\ndetect discords: and just as little do we need to know logic in order to\navoid being misled by fallacies. Yet it must be conceded that\nthorough-bass is of the greatest use in the practice of musical\ncomposition, although it may not be necessary for the understanding of it;\nand indeed \u00e6sthetics and even ethics, though in a much less degree, and\nfor the most part negatively, may be of some use in practice, so that we\ncannot deny them all practical worth, but of logic even this much cannot\nbe conceded. It is nothing more than the knowledge in the abstract of what\nevery one knows in the concrete. Therefore we call in the aid of logical\nrules, just as little to enable us to construct a correct argument as to\nprevent us from consenting to a false one, and the most learned logician\nlays aside the rules of logic altogether in his actual thought. This may\nbe explained in the following way. Every science is a system of general\nand therefore abstract truths, laws, and rules with reference to a special\nclass of objects. The individual case coming under these laws is\ndetermined in accordance with this general knowledge, which is valid once\nfor all; because such application of the general principle is far easier\nthan the exhaustive investigation of the particular case; for the general\nabstract knowledge which has once been obtained is always more within our\nreach than the empirical investigation of the particular case. With logic,\nhowever, it is just the other way. It is the general knowledge of the mode\nof procedure of the reason expressed in the form of rules. It is reached\nby the introspection of reason, and by abstraction from all content. But\nthis mode of procedure is necessary and essential to reason, so that it\nwill never depart from it if left to itself. It is, therefore, easier and\nsurer to let it proceed itself according to its nature in each particular\ncase, than to present to it the knowledge abstracted from this procedure\nin the form of a foreign and externally given law. It is easier, because,\nwhile in the case of all other sciences, the general rule is more within\nour reach than the investigation of the particular case taken by itself;\nwith the use of reason, on the contrary, its necessary procedure in a\ngiven case is always more within our reach than the general rule\nabstracted from it; for that which thinks in us is reason itself. It is\nsurer, because a mistake may more easily occur in such abstract knowledge,\nor in its application, than that a process of reason should take place\nwhich would run contrary to its essence and nature. Hence arises the\nremarkable fact, that while in other sciences the particular case is\nalways proved by the rule, in logic, on the contrary, the rule must always\nbe proved from the particular case; and even the most practised logician,\nif he remark that in some particular case he concludes otherwise than the\nrule prescribes, will always expect to find a mistake in the rule rather\nthan in his own conclusion. To desire to make practical use of logic\nmeans, therefore, to desire to derive with unspeakable trouble, from\ngeneral rules, that which is immediately known with the greatest certainty\nin the particular case. It is just as if a man were to consult mechanics\nas to the motion of his body, and physiology as to his digestion; and\nwhoever has learnt logic for practical purposes is like him who would\nteach a beaver to make its own dam. Logic is, therefore, without practical\nutility; but it must nevertheless be retained, because it has\nphilosophical interest as the special knowledge of the organisation and\naction of reason. It is rightly regarded as a definite, self-subsisting,\nself-contained, complete, and thoroughly safe discipline; to be treated\nscientifically for itself alone and independently of everything else, and\ntherefore to be studied at the universities. But it has its real value, in\nrelation to philosophy as a whole, in the inquiry into the nature of\nknowledge, and indeed of rational and abstract knowledge. Therefore the\nexposition of logic should not have so much the form of a practical\nscience, should not contain merely naked arbitrary rules for the correct\nformation of the judgment, the syllogism, &c., but should rather be\ndirected to the knowledge of the nature of reason and the concept, and to\nthe detailed investigation of the principle of sufficient reason of\nknowing. For logic is only a paraphrase of this principle, and, more\nexactly, only of that exemplification of it in which the ground that gives\ntruth to the judgment is neither empirical nor metaphysical, but logical\nor metalogical. Besides the principle of sufficient reason of knowing, it\nis necessary to take account of the three remaining fundamental laws of\nthought, or judgments of metalogical truth, so nearly related to it; and\nout of these the whole science of reason grows. The nature of thought\nproper, that is to say, of the judgment and the syllogism, must be\nexhibited in the combination of the spheres of concepts, according to the\nanalogy of the special schema, in the way shown above; and from all this\nthe rules of the judgment and the syllogism are to be deduced by\nconstruction. The only practical use we can make of logic is in a debate,\nwhen we can convict our antagonist of his intentional fallacies, rather\nthan of his actual mistakes, by giving them their technical names. By thus\nthrowing into the background the practical aim of logic, and bringing out\nits connection with the whole scheme of philosophy as one of its chapters,\nwe do not think that we shall make the study of it less prevalent than it\nis just now. For at the present day every one who does not wish to remain\nuncultured, and to be numbered with the ignorant and incompetent\nmultitude, must study speculative philosophy. For the nineteenth century\nis a philosophical age, though by this we do not mean either that it has\nphilosophy, or that philosophy governs it, but rather that it is ripe for\nphilosophy, and, therefore, stands in need of it. This is a sign of a high\ndegree of civilisation, and indeed, is a definite stage in the culture of\nthe ages.(14)\n\nThough logic is of so little practical use, it cannot be denied that it\nwas invented for practical purposes. It appears to me to have originated\nin the following way:\u2014As the love of debating developed among the\nEleatics, the Megarics, and the Sophists, and by degrees became almost a\npassion, the confusion in which nearly every debate ended must have made\nthem feel the necessity of a method of procedure as a guide; and for this\na scientific dialectic had to be sought. The first thing which would have\nto be observed would be that both the disputing parties should always be\nagreed on some one proposition, to which the disputed points might be\nreferred. The beginning of the methodical procedure consisted in this,\nthat the propositions admitted on both sides were formally stated to be\nso, and placed at the head of the inquiry. But these propositions were at\nfirst concerned only with the material of the inquiry. It was soon\nobserved that in the process of going back to the truth admitted on both\nsides, and of deducing their assertions from it, each party followed\ncertain forms and laws about which, without any express agreement, there\nwas no difference of opinion. And from this it became evident that these\nmust constitute the peculiar and natural procedure of reason itself, the\nform of investigation. Although this was not exposed to any doubt or\ndifference of opinion, some pedantically systematic philosopher hit upon\nthe idea that it would look well, and be the completion of the method of\ndialectic, if this formal part of all discussion, this regular procedure\nof reason itself, were to be expressed in abstract propositions, just like\nthe substantial propositions admitted on both sides, and placed at the\nbeginning of every investigation, as the fixed canon of debate to which\nreference and appeal must always be made. In this way what had formerly\nbeen followed only by tacit agreement, and instinctively, would be\nconsciously recognised and formally expressed. By degrees, more or less\nperfect expressions were found for the fundamental principles of logic,\nsuch as the principles of contradiction, sufficient reason, excluded\nmiddle, the _dictum de omni et nullo_, as well as the special rules of the\nsyllogism, as for example, _ex meris particularibus aut negativis nihil\nsequitur, a rationato ad rationem non valet consequentia_, and so on. That\nall this was only brought about slowly, and with great pains, and up till\nthe time of Aristotle remained very incomplete, is evident from the\nawkward and tedious way in which logical truths are brought out in many of\nthe Platonic dialogues, and still more from what Sextus Empiricus tells us\nof the controversies of the Megarics, about the easiest and simplest\nlogical rules, and the laborious way in which they were brought into a\ndefinite form (Sext. Emp. adv. Math. l. 8, p. 112). But Aristotle\ncollected, arranged, and corrected all that had been discovered before his\ntime, and brought it to an incomparably greater state of perfection. If we\nthus observe how the course of Greek culture had prepared the way for, and\nled up to the work of Aristotle, we shall be little inclined to believe\nthe assertion of the Persian author, quoted by Sir William Jones with much\napproval, that Kallisthenes found a complete system of logic among the\nIndians, and sent it to his uncle Aristotle (Asiatic Researches, vol. iv.\np. 163). It is easy to understand that in the dreary middle ages the\nAristotelian logic would be very acceptable to the controversial spirit of\nthe schoolmen, which, in the absence of all real knowledge, spent its\nenergy upon mere formulas and words, and that it would be eagerly adopted\neven in its mutilated Arabian form, and presently established as the\ncentre of all knowledge. Though its authority has since declined, yet up\nto our own time logic has retained the credit of a self-contained,\npractical, and highly important science. Indeed, in our own day, the\nKantian philosophy, the foundation-stone of which is taken from logic, has\nexcited a new interest in it; which, in this respect, at any rate, that\nis, as the means of the knowledge of the nature of reason, it deserves.\n\nCorrect and accurate conclusions may be arrived at if we carefully observe\nthe relation of the spheres of concepts, and only conclude that one sphere\nis contained in a third sphere, when we have clearly seen that this first\nsphere is contained in a second, which in its turn is contained in the\nthird. On the other hand, the art of sophistry lies in casting only a\nsuperficial glance at the relations of the spheres of the concepts, and\nthen manipulating these relations to suit our purposes, generally in the\nfollowing way:\u2014When the sphere of an observed concept lies partly within\nthat of another concept, and partly within a third altogether different\nsphere, we treat it as if it lay entirely within the one or the other, as\nmay suit our purpose. For example, in speaking of passion, we may subsume\nit under the concept of the greatest force, the mightiest agency in the\nworld, or under the concept of the irrational, and this again under the\nconcept of impotency or weakness. We may then repeat the process, and\nstart anew with each concept to which the argument leads us. A concept has\nalmost always several others, which partially come under it, and each of\nthese contains part of the sphere of the first, but also includes in its\nown sphere something more, which is not in the first. But we draw\nattention only to that one of these latter concepts, under which we wish\nto subsume the first, and let the others remain unobserved, or keep them\nconcealed. On the possession of this skill depends the whole art of\nsophistry and all finer fallacies; for logical fallacies such as\n_mentiens_, _velatus_, _cornatus_, &c., are clearly too clumsy for actual\nuse. I am not aware that hitherto any one has traced the nature of all\nsophistry and persuasion back to this last possible ground of its\nexistence, and referred it to the peculiar character of concepts, _i.e._,\nto the procedure of reason itself. Therefore, as my exposition has led me\nto it, though it is very easily understood, I will illustrate it in the\nfollowing table by means of a schema. This table is intended to show how\nthe spheres of concepts overlap each other at many points, and so leave\nroom for a passage from each concept to whichever one we please of several\nother concepts. I hope, however, that no one will be led by this table to\nattach more importance to this little explanation, which I have merely\ngiven in passing, than ought to belong to it, from the nature of the\nsubject. I have chosen as an illustration the concept of travelling. Its\nsphere partially includes four others, to any of which the sophist may\npass at will; these again partly include other spheres, several of them\ntwo or more at once, and through these the sophist takes whichever way he\nchooses, always as if it were the only way, till at last he reaches, in\ngood or evil, whatever end he may have in view. In passing from one sphere\nto another, it is only necessary always to follow the direction from the\ncentre (the given chief concept) to the circumference, and never to\nreverse this process. Such a piece of sophistry may be either an unbroken\nspeech, or it may assume the strict syllogistic form, according to what is\nthe weak side of the hearer. Most scientific arguments, and especially\nphilosophical demonstrations, are at bottom not much more than this, for\nhow else would it be possible, that so much, in different ages, has not\nonly been falsely apprehended (for error itself has a different source),\nbut demonstrated and proved, and has yet afterwards been found to be\nfundamentally wrong, for example, the Leibnitz-Wolfian Philosophy,\nPtolemaic Astronomy, Stahl\u2019s Chemistry, Newton\u2019s Theory of Colours, &c.\n&c.(15)\n\n\u00a7 10. Through all this, the question presses ever more upon us, how\n_certainty_ is to be attained, how _judgments __ are to be established_,\nwhat constitutes _rational knowledge_, (_wissen_), and _science_, which we\nrank with language and deliberate action as the third great benefit\nconferred by reason.\n\nReason is feminine in nature; it can only give after it has received. Of\nitself it has nothing but the empty forms of its operation. There is no\nabsolutely pure rational knowledge except the four principles to which I\nhave attributed metalogical truth; the principles of identity,\ncontradiction, excluded middle, and sufficient reason of knowledge. For\neven the rest of logic is not absolutely pure rational knowledge. It\npresupposes the relations and the combinations of the spheres of concepts.\nBut concepts in general only exist after experience of ideas of\nperception, and as their whole nature consists in their relation to these,\nit is clear that they presuppose them. No special content, however, is\npresupposed, but merely the existence of a content generally, and so logic\nas a whole may fairly pass for pure rational science. In all other\nsciences reason has received its content from ideas of perception; in\nmathematics from the relations of space and time, presented in intuition\nor perception prior to all experience; in pure natural science, that is,\nin what we know of the course of nature prior to any experience, the\ncontent of the science proceeds from the pure understanding, _i.e._, from\nthe _a priori_ knowledge of the law of causality and its connection with\nthose pure intuitions or perceptions of space and time. In all other\nsciences everything that is not derived from the sources we have just\nreferred to belongs to experience. Speaking generally, _to know\nrationally_ (_wissen_) means to have in the power of the mind, and capable\nof being reproduced at will, such judgments as have their sufficient\nground of knowledge in something outside themselves, _i.e._, are true.\nThus only abstract cognition is _rational knowledge_ (_wissen_), which is\ntherefore the result of reason, so that we cannot accurately say of the\nlower animals that they _rationally __ know_ (_wissen_) anything, although\nthey have apprehension of what is presented in perception, and memory of\nthis, and consequently imagination, which is further proved by the\ncircumstance that they dream. We attribute consciousness to them, and\ntherefore although the word (_bewusstsein_) is derived from the verb to\nknow rationally (_wissen_), the conception of consciousness corresponds\ngenerally with that of idea of whatever kind it may be. Thus we attribute\nlife to plants, but not consciousness. _Rational knowledge_ (_wissen_) is\ntherefore abstract consciousness, the permanent possession in concepts of\nthe reason, of what has become known in another way.\n\n\u00a7 11. In this regard the direct opposite of _rational knowledge_ is\nfeeling, and therefore we must insert the explanation of feeling here. The\nconcept which the word feeling denotes has merely a negative content,\nwhich is this, that something which is present in consciousness, _is not a\nconcept_, _is not abstract rational knowledge_. Except this, whatever it\nmay be, it comes under the concept of _feeling_. Thus the immeasurably\nwide sphere of the concept of feeling includes the most different kinds of\nobjects, and no one can ever understand how they come together until he\nhas recognised that they all agree in this negative respect, that they are\nnot _abstract concepts_. For the most diverse and even antagonistic\nelements lie quietly side by side in this concept; for example, religious\nfeeling, feeling of sensual pleasure, moral feeling, bodily feeling, as\ntouch, pain, sense of colour, of sounds and their harmonies and discords,\nfeeling of hate, of disgust, of self-satisfaction, of honour, of disgrace,\nof right, of wrong, sense of truth, \u00e6sthetic feeling, feeling of power,\nweakness, health, friendship, love, &c. &c. There is absolutely nothing in\ncommon among them except the negative quality that they are not abstract\nrational knowledge. But this diversity becomes more striking when the\napprehension of space relations presented _a priori_ in perception, and\nalso the knowledge of the pure understanding is brought under this\nconcept, and when we say of all knowledge and all truth, of which we are\nfirst conscious only intuitively, and have not yet formulated in abstract\nconcepts, we _feel_ it. I should like, for the sake of illustration, to\ngive some examples of this taken from recent books, as they are striking\nproofs of my theory. I remember reading in the introduction to a German\ntranslation of Euclid, that we ought to make beginners in geometry draw\nthe figures before proceeding to demonstrate, for in this way they would\nalready feel geometrical truth before the demonstration brought them\ncomplete knowledge. In the same way Schleiermacher speaks in his \u201cCritique\nof Ethics\u201d of logical and mathematical feeling (p. 339), and also of the\nfeeling of the sameness or difference of two formulas (p. 342). Again\nTennemann in his \u201cHistory of Philosophy\u201d (vol. I., p. 361) says, \u201cOne\n_felt_ that the fallacies were not right, but could not point out the\nmistakes.\u201d Now, so long as we do not regard this concept \u201c_feeling_\u201d from\nthe right point of view, and do not recognise that one negative\ncharacteristic which alone is essential to it, it must constantly give\noccasion for misunderstanding and controversy, on account of the excessive\nwideness of its sphere, and its entirely negative and very limited content\nwhich is determined in a purely one-sided manner. Since then we have in\nGerman the nearly synonymous word _empfindung_ (sensation), it would be\nconvenient to make use of it for bodily feeling, as a sub-species. This\nconcept \u201cfeeling,\u201d which is quite out of proportion to all others,\ndoubtless originated in the following manner. All concepts, and concepts\nalone, are denoted by words; they exist only for the reason, and proceed\nfrom it. With concepts, therefore, we are already at a one-sided point of\nview; but from such a point of view what is near appears distinct and is\nset down as positive, what is farther off becomes mixed up and is soon\nregarded as merely negative. Thus each nation calls all others foreign: to\nthe Greek all others are barbarians; to the Englishman all that is not\nEngland or English is continent or continental; to the believer all others\nare heretics, or heathens; to the noble all others are _roturiers_; to the\nstudent all others are Philistines, and so forth. Now, reason itself,\nstrange as it may seem, is guilty of the same one-sidedness, indeed one\nmight say of the same crude ignorance arising from vanity, for it classes\nunder the one concept, \u201c_feeling_,\u201d every modification of consciousness\nwhich does not immediately belong to its own mode of apprehension, that is\nto say, which is _not an abstract concept_. It has had to pay the penalty\nof this hitherto in misunderstanding and confusion in its own province,\nbecause its own procedure had not become clear to it through thorough\nself-knowledge, for a special faculty of feeling has been set up, and new\ntheories of it are constructed.\n\n\u00a7 12. _Rational knowledge_ (_wissen_) is then all abstract knowledge,\u2014that\nis, the knowledge which is peculiar to the reason as distinguished from\nthe understanding. Its contradictory opposite has just been explained to\nbe the concept \u201cfeeling.\u201d Now, as reason only reproduces, for knowledge,\nwhat has been received in another way, it does not actually extend our\nknowledge, but only gives it another form. It enables us to know in the\nabstract and generally, what first became known in sense-perception, in\nthe concrete. But this is much more important than it appears at first\nsight when so expressed. For it depends entirely upon the fact that\nknowledge has become rational or abstract knowledge (_wissen_), that it\ncan be safely preserved, that it is communicable and susceptible of\ncertain and wide-reaching application to practice. Knowledge in the form\nof sense-perception is valid only of the particular case, extends only to\nwhat is nearest, and ends with it, for sensibility and understanding can\nonly comprehend one object at a time. Every enduring, arranged, and\nplanned activity must therefore proceed from principles,\u2014that is, from\nabstract knowledge, and it must be conducted in accordance with them.\nThus, for example, the knowledge of the relation of cause and effect\narrived at by the understanding, is in itself far completer, deeper and\nmore exhaustive than anything that can be thought about it in the\nabstract; the understanding alone knows in perception directly and\ncompletely the nature of the effect of a lever, of a pulley, or a\ncog-wheel, the stability of an arch, and so forth. But on account of the\npeculiarity of the knowledge of perception just referred to, that it only\nextends to what is immediately present, the mere understanding can never\nenable us to construct machines and buildings. Here reason must come in;\nit must substitute abstract concepts for ideas of perception, and take\nthem as the guide of action; and if they are right, the anticipated result\nwill happen. In the same way we have perfect knowledge in pure perception\nof the nature and constitution of the parabola, hyperbola, and spiral; but\nif we are to make trustworthy application of this knowledge to the real,\nit must first become abstract knowledge, and by this it certainly loses\nits character of intuition or perception, but on the other hand it gains\nthe certainty and preciseness of abstract knowledge. The differential\ncalculus does not really extend our knowledge of the curve, it contains\nnothing that was not already in the mere pure perception of the curve; but\nit alters the kind of knowledge, it changes the intuitive into an abstract\nknowledge, which is so valuable for application. But here we must refer to\nanother peculiarity of our faculty of knowledge, which could not be\nobserved until the distinction between the knowledge of the senses and\nunderstanding and abstract knowledge had been made quite clear. It is\nthis, that relations of space cannot as such be directly translated into\nabstract knowledge, but only temporal quantities,\u2014that is, numbers, are\nsuitable for this. Numbers alone can be expressed in abstract concepts\nwhich accurately correspond to them, not spacial quantities. The concept\n\u201cthousand\u201d is just as different from the concept \u201cten,\u201d as both these\ntemporal quantities are in perception. We think of a thousand as a\ndistinct multiple of ten, into which we can resolve it at pleasure for\nperception in time,\u2014that is to say, we can count it. But between the\nabstract concept of a mile and that of a foot, apart from any concrete\nperception of either, and without the help of number, there is no accurate\ndistinction corresponding to the quantities themselves. In both we only\nthink of a spacial quantity in general, and if they must be completely\ndistinguished we are compelled either to call in the assistance of\nintuition or perception in space, which would be a departure from abstract\nknowledge, or we must think the difference in _numbers_. If then we wish\nto have abstract knowledge of space-relations we must first translate them\ninto time-relations,\u2014that is, into numbers; therefore only arithmetic, and\nnot geometry, is the universal science of quantity, and geometry must be\ntranslated into arithmetic if it is to be communicable, accurately precise\nand applicable in practice. It is true that a space-relation as such may\nalso be thought in the abstract; for example, \u201cthe sine increases as the\nangle,\u201d but if the quantity of this relation is to be given, it requires\nnumber for its expression. This necessity, that if we wish to have\nabstract knowledge of space-relations (_i.e._, rational knowledge, not\nmere intuition or perception), space with its three dimensions must be\ntranslated into time which has only one dimension, this necessity it is,\nwhich makes mathematics so difficult. This becomes very clear if we\ncompare the perception of curves with their analytical calculation, or the\ntable of logarithms of the trigonometrical functions with the perception\nof the changing relations of the parts of a triangle, which are expressed\nby them. What vast mazes of figures, what laborious calculations it would\nrequire to express in the abstract what perception here apprehends at a\nglance completely and with perfect accuracy, namely, how the co-sine\ndiminishes as the sine increases, how the co-sine of one angle is the sine\nof another, the inverse relation of the increase and decrease of the two\nangles, and so forth. How time, we might say, must complain, that with its\none dimension it should be compelled to express the three dimensions of\nspace! Yet this is necessary if we wish to possess, for application, an\nexpression, in abstract concepts, of space-relations. They could not be\ntranslated directly into abstract concepts, but only through the medium of\nthe pure temporal quantity, number, which alone is directly related to\nabstract knowledge. Yet it is worthy of remark, that as space adapts\nitself so well to perception, and by means of its three dimensions, even\nits complicated relations are easily apprehended, while it eludes the\ngrasp of abstract knowledge; time, on the contrary, passes easily into\nabstract knowledge, but gives very little to perception. Our perceptions\nof numbers in their proper element, mere time, without the help of space,\nscarcely extends as far as ten, and beyond that we have only abstract\nconcepts of numbers, no knowledge of them which can be presented in\nperception. On the other hand, we connect with every numeral, and with all\nalgebraical symbols, accurately defined abstract concepts.\n\nWe may further remark here that some minds only find full satisfaction in\nwhat is known through perception. What they seek is the reason and\nconsequent of being in space, sensuously expressed; a demonstration after\nthe manner of Euclid, or an arithmetical solution of spacial problems,\ndoes not please them. Other minds, on the contrary, seek merely the\nabstract concepts which are needful for applying and communicating\nknowledge. They have patience and memory for abstract principles,\nformulas, demonstrations in long trains of reasoning, and calculations, in\nwhich the symbols represent the most complicated abstractions. The latter\nseek preciseness, the former sensible perception. The difference is\ncharacteristic.\n\nThe greatest value of rational or abstract knowledge is that it can be\ncommunicated and permanently retained. It is principally on this account\nthat it is so inestimably important for practice. Any one may have a\ndirect perceptive knowledge through the understanding alone, of the causal\nconnection, of the changes and motions of natural bodies, and he may find\nentire satisfaction in it; but he cannot communicate this knowledge to\nothers until it has been made permanent for thought in concepts. Knowledge\nof the first kind is even sufficient for practice, if a man puts his\nknowledge into practice himself, in an action which can be accomplished\nwhile the perception is still vivid; but it is not sufficient if the help\nof others is required, or even if the action is his own but must be\ncarried out at different times, and therefore requires a pre-conceived\nplan. Thus, for example, a practised billiard-player may have a perfect\nknowledge of the laws of the impact of elastic bodies upon each other,\nmerely in the understanding, merely for direct perception; and for him it\nis quite sufficient; but on the other hand it is only the man who has\nstudied the science of mechanics, who has, properly speaking, a rational\nknowledge of these laws, that is, a knowledge of them in the abstract.\nSuch knowledge of the understanding in perception is sufficient even for\nthe construction of machines, when the inventor of the machine executes\nthe work himself; as we often see in the case of talented workmen, who\nhave no scientific knowledge. But whenever a number of men, and their\nunited action taking place at different times, is required for the\ncompletion of a mechanical work, of a machine, or a building, then he who\nconducts it must have thought out the plan in the abstract, and such\nco-operative activity is only possible through the assistance of reason.\nIt is, however, remarkable that in the first kind of activity, in which we\nhave supposed that one man alone, in an uninterrupted course of action,\naccomplishes something, abstract knowledge, the application of reason or\nreflection, may often be a hindrance to him; for example, in the case of\nbilliard-playing, of fighting, of tuning an instrument, or in the case of\nsinging. Here perceptive knowledge must directly guide action; its passage\nthrough reflection makes it uncertain, for it divides the attention and\nconfuses the man. Thus savages and untaught men, who are little accustomed\nto think, perform certain physical exercises, fight with beasts, shoot\nwith bows and arrows and the like, with a certainty and rapidity which the\nreflecting European never attains to, just because his deliberation makes\nhim hesitate and delay. For he tries, for example, to hit the right\nposition or the right point of time, by finding out the mean between two\nfalse extremes; while the savage hits it directly without thinking of the\nfalse courses open to him. In the same way it is of no use to me to know\nin the abstract the exact angle, in degrees and minutes, at which I must\napply a razor, if I do not know it intuitively, that is, if I have not got\nit in my touch. The knowledge of physiognomy also, is interfered with by\nthe application of reason. This knowledge must be gained directly through\nthe understanding. We say that the expression, the meaning of the\nfeatures, can only be _felt_, that is, it cannot be put into abstract\nconcepts. Every man has his direct intuitive method of physiognomy and\npathognomy, yet one man understands more clearly than another these\n_signatura rerum_. But an abstract science of physiognomy to be taught and\nlearned is not possible; for the distinctions of difference are here so\nfine that concepts cannot reach them; therefore abstract knowledge is\nrelated to them as a mosaic is to a painting by a Van der Werft or a\nDenner. In mosaics, however fine they may be, the limits of the stones are\nalways there, and therefore no continuous passage from one colour to\nanother is possible, and this is also the case with regard to concepts,\nwith their rigidity and sharp delineation; however finely we may divide\nthem by exact definition, they are still incapable of reaching the finer\nmodifications of the perceptible, and this is just what happens in the\nexample we have taken, knowledge of physiognomy.(16)\n\nThis quality of concepts by which they resemble the stones of a mosaic,\nand on account of which perception always remains their asymptote, is also\nthe reason why nothing good is produced in art by their means. If the\nsinger or the virtuoso attempts to guide his execution by reflection he\nremains silent. And this is equally true of the composer, the painter, and\nthe poet. The concept always remains unfruitful in art; it can only direct\nthe technical part of it, its sphere is science. We shall consider more\nfully in the third book, why all true art proceeds from sensuous\nknowledge, never from the concept. Indeed, with regard to behaviour also,\nand personal agreeableness in society, the concept has only a negative\nvalue in restraining the grosser manifestations of egotism and brutality;\nso that a polished manner is its commendable production. But all that is\nattractive, gracious, charming in behaviour, all affectionateness and\nfriendliness, must not proceed from the concepts, for if it does, \u201cwe feel\nintention, and are put out of tune.\u201d All dissimulation is the work of\nreflection; but it cannot be maintained constantly and without\ninterruption: \u201c_nemo __ potest personam diu ferre fictum_,\u201d says Seneca in\nhis book _de clementia_; and so it is generally found out and loses its\neffect. Reason is needed in the full stress of life, where quick\nconclusions, bold action, rapid and sure comprehension are required, but\nit may easily spoil all if it gains the upper hand, and by perplexing\nhinders the intuitive, direct discovery, and grasp of the right by simple\nunderstanding, and thus induces irresolution.\n\nLastly, virtue and holiness do not proceed from reflection, but from the\ninner depths of the will, and its relation to knowledge. The exposition of\nthis belongs to another part of our work; this, however, I may remark\nhere, that the dogmas relating to ethics may be the same in the reason of\nwhole nations, but the action of every individual different; and the\nconverse also holds good; action, we say, is guided by _feelings_,\u2014that\nis, simply not by concepts, but as a matter of fact by the ethical\ncharacter. Dogmas occupy the idle reason; but action in the end pursues\nits own course independently of them, generally not according to abstract\nrules, but according to unspoken maxims, the expression of which is the\nwhole man himself. Therefore, however different the religious dogmas of\nnations may be, yet in the case of all of them, a good action is\naccompanied by unspeakable satisfaction, and a bad action by endless\nremorse. No mockery can shake the former; no priest\u2019s absolution can\ndeliver from the latter. Notwithstanding this, we must allow, that for the\npursuit of a virtuous life, the application of reason is needful; only it\nis not its source, but has the subordinate function of preserving\nresolutions which have been made, of providing maxims to withstand the\nweakness of the moment, and give consistency to action. It plays the same\npart ultimately in art also, where it has just as little to do with the\nessential matter, but assists in carrying it out, for genius is not always\nat call, and yet the work must be completed in all its parts and rounded\noff to a whole.(17)\n\n\u00a7 13. All these discussions of the advantages and disadvantages of the\napplication of reason are intended to show, that although abstract\nrational knowledge is the reflex of ideas of perception, and is founded on\nthem, it is by no means in such entire congruity with them that it could\neverywhere take their place: indeed it never corresponds to them quite\naccurately. And thus, as we have seen, many human actions can only be\nperformed by the help of reason and deliberation, and yet there are some\nwhich are better performed without its assistance. This very incongruity\nof sensuous and abstract knowledge, on account of which the latter always\nmerely approximates to the former, as mosaic approximates to painting, is\nthe cause of a very remarkable phenomenon which, like reason itself, is\npeculiar to human nature, and of which the explanations that have ever\nanew been attempted, are insufficient: I mean _laughter_. On account of\nthe source of this phenomenon, we cannot avoid giving the explanation of\nit here, though it again interrupts the course of our work to do so. The\ncause of laughter in every case is simply the sudden perception of the\nincongruity between a concept and the real objects which have been thought\nthrough it in some relation, and laughter itself is just the expression of\nthis incongruity. It often occurs in this way: two or more real objects\nare thought through _one_ concept, and the identity of the concept is\ntransferred to the objects; it then becomes strikingly apparent from the\nentire difference of the objects in other respects, that the concept was\nonly applicable to them from a one-sided point of view. It occurs just as\noften, however, that the incongruity between a single real object and the\nconcept under which, from one point of view, it has rightly been subsumed,\nis suddenly felt. Now the more correct the subsumption of such objects\nunder a concept may be from one point of view, and the greater and more\nglaring their incongruity with it, from another point of view, the greater\nis the ludicrous effect which is produced by this contrast. All laughter\nthen is occasioned by a paradox, and therefore by unexpected subsumption,\nwhether this is expressed in words or in actions. This, briefly stated, is\nthe true explanation of the ludicrous.\n\nI shall not pause here to relate anecdotes as examples to illustrate my\ntheory; for it is so simple and comprehensible that it does not require\nthem, and everything ludicrous which the reader may remember is equally\nvaluable as a proof of it. But the theory is confirmed and illustrated by\ndistinguishing two species into which the ludicrous is divided, and which\nresult from the theory. Either, we have previously known two or more very\ndifferent real objects, ideas of sense-perception, and have intentionally\nidentified them through the unity of a concept which comprehends them\nboth; this species of the ludicrous is called _wit_. Or, conversely, the\nconcept is first present in knowledge, and we pass from it to reality, and\nto operation upon it, to action: objects which in other respects are\nfundamentally different, but which are all thought in that one concept,\nare now regarded and treated in the same way, till, to the surprise and\nastonishment of the person acting, the great difference of their other\naspects appears: this species of the ludicrous is called _folly_.\nTherefore everything ludicrous is either a flash of wit or a foolish\naction, according as the procedure has been from the discrepancy of the\nobjects to the identity of the concept, or the converse; the former always\nintentional, the latter always unintentional, and from without. To seem to\nreverse the starting-point, and to conceal wit with the mask of folly, is\nthe art of the jester and the clown. Being quite aware of the diversity of\nthe objects, the jester unites them, with secret wit, under one concept,\nand then starting from this concept he receives from the subsequently\ndiscovered diversity of the objects the surprise which he himself\nprepared. It follows from this short but sufficient theory of the\nludicrous, that, if we set aside the last case, that of the jester, wit\nmust always show itself in words, folly generally in actions, though also\nin words, when it only expresses an intention and does not actually carry\nit out, or when it shows itself merely in judgments and opinions.\n\n_Pedantry_ is a form of folly. It arises in this way: a man lacks\nconfidence in his own understanding, and, therefore, does not wish to\ntrust to it, to recognise what is right directly in the particular case.\nHe, therefore, puts it entirely under the control of the reason, and seeks\nto be guided by reason in everything; that is to say, he tries always to\nproceed from general concepts, rules, and maxims, and to confine himself\nstrictly to them in life, in art, and even in moral conduct. Hence that\nclinging to the form, to the manner, to the expression and word which is\ncharacteristic of pedantry, and which with it takes the place of the real\nnature of the matter. The incongruity then between the concept and reality\nsoon shows itself here, and it becomes evident that the former never\ncondescends to the particular case, and that with its generality and rigid\ndefiniteness it can never accurately apply to the fine distinctions of\ndifference and innumerable modifications of the actual. Therefore, the\npedant, with his general maxims, almost always misses the mark in life,\nshows himself to be foolish, awkward, useless. In art, in which the\nconcept is unfruitful, he produces lifeless, stiff, abortive mannerisms.\nEven with regard to ethics, the purpose to act rightly or nobly cannot\nalways be carried out in accordance with abstract maxims; for in many\ncases the excessively nice distinctions in the nature of the circumstances\nnecessitate a choice of the right proceeding directly from the character;\nfor the application of mere abstract maxims sometimes gives false results,\nbecause the maxims only half apply; and sometimes cannot be carried out,\nbecause they are foreign to the individual character of the actor, and\nthis never allows itself to be entirely discovered; therefore,\ninconsistencies arise. Since then Kant makes it a condition of the moral\nworth of an action, that it shall proceed from pure rational abstract\nmaxims, without any inclination or momentary emotion, we cannot entirely\nabsolve him from the reproach of encouraging moral pedantry. This reproach\nis the significance of Schiller\u2019s epigram, entitled \u201cScruples of\nConscience.\u201d When we speak, especially in connection with politics, of\ndoctrinaires, theorists, savants, and so forth, we mean pedants, that is,\npersons who know the things well in the abstract, but not in the concrete.\nAbstraction consists in thinking away the less general predicates; but it\nis precisely upon these that so much depends in practice.\n\nTo complete our theory it remains for us to mention a spurious kind of\nwit, the play upon words, the _calembourg_, the pun, to which may be added\nthe equivocation, the _double entendre_, the chief use of which is the\nexpression of what is obscene. Just as the witticism brings two very\ndifferent real objects under one concept, the pun brings two different\nconcepts, by the assistance of accident, under one word. The same contrast\nappears, only familiar and more superficial, because it does not spring\nfrom the nature of things, but merely from the accident of nomenclature.\nIn the case of the witticism the identity is in the concept, the\ndifference in the reality, but in the case of the pun the difference is in\nthe concepts and the identity in the reality, for the terminology is here\nthe reality. It would only be a somewhat far-fetched comparison if we were\nto say that the pun is related to the witticism as the parabola (_sic_) of\nthe upper inverted cone to that of the lower. The misunderstanding of the\nword or the _quid pro quo_ is the unintentional pun, and is related to it\nexactly as folly is to wit. Thus the deaf man often affords occasion for\nlaughter, just as much as the fool, and inferior writers of comedy often\nuse the former for the latter to raise a laugh.\n\nI have treated laughter here only from the psychical side; with regard to\nthe physical side, I refer to what is said on the subject in the\n\u201cParerga,\u201d vol. II. ch. vi., \u00a7 98.(18)\n\n\u00a7 14. By means of these various discussions it is hoped that both the\ndifference and the relation between the process of knowledge that belongs\nto the reason, rational knowledge, the concept on the one hand, and the\ndirect knowledge in purely sensuous, mathematical intuition or perception,\nand apprehension by the understanding on the other hand, has been clearly\nbrought out. This remarkable relation of our kinds of knowledge led us\nalmost inevitably to give, in passing, explanations of feeling and of\nlaughter, but from all this we now turn back to the further consideration\nof science as the third great benefit which reason confers on man, the\nother two being speech and deliberate action. The general discussion of\nscience which now devolves upon us, will be concerned partly with its\nform, partly with the foundation of its judgments, and lastly with its\ncontent.\n\nWe have seen that, with the exception of the basis of pure logic, rational\nknowledge in general has not its source in the reason itself; but having\nbeen otherwise obtained as knowledge of perception, it is stored up in the\nreason, for through reason it has entirely changed its character, and has\nbecome abstract knowledge. All rational knowledge, that is, knowledge that\nhas been raised to consciousness in the abstract, is related to science\nstrictly so called, as a fragment to the whole. Every one has gained a\nrational knowledge of many different things through experience, through\nconsideration of the individual objects presented to him, but only he who\nsets himself the task of acquiring a complete knowledge in the abstract of\na particular class of objects, strives after science. This class can only\nbe marked off by means of a concept; therefore, at the beginning of every\nscience there stands a concept, and by means of it the class of objects\nconcerning which this science promises a complete knowledge in the\nabstract, is separated in thought from the whole world of things. For\nexample, the concept of space-relations, or of the action of unorganised\nbodies upon each other, or of the nature of plants, or of animals, or of\nthe successive changes of the surface of the globe, or of the changes of\nthe human race as a whole, or of the construction of a language, and so\nforth. If science sought to obtain the knowledge of its object, by\ninvestigating each individual thing that is thought through the concept,\ntill by degrees it had learned the whole, no human memory would be equal\nto the task, and no certainty of completeness would be obtainable.\nTherefore, it makes use of that property of concept-spheres explained\nabove, that they include each other, and it concerns itself mainly with\nthe wider spheres which lie within the concept of its object in general.\nWhen the relations of these spheres to each other have been determined,\nall that is thought in them is also generally determined, and can now be\nmore and more accurately determined by the separation of smaller and\nsmaller concept-spheres. In this way it is possible for a science to\ncomprehend its object completely. This path which it follows to knowledge,\nthe path from the general to the particular, distinguishes it from\nordinary rational knowledge; therefore, systematic form is an essential\nand characteristic feature of science. The combination of the most general\nconcept-spheres of every science, that is, the knowledge of its first\nprinciples, is the indispensable condition of mastering it; how far we\nadvance from these to the more special propositions is a matter of choice,\nand does not increase the thoroughness but only the extent of our\nknowledge of the science. The number of the first principles to which all\nthe rest are subordinated, varies greatly in the different sciences, so\nthat in some there is more subordination, in others more co-ordination;\nand in this respect, the former make greater claims upon the judgment, the\nlatter upon the memory. It was known to the schoolmen,(19) that, as the\nsyllogism requires two premises, no science can proceed from a single\nfirst principle which cannot be the subject of further deduction, but must\nhave several, at least two. The specially classifying sciences: Zoology,\nBotany, and also Physics and Chemistry, inasmuch as they refer all\ninorganic action to a few fundamental forces, have most subordination;\nhistory, on the other hand, has really none at all; for the general in it\nconsists merely in the survey of the principal periods, from which,\nhowever, the particular events cannot be deduced, and are only\nsubordinated to them according to time, but according to the concept are\nco-ordinate with them. Therefore, history, strictly speaking, is certainly\nrational knowledge, but is not science. In mathematics, according to\nEuclid\u2019s treatment, the axioms alone are indemonstrable first principles,\nand all demonstrations are in gradation strictly subordinated to them. But\nthis method of treatment is not essential to mathematics, and in fact each\nproposition introduces quite a new space construction, which in itself is\nindependent of those which precede it, and indeed can be completely\ncomprehended from itself, quite independently of them, in the pure\nintuition or perception of space, in which the most complicated\nconstruction is just as directly evident as the axiom; but of this more\nfully hereafter. Meanwhile every mathematical proposition remains always a\nuniversal truth, which is valid for innumerable particular cases; and a\ngraduated process from the simple to the complicated propositions which\nare to be deduced from them, is also essential to mathematics; therefore,\nin every respect mathematics is a science. The completeness of a science\nas such, that is, in respect of form, consists in there being as much\nsubordination and as little co-ordination of the principles as possible.\nScientific talent in general is, therefore, the faculty of subordinating\nthe concept-spheres according to their different determinations, so that,\nas Plato repeatedly counsels, a science shall not be constituted by a\ngeneral concept and an indefinite multiplicity immediately under it, but\nthat knowledge shall descend by degrees from the general to the\nparticular, through intermediate concepts and divisions, according to\ncloser and closer definitions. In Kantian language this is called\nsatisfying equally the law of homogeneity and that of specification. It\narises from this peculiar nature of scientific completeness, that the aim\nof science is not greater certainty\u2014for certainty may be possessed in just\nas high a degree by the most disconnected particular knowledge\u2014but its aim\nis rather the facilitating of rational knowledge by means of its form, and\nthe possibility of the completeness of rational knowledge which this form\naffords. It is therefore a very prevalent but perverted opinion that the\nscientific character of knowledge consists in its greater certainty, and\njust as false is the conclusion following from this, that, strictly\nspeaking, the only sciences are mathematics and logic, because only in\nthem, on account of their purely _a priori_ character, is there\nunassailable certainty of knowledge. This advantage cannot be denied them,\nbut it gives them no special claim to be regarded as sciences; for the\nspecial characteristic of science does not lie in certainty but in the\nsystematic form of knowledge, based on the gradual descent from the\ngeneral to the particular. The process of knowledge from the general to\nthe particular, which is peculiar to the sciences, involves the necessity\nthat in the sciences much should be established by deduction from\npreceding propositions, that is to say, by demonstration; and this has\ngiven rise to the old mistake that only what has been demonstrated is\nabsolutely true, and that every truth requires a demonstration; whereas,\non the contrary, every demonstration requires an undemonstrated truth,\nwhich ultimately supports it, or it may be, its own demonstration.\nTherefore a directly established truth is as much to be preferred to a\ntruth established by demonstration as water from the spring is to water\nfrom the aqueduct. Perception, partly pure _a priori_, as it forms the\nbasis of mathematics, partly empirical _a posteriori_, as it forms the\nbasis of all the other sciences, is the source of all truth and the\nfoundation of all science. (Logic alone is to be excepted, which is not\nfounded upon perception but yet upon _direct_ knowledge by the reason of\nits own laws.) Not the demonstrated judgments nor their demonstrations,\nbut judgments which are created directly out of perception, and founded\nupon it rather than on any demonstrations, are to science what the sun is\nto the world; for all light proceeds from them, and lighted by their light\nthe others give light also. To establish the truth of such primary\njudgments directly from perception, to raise such strongholds of science\nfrom the innumerable multitude of real objects, that is the work of the\n_faculty of judgment_, which consists in the power of rightly and\naccurately carrying over into abstract consciousness what is known in\nperception, and judgment is consequently the mediator between\nunderstanding and reason. Only extraordinary and exceptional strength of\njudgment in the individual can actually advance science; but every one who\nis possessed of a healthy reason is able to deduce propositions from\npropositions, to demonstrate, to draw conclusions. To lay down and make\npermanent for reflection, in suitable concepts, what is known through\nperception, so that, on the one hand, what is common to many real objects\nis thought through _one_ concept, and, on the other hand, their points of\ndifference are each thought through one concept, so that the different\nshall be known and thought as different in spite of a partial agreement,\nand the identical shall be known and thought as identical in spite of a\npartial difference, all in accordance with the end and intention which in\neach case is in view; all this is done by the _faculty of judgment_.\nDeficiency in judgment is _silliness_. The silly man fails to grasp, now\nthe partial or relative difference of concepts which in one aspect are\nidentical, now the identity of concepts which are relatively or partially\ndifferent. To this explanation of the faculty of judgment, moreover,\nKant\u2019s division of it into reflecting and subsuming judgment may be\napplied, according as it passes from the perceived objects to the\nconcepts, or from the latter to the former; in both cases always mediating\nbetween empirical knowledge of the understanding and the reflective\nknowledge of the reason. There can be no truth which could be brought out\nby means of syllogisms alone; and the necessity of establishing truth by\nmeans of syllogisms is merely relative, indeed subjective. Since all\ndemonstration is syllogistic, in the case of a new truth we must first\nseek, not for a demonstration, but for direct evidence, and only in the\nabsence of such evidence is a demonstration to be temporarily made use of.\nNo science is susceptible of demonstration throughout any more than a\nbuilding can stand in the air; all its demonstrations must ultimately rest\nupon what is perceived, and consequently cannot be demonstrated, for the\nwhole world of reflection rests upon and is rooted in the world of\nperception. All primal, that is, original, _evidence_ is a _perception_,\nas the word itself indicates. Therefore it is either empirical or founded\nupon the perception _a priori_ of the conditions of possible experience.\nIn both cases it affords only immanent, not transcendent knowledge. Every\nconcept has its worth and its existence only in its relation, sometimes\nvery indirect, to an idea of perception; what is true of the concepts is\nalso true of the judgments constructed out of them, and of all science.\nTherefore it must in some way be possible to know directly without\ndemonstrations or syllogisms every truth that is arrived at through\nsyllogisms and communicated by demonstrations. This is most difficult in\nthe case of certain complicated mathematical propositions at which we only\narrive by chains of syllogisms; for example, the calculation of the chords\nand tangents to all arcs by deduction from the proposition of Pythagoras.\nBut even such a truth as this cannot essentially and solely rest upon\nabstract principles, and the space-relations which lie at its foundation\nalso must be capable of being so presented _a priori_ in pure intuition or\nperception that the truth of their abstract expression is directly\nestablished. But of mathematical demonstration we shall speak more fully\nshortly.\n\nIt is true we often hear men speak in a lofty strain of sciences which\nrest entirely upon correct conclusions drawn from sure premises, and which\nare consequently unassailable. But through pure logical reasoning, however\ntrue the premises may be, we shall never receive more than an articulate\nexpression and exposition of what lies already complete in the premises;\nthus we shall only _explicitly_ expound what was already _implicitly_\nunderstood. The esteemed sciences referred to are, however, specially the\nmathematical sciences, particularly astronomy. But the certainty of\nastronomy arises from the fact that it has for its basis the intuition or\nperception of space, which is given _a priori_, and is therefore\ninfallible. All space-relations, however, follow from each other with a\nnecessity (ground of being) which affords _a priori_ certainty, and they\ncan therefore be safely deduced from each other. To these mathematical\nproperties we have only to add one force of nature, gravity, which acts\nprecisely in relation to the masses and the square of the distance; and,\nlastly, the law of inertia, which follows from the law of causality and is\ntherefore true _a priori_, and with it the empirical datum of the motion\nimpressed, once for all, upon each of these masses. This is the whole\nmaterial of astronomy, which both by its simplicity and its certainty\nleads to definite results, which are highly interesting on account of the\nvastness and importance of the objects. For example, if I know the mass of\na planet and the distance of its satellite from it, I can tell with\ncertainty the period of the revolution of the latter according to Kepler\u2019s\nsecond law. But the ground of this law is, that with this distance only\nthis velocity will both chain the satellite to the planet and prevent it\nfrom falling into it. Thus it is only upon such a geometrical basis, that\nis, by means of an intuition or perception _a priori_, and also under the\napplication of a law of nature, that much can be arrived at by means of\nsyllogisms, for here they are merely like bridges from _one_ sensuous\napprehension to others; but it is not so with mere pure syllogistic\nreasoning in the exclusively logical method. The source of the first\nfundamental truths of astronomy is, however, properly induction, that is,\nthe comprehension of what is given in many perceptions in one true and\ndirectly founded judgment. From this, hypotheses are afterwards\nconstructed, and their confirmation by experience, as induction\napproaching to completeness, affords the proof of the first judgment. For\nexample, the apparent motion of the planets is known empirically; after\nmany false hypotheses with regard to the spacial connection of this motion\n(planetary course) the right one was at last found, then the laws which it\nobeyed (the laws of Kepler), and, lastly, the cause of these laws\n(universal gravitation), and the empirically known agreement of all\nobserved cases with the whole of the hypotheses, and with their\nconsequences, that is to say, induction, established them with complete\ncertainty. The invention of the hypotheses was the work of the judgment,\nwhich rightly comprehended the given facts and expressed them accordingly;\nbut induction, that is, a multitude of perceptions, confirmed their truth.\nBut their truth could also be known directly, and by a single empirical\nperception, if we could pass freely through space and had telescopic eyes.\nTherefore, here also syllogisms are not the essential and only source of\nknowledge, but really only a makeshift.\n\nAs a third example taken from a different sphere we may mention that the\nso-called metaphysical truths, that is, such truths as those to which Kant\nassigns the position of the metaphysical first principles of natural\nscience, do not owe their evidence to demonstration. What is _a priori_\ncertain we know directly; as the form of all knowledge, it is known to us\nwith the most complete necessity. For example, that matter is permanent,\nthat is, can neither come into being nor pass away, we know directly as\nnegative truth; for our pure intuition or perception of space and time\ngives the possibility of motion; in the law of causality the understanding\naffords us the possibility of change of form and quality, but we lack\npowers of the imagination for conceiving the coming into being or passing\naway of matter. Therefore that truth has at all times been evident to all\nmen everywhere, nor has it ever been seriously doubted; and this could not\nbe the case if it had no other ground of knowledge than the abstruse and\nexceedingly subtle proof of Kant. But besides this, I have found Kant\u2019s\nproof to be false (as is explained in the Appendix), and have shown above\nthat the permanence of matter is to be deduced, not from the share which\ntime has in the possibility of experience, but from the share which\nbelongs to space. The true foundation of all truths which in this sense\nare called metaphysical, that is, abstract expressions of the necessary\nand universal forms of knowledge, cannot itself lie in abstract\nprinciples; but only in the immediate consciousness of the forms of the\nidea communicating itself in apodictic assertions _a priori_, and fearing\nno refutation. But if we yet desire to give a proof of them, it can only\nconsist in showing that what is to be proved is contained in some truth\nabout which there is no doubt, either as a part of it or as a\npresupposition. Thus, for example, I have shown that all empirical\nperception implies the application of the law of causality, the knowledge\nof which is hence a condition of all experience, and therefore cannot be\nfirst given and conditioned through experience as Hume thought.\nDemonstrations in general are not so much for those who wish to learn as\nfor those who wish to dispute. Such persons stubbornly deny directly\nestablished insight; now only the truth can be consistent in all\ndirections, and therefore we must show such persons that they admit under\n_one_ form and indirectly, what they deny under another form and directly;\nthat is, the logically necessary connection between what is denied and\nwhat is admitted.\n\nIt is also a consequence of the scientific form, the subordination of\neverything particular under a general, and so on always to what is more\ngeneral, that the truth of many propositions is only logically\nproved,\u2014that is, through their dependence upon other propositions, through\nsyllogisms, which at the same time appear as proofs. But we must never\nforget that this whole form of science is merely a means of rendering\nknowledge more easy, not a means to greater certainty. It is easier to\ndiscover the nature of an animal, by means of the species to which it\nbelongs, and so on through the genus, family, order, and class, than to\nexamine on every occasion the animal presented to us: but the truth of all\npropositions arrived at syllogistically is always conditioned by and\nultimately dependent upon some truth which rests not upon reasoning but\nupon perception. If this perception were always as much within our reach\nas a deduction through syllogisms, then it would be in every respect\npreferable. For every deduction from concepts is exposed to great danger\nof error, on account of the fact we have considered above, that so many\nspheres lie partly within each other, and that their content is often\nvague or uncertain. This is illustrated by a multitude of demonstrations\nof false doctrines and sophisms of every kind. Syllogisms are indeed\nperfectly certain as regards form, but they are very uncertain on account\nof their matter, the concepts. For, on the one hand, the spheres of these\nare not sufficiently sharply defined, and, on the other hand, they\nintersect each other in so many ways that one sphere is in part contained\nin many others, and we may pass at will from it to one or another of\nthese, and from this sphere again to others, as we have already shown. Or,\nin other words, the minor term and also the middle can always be\nsubordinated to different concepts, from which we may choose at will the\nmajor and the middle, and the nature of the conclusion depends on this\nchoice. Consequently immediate evidence is always much to be preferred to\nreasoned truth, and the latter is only to be accepted when the former is\ntoo remote, and not when it is as near or indeed nearer than the latter.\nAccordingly we saw above that, as a matter of fact, in the case of logic,\nin which the immediate knowledge in each individual case lies nearer to\nhand than deduced scientific knowledge, we always conduct our thought\naccording to our immediate knowledge of the laws of thought, and leave\nlogic unused.(20)\n\n\u00a7 15. If now with our conviction that perception is the primary source of\nall evidence, and that only direct or indirect connection with it is\nabsolute truth; and further, that the shortest way to this is always the\nsurest, as every interposition of concepts means exposure to many\ndeceptions; if, I say, we now turn with this conviction to mathematics, as\nit was established as a science by Euclid, and has remained as a whole to\nour own day, we cannot help regarding the method it adopts, as strange and\nindeed perverted. We ask that every logical proof shall be traced back to\nan origin in perception; but mathematics, on the contrary, is at great\npains deliberately to throw away the evidence of perception which is\npeculiar to it, and always at hand, that it may substitute for it a\nlogical demonstration. This must seem to us like the action of a man who\ncuts off his legs in order to go on crutches, or like that of the prince\nin the \u201c_Triumph der Empfindsamkeit_\u201d who flees from the beautiful reality\nof nature, to delight in a stage scene that imitates it. I must here refer\nto what I have said in the sixth chapter of the essay on the principle of\nsufficient reason, and take for granted that it is fresh and present in\nthe memory of the reader; so that I may link my observations on to it\nwithout explaining again the difference between the mere ground of\nknowledge of a mathematical truth, which can be given logically, and the\nground of being, which is the immediate connection of the parts of space\nand time, known only in perception. It is only insight into the ground of\nbeing that secures satisfaction and thorough knowledge. The mere ground of\nknowledge must always remain superficial; it can afford us indeed rational\nknowledge _that_ a thing is as it is, but it cannot tell _why_ it is so.\nEuclid chose the latter way to the obvious detriment of the science. For\njust at the beginning, for example, when he ought to show once for all how\nin a triangle the angles and sides reciprocally determine each other, and\nstand to each other in the relation of reason and consequent, in\naccordance with the form which the principle of sufficient reason has in\npure space, and which there, as in every other sphere, always affords the\nnecessity that a thing is as it is, because something quite different from\nit, is as it is; instead of in this way giving a thorough insight into the\nnature of the triangle, he sets up certain disconnected arbitrarily chosen\npropositions concerning the triangle, and gives a logical ground of\nknowledge of them, through a laborious logical demonstration, based upon\nthe principle of contradiction. Instead of an exhaustive knowledge of\nthese space-relations we therefore receive merely certain results of them,\nimparted to us at pleasure, and in fact we are very much in the position\nof a man to whom the different effects of an ingenious machine are shown,\nbut from whom its inner connection and construction are withheld. We are\ncompelled by the principle of contradiction to admit that what Euclid\ndemonstrates is true, but we do not comprehend _why_ it is so. We have\ntherefore almost the same uncomfortable feeling that we experience after a\njuggling trick, and, in fact, most of Euclid\u2019s demonstrations are\nremarkably like such feats. The truth almost always enters by the back\ndoor, for it manifests itself _per accidens_ through some contingent\ncircumstance. Often a _reductio ad absurdum_ shuts all the doors one after\nanother, until only one is left through which we are therefore compelled\nto enter. Often, as in the proposition of Pythagoras, lines are drawn, we\ndon\u2019t know why, and it afterwards appears that they were traps which close\nunexpectedly and take prisoner the assent of the astonished learner, who\nmust now admit what remains wholly inconceivable in its inner connection,\nso much so, that he may study the whole of Euclid through and through\nwithout gaining a real insight into the laws of space-relations, but\ninstead of them he only learns by heart certain results which follow from\nthem. This specially empirical and unscientific knowledge is like that of\nthe doctor who knows both the disease and the cure for it, but does not\nknow the connection between them. But all this is the necessary\nconsequence if we capriciously reject the special kind of proof and\nevidence of one species of knowledge, and forcibly introduce in its stead\na kind which is quite foreign to its nature. However, in other respects\nthe manner in which this has been accomplished by Euclid deserves all the\npraise which has been bestowed on him through so many centuries, and which\nhas been carried so far that his method of treating mathematics has been\nset up as the pattern of all scientific exposition. Men tried indeed to\nmodel all the sciences after it, but later they gave up the attempt\nwithout quite knowing why. Yet in our eyes this method of Euclid in\nmathematics can appear only as a very brilliant piece of perversity. But\nwhen a great error in life or in science has been intentionally and\nmethodically carried out with universal applause, it is always possible to\ndiscover its source in the philosophy which prevailed at the time. The\nEleatics first brought out the difference, and indeed often the conflict,\nthat exists between what is perceived, \u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd,(21) and what is\nthought, \u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd, and used it in many ways in their philosophical\nepigrams, and also in sophisms. They were followed later by the Megarics,\nthe Dialecticians, the Sophists, the New-Academy, and the Sceptics; these\ndrew attention to the illusion, that is to say, to the deception of the\nsenses, or rather of the understanding which transforms the data of the\nsenses into perception, and which often causes us to see things to which\nthe reason unhesitatingly denies reality; for example, a stick broken in\nwater, and such like. It came to be known that sense-perception was not to\nbe trusted unconditionally, and it was therefore hastily concluded that\nonly rational, logical thought could establish truth; although Plato (in\nthe Parmenides), the Megarics, Pyrrho, and the New-Academy, showed by\nexamples (in the manner which was afterwards adopted by Sextus Empiricus)\nhow syllogisms and concepts were also sometimes misleading, and indeed\nproduced paralogisms and sophisms which arise much more easily and are far\nharder to explain than the illusion of sense-perception. However, this\nrationalism, which arose in opposition to empiricism, kept the upper hand,\nand Euclid constructed the science of mathematics in accordance with it.\nHe was compelled by necessity to found the axioms upon evidence of\nperception (\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd), but all the rest he based upon reasoning\n(\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd). His method reigned supreme through all the succeeding\ncenturies, and it could not but do so as long as pure intuition or\nperception, _a priori_, was not distinguished from empirical perception.\nCertain passages from the works of Proclus, the commentator of Euclid,\nwhich Kepler translated into Latin in his book, \u201cDe Harmonia Mundi,\u201d seem\nto show that he fully recognised this distinction. But Proclus did not\nattach enough importance to the matter; he merely mentioned it by the way,\nso that he remained unnoticed and accomplished nothing. Therefore, not\ntill two thousand years later will the doctrine of Kant, which is destined\nto make such great changes in all the knowledge, thought, and action of\nEuropean nations, produce this change in mathematics also. For it is only\nafter we have learned from this great man that the intuitions or\nperceptions of space and time are quite different from empirical\nperceptions, entirely independent of any impression of the senses,\nconditioning it, not conditioned by it, _i.e._, are _a priori_, and\ntherefore are not exposed to the illusions of sense; only after we have\nlearned this, I say, can we comprehend that Euclid\u2019s logical method of\ntreating mathematics is a useless precaution, a crutch for sound legs,\nthat it is like a wanderer who during the night mistakes a bright, firm\nroad for water, and carefully avoiding it, toils over the broken ground\nbeside it, content to keep from point to point along the edge of the\nsupposed water. Only now can we affirm with certainty that what presents\nitself to us as necessary in the perception of a figure, does not come\nfrom the figure on the paper, which is perhaps very defectively drawn, nor\nfrom the abstract concept under which we think it, but immediately from\nthe form of all knowledge of which we are conscious _a priori_. This is\nalways the principle of sufficient reason; here as the form of perception,\n_i.e._, space, it is the principle of the ground of being, the evidence\nand validity of which is, however, just as great and as immediate as that\nof the principle of the ground of knowing, _i.e._, logical certainty. Thus\nwe need not and ought not to leave the peculiar province of mathematics in\norder to put our trust only in logical proof, and seek to authenticate\nmathematics in a sphere which is quite foreign to it, that of concepts. If\nwe confine ourselves to the ground peculiar to mathematics, we gain the\ngreat advantage that in it the rational knowledge _that_ something is, is\none with the knowledge _why_ it is so, whereas the method of Euclid\nentirely separates these two, and lets us know only the first, not the\nsecond. Aristotle says admirably in the Analyt., post. i. 27: \u201c\u0391\u03ba\u03c1\u03b9\u03b2\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\n\u03b4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03bc\u03b7 \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03bc\u03b7\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1, \u1f21\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u1f41\u03c4\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b4\u03b9\u03bf\u03c4\u03b9 \u1f21 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7, \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1\n\u03bc\u03b7 \u03c7\u03c9\u03c1\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u1f41\u03c4\u03b9, \u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b4\u03b9\u03bf\u03c4\u03b9\u201d (_Subtilior autem et praestantior ea est\nscientia, qu\u00e2_ QUOD _aliquid sit, et_ CUR _sit una simulque intelligimus\nnon separatim_ QUOD, _et_ CUR _sit_). In physics we are only satisfied\nwhen the knowledge that a thing is as it is is combined with the knowledge\nwhy it is so. To know that the mercury in the Torricellian tube stands\nthirty inches high is not really rational knowledge if we do not know that\nit is sustained at this height by the counterbalancing weight of the\natmosphere. Shall we then be satisfied in mathematics with the _qualitas\nocculta_ of the circle that the segments of any two intersecting chords\nalways contain equal rectangles? That it is so Euclid certainly\ndemonstrates in the 35th Prop. of the Third Book; _why_ it is so remains\ndoubtful. In the same way the proposition of Pythagoras teaches us a\n_qualitas occulta_ of the right-angled triangle; the stilted and indeed\nfallacious demonstration of Euclid forsakes us at the _why_, and a simple\nfigure, which we already know, and which is present to us, gives at a\nglance far more insight into the matter, and firm inner conviction of that\nnecessity, and of the dependence of that quality upon the right angle:\u2014\n\n                              [Illustration]\n\nIn the case of unequal catheti also, and indeed generally in the case of\nevery possible geometrical truth, it is quite possible to obtain such a\nconviction based on perception, because these truths were always\ndiscovered by such an empirically known necessity, and their demonstration\nwas only thought out afterwards in addition. Thus we only require an\nanalysis of the process of thought in the first discovery of a geometrical\ntruth in order to know its necessity empirically. It is the analytical\nmethod in general that I wish for the exposition of mathematics, instead\nof the synthetical method which Euclid made use of. Yet this would have\nvery great, though not insuperable, difficulties in the case of\ncomplicated mathematical truths. Here and there in Germany men are\nbeginning to alter the exposition of mathematics, and to proceed more in\nthis analytical way. The greatest effort in this direction has been made\nby Herr Kosack, teacher of mathematics and physics in the Gymnasium at\nNordhausen, who added a thorough attempt to teach geometry according to my\nprinciples to the programme of the school examination on the 6th of April\n1852.\n\nIn order to improve the method of mathematics, it is especially necessary\nto overcome the prejudice that demonstrated truth has any superiority over\nwhat is known through perception, or that logical truth founded upon the\nprinciple of contradiction has any superiority over metaphysical truth,\nwhich is immediately evident, and to which belongs the pure intuition or\nperception of space.\n\nThat which is most certain, and yet always inexplicable, is what is\ninvolved in the principle of sufficient reason, for this principle, in its\ndifferent aspects, expresses the universal form of all our ideas and\nknowledge. All explanation consists of reduction to it, exemplification in\nthe particular case of the connection of ideas expressed generally through\nit. It is thus the principle of all explanation, and therefore it is\nneither susceptible of an explanation itself, nor does it stand in need of\nit; for every explanation presupposes it, and only obtains meaning through\nit. Now, none of its forms are superior to the rest; it is equally certain\nand incapable of demonstration as the principle of the ground of being, or\nof change, or of action, or of knowing. The relation of reason and\nconsequent is a necessity in all its forms, and indeed it is, in general,\nthe source of the concept of necessity, for necessity has no other\nmeaning. If the reason is given there is no other necessity than that of\nthe consequent, and there is no reason that does not involve the necessity\nof the consequent. Just as surely then as the consequent expressed in the\nconclusion follows from the ground of knowledge given in the premises,\ndoes the ground of being in space determine its consequent in space: if I\nknow through perception the relation of these two, this certainty is just\nas great as any logical certainty. But every geometrical proposition is\njust as good an expression of such a relation as one of the twelve axioms;\nit is a metaphysical truth, and as such, just as certain as the principle\nof contradiction itself, which is a metalogical truth, and the common\nfoundation of all logical demonstration. Whoever denies the necessity,\nexhibited for intuition or perception, of the space-relations expressed in\nany proposition, may just as well deny the axioms, or that the conclusion\nfollows from the premises, or, indeed, he may as well deny the principle\nof contradiction itself, for all these relations are equally\nundemonstrable, immediately evident and known _a priori_. For any one to\nwish to derive the necessity of space-relations, known in intuition or\nperception, from the principle of contradiction by means of a logical\ndemonstration is just the same as for the feudal superior of an estate to\nwish to hold it as the vassal of another. Yet this is what Euclid has\ndone. His axioms only, he is compelled to leave resting upon immediate\nevidence; all the geometrical truths which follow are demonstrated\nlogically, that is to say, from the agreement of the assumptions made in\nthe proposition with the axioms which are presupposed, or with some\nearlier proposition; or from the contradiction between the opposite of the\nproposition and the assumptions made in it, or the axioms, or earlier\npropositions, or even itself. But the axioms themselves have no more\nimmediate evidence than any other geometrical problem, but only more\nsimplicity on account of their smaller content.\n\nWhen a criminal is examined, a _proc\u00e8s-verbal_ is made of his statement in\norder that we may judge of its truth from its consistency. But this is\nonly a makeshift, and we are not satisfied with it if it is possible to\ninvestigate the truth of each of his answers for itself; especially as he\nmight lie consistently from the beginning. But Euclid investigated space\naccording to this first method. He set about it, indeed, under the correct\nassumption that nature must everywhere be consistent, and that therefore\nit must also be so in space, its fundamental form. Since then the parts of\nspace stand to each other in a relation of reason and consequent, no\nsingle property of space can be different from what it is without being in\ncontradiction with all the others. But this is a very troublesome,\nunsatisfactory, and roundabout way to follow. It prefers indirect\nknowledge to direct, which is just as certain, and it separates the\nknowledge that a thing is from the knowledge why it is, to the great\ndisadvantage of the science; and lastly, it entirely withholds from the\nbeginner insight into the laws of space, and indeed renders him\nunaccustomed to the special investigation of the ground and inner\nconnection of things, inclining him to be satisfied with a mere historical\nknowledge that a thing is as it is. The exercise of acuteness which this\nmethod is unceasingly extolled as affording consists merely in this, that\nthe pupil practises drawing conclusions, _i.e._, he practises applying the\nprinciple of contradiction, but specially he exerts his memory to retain\nall those data whose agreement is to be tested. Moreover, it is worth\nnoticing that this method of proof was applied only to geometry and not to\narithmetic. In arithmetic the truth is really allowed to come home to us\nthrough perception alone, which in it consists simply in counting. As the\nperception of numbers is in _time alone_, and therefore cannot be\nrepresented by a sensuous schema like the geometrical figure, the\nsuspicion that perception is merely empirical, and possibly illusive,\ndisappeared in arithmetic, and the introduction of the logical method of\nproof into geometry was entirely due to this suspicion. As time has only\none dimension, counting is the only arithmetical operation, to which all\nothers may be reduced; and yet counting is just intuition or perception _a\npriori_, to which there is no hesitation in appealing here, and through\nwhich alone everything else, every sum and every equation, is ultimately\nproved. We prove, for example, not that (7 + 9 \u00d7 8 - 2)/3 = 42; but we\nrefer to the pure perception in time, counting thus makes each individual\nproblem an axiom. Instead of the demonstrations that fill geometry, the\nwhole content of arithmetic and algebra is thus simply a method of\nabbreviating counting. We mentioned above that our immediate perception of\nnumbers in time extends only to about ten. Beyond this an abstract concept\nof the numbers, fixed by a word, must take the place of the perception;\nwhich does not therefore actually occur any longer, but is only indicated\nin a thoroughly definite manner. Yet even so, by the important assistance\nof the system of figures which enables us to represent all larger numbers\nby the same small ones, intuitive or perceptive evidence of every sum is\nmade possible, even where we make such use of abstraction that not only\nthe numbers, but indefinite quantities and whole operations are thought\nonly in the abstract and indicated as so thought, as [sqrt](r^b) so that\nwe do not perform them, but merely symbolise them.\n\nWe might establish truth in geometry also, through pure _a priori_\nperception, with the same right and certainty as in arithmetic. It is in\nfact always this necessity, known through perception in accordance with\nthe principle of sufficient reason of being, which gives to geometry its\nprincipal evidence, and upon which in the consciousness of every one, the\ncertainty of its propositions rests. The stilted logical demonstration is\nalways foreign to the matter, and is generally soon forgotten, without\nweakening our conviction. It might indeed be dispensed with altogether\nwithout diminishing the evidence of geometry, for this is always quite\nindependent of such demonstration, which never proves anything we are not\nconvinced of already, through another kind of knowledge. So far then it is\nlike a cowardly soldier, who adds a wound to an enemy slain by another,\nand then boasts that he slew him himself.(22)\n\nAfter all this we hope there will be no doubt that the evidence of\nmathematics, which has become the pattern and symbol of all evidence,\nrests essentially not upon demonstration, but upon immediate perception,\nwhich is thus here, as everywhere else, the ultimate ground and source of\ntruth. Yet the perception which lies at the basis of mathematics has a\ngreat advantage over all other perception, and therefore over empirical\nperception. It is _a priori_, and therefore independent of experience,\nwhich is always given only in successive parts; therefore everything is\nequally near to it, and we can start either from the reason or from the\nconsequent, as we please. Now this makes it absolutely reliable, for in it\nthe consequent is known from the reason, and this is the only kind of\nknowledge that has necessity; for example, the equality of the sides is\nknown as established by the equality of the angles. All empirical\nperception, on the other hand, and the greater part of experience,\nproceeds conversely from the consequent to the reason, and this kind of\nknowledge is not infallible, for necessity only attaches to the consequent\non account of the reason being given, and no necessity attaches to the\nknowledge of the reason from the consequent, for the same consequent may\nfollow from different reasons. The latter kind of knowledge is simply\ninduction, _i.e._, from many consequents which point to one reason, the\nreason is accepted as certain; but as the cases can never be all before\nus, the truth here is not unconditionally certain. But all knowledge\nthrough sense-perception, and the great bulk of experience, has only this\nkind of truth. The affection of one of the senses induces the\nunderstanding to infer a cause of the effect, but, as a conclusion from\nthe consequent to the reason is never certain, illusion, which is\ndeception of the senses, is possible, and indeed often occurs, as was\npointed out above. Only when several of the senses, or it may be all the\nfive, receive impressions which point to the same cause, the possibility\nof illusion is reduced to a minimum; but yet it still exists, for there\nare cases, for example, the case of counterfeit money, in which all the\nsenses are deceived. All empirical knowledge, and consequently the whole\nof natural science, is in the same position, except only the pure, or as\nKant calls it, metaphysical part of it. Here also the causes are known\nfrom the effects, consequently all natural philosophy rests upon\nhypotheses, which are often false, and must then gradually give place to\nmore correct ones. Only in the case of purposely arranged experiments,\nknowledge proceeds from the cause to the effect, that is, it follows the\nmethod that affords certainty; but these experiments themselves are\nundertaken in consequence of hypotheses. Therefore, no branch of natural\nscience, such as physics, or astronomy, or physiology could be discovered\nall at once, as was the case with mathematics and logic, but required and\nrequires the collected and compared experiences of many centuries. In the\nfirst place, repeated confirmation in experience brings the induction,\nupon which the hypothesis rests, so near completeness that in practice it\ntakes the place of certainty, and is regarded as diminishing the value of\nthe hypothesis, its source, just as little as the incommensurability of\nstraight and curved lines diminishes the value of the application of\ngeometry, or that perfect exactness of the logarithm, which is not\nattainable, diminishes the value of arithmetic. For as the logarithm, or\nthe squaring of the circle, approaches infinitely near to correctness\nthrough infinite fractions, so, through manifold experience, the\ninduction, _i.e._, the knowledge of the cause from the effects,\napproaches, not infinitely indeed, but yet so near mathematical evidence,\n_i.e._, knowledge of the effects from the cause, that the possibility of\nmistake is small enough to be neglected, but yet the possibility exists;\nfor example, a conclusion from an indefinite number of cases to all cases,\n_i.e._, to the unknown ground on which all depend, is an induction. What\nconclusion of this kind seems more certain than that all men have the\nheart on the left side? Yet there are extremely rare and quite isolated\nexceptions of men who have the heart upon the right side. Sense-perception\nand empirical science have, therefore, the same kind of evidence. The\nadvantage which mathematics, pure natural science, and logic have over\nthem, as _a priori_ knowledge, rests merely upon this, that the formal\nelement in knowledge upon which all that is _a priori_ is based, is given\nas a whole and at once, and therefore in it we can always proceed from the\ncause to the effect, while in the former kind of knowledge we are\ngenerally obliged to proceed from the effect to the cause. In other\nrespects, the law of causality, or the principle of sufficient reason of\nchange, which guides empirical knowledge, is in itself just as certain as\nthe other forms of the principle of sufficient reason which are followed\nby the _a priori_ sciences referred to above. Logical demonstrations from\nconcepts or syllogisms have the advantage of proceeding from the reason to\nthe consequent, just as much as knowledge through perception _a priori_,\nand therefore in themselves, _i.e._, according to their form, they are\ninfallible. This has greatly assisted to bring demonstration in general\ninto such esteem. But this infallibility is merely relative; the\ndemonstration merely subsumes under the first principles of the science,\nand it is these which contain the whole material truth of science, and\nthey must not themselves be demonstrated, but must be founded on\nperception. In the few _a priori_ sciences we have named above, this\nperception is pure, but everywhere else it is empirical, and is only\nraised to universality through induction. If, then, in the empirical\nsciences also, the particular is proved from the general, yet the general,\non the other hand, has received its truth from the particular; it is only\na store of collected material, not a self-constituted foundation.\n\nSo much for the foundation of truth. Of the source and possibility of\nerror many explanations have been tried since Plato\u2019s metaphorical\nsolution of the dove-cot where the wrong pigeons are caught, &c.\n(The\u00e6tetus, p. 167, _et seq._) Kant\u2019s vague, indefinite explanation of the\nsource of error by means of the diagram of diagonal motion, will be found\nin the \u201cCritique of Pure Reason,\u201d p. 294 of the first edition, and p. 350\nof the fifth. As truth is the relation of a judgment to its ground of\nknowledge, it is always a problem how the person judging can believe that\nhe has such a ground of knowledge and yet not have it; that is to say, how\nerror, the deception of reason, is possible. I find this possibility quite\nanalogous to that of illusion, or the deception of the understanding,\nwhich has been explained above. My opinion is (and this is what gives this\nexplanation its proper place here) that _every error is an inference from\nthe consequent to the reason_, which indeed is valid when we know that the\nconsequent has that reason and can have no other; but otherwise is not\nvalid. The person who falls into error, either attributes to a consequent\na reason which it cannot have, in which case he shows actual deficiency of\nunderstanding, _i.e._, deficiency in the capacity for immediate knowledge\nof the connection between the cause and the effect, or, as more frequently\nhappens, he attributes to the effect a cause which is possible, but he\nadds to the major proposition of the syllogism, in which he infers the\ncause from the effect, that this effect _always_ results only from this\ncause. Now he could only be assured of this by a complete induction,\nwhich, however, he assumes without having made it. This \u201calways\u201d is\ntherefore too wide a concept, and instead of it he ought to have used\n\u201csometimes\u201d or \u201cgenerally.\u201d The conclusion would then be problematical,\nand therefore not erroneous. That the man who errs should proceed in this\nway is due either to haste, or to insufficient knowledge of what is\npossible, on account of which he does not know the necessity of the\ninduction that ought to be made. Error then is quite analogous to\nillusion. Both are inferences from the effect to the cause; the illusion\nbrought about always in accordance with the law of causality, and by the\nunderstanding alone, thus directly, in perception itself; the error in\naccordance with all the forms of the principle of sufficient reason, and\nby the reason, thus in thought itself; yet most commonly in accordance\nwith the law of causality, as will appear from the three following\nexamples, which may be taken as types or representatives of the three\nkinds of error. (1.) The illusion of the senses (deception of the\nunderstanding) induces error (deception of the reason); for example, if\none mistakes a painting for an alto-relief, and actually takes it for\nsuch; the error results from a conclusion from the following major\npremise: \u201cIf dark grey passes regularly through all shades to white; the\ncause is _always_ the light, which strikes differently upon projections\nand depressions, _ergo_\u2014.\u201d (2.) \u201cIf there is no money in my safe, the\ncause is _always_ that my servant has got a key for it: _ergo_\u2014.\u201d (3.) \u201cIf\na ray of sunlight, broken through a prism, _i.e._, bent up or down,\nappears as a coloured band instead of round and white as before, the cause\nmust always be that light consists of homogeneous rays, differently\ncoloured and refrangible to different degrees, which, when forced asunder\non account of the difference of their refrangibility, give an elongated\nand variously-coloured spectrum: _ergo\u2014bibamus!_\u201d\u2014It must be possible to\ntrace every error to such a conclusion, drawn from a major premise which\nis often only falsely generalised, hypothetical, and founded on the\nassumption that some particular cause is that of a certain effect. Only\ncertain mistakes in counting are to be excepted, and they are not really\nerrors, but merely mistakes. The operation prescribed by the concepts of\nthe numbers has not been carried out in pure intuition or perception, in\ncounting, but some other operation instead of it.\n\nAs regards the _content_ of the sciences generally, it is, in fact, always\nthe relation of the phenomena of the world to each other, according to the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, under the guidance of the _why_, which has\nvalidity and meaning only through this principle. _Explanation_ is the\nestablishment of this relation. Therefore explanation can never go further\nthan to show two ideas standing to each other in the relation peculiar to\nthat form of the principle of sufficient reason which reigns in the class\nto which they belong. If this is done we cannot further be asked the\nquestion, _why_: for the relation proved is that one which absolutely\ncannot be imagined as other than it is, _i.e._, it is the form of all\nknowledge. Therefore we do not ask why 2 + 2 = 4; or why the equality of\nthe angles of a triangle determines the equality of the sides; or why its\neffect follows any given cause; or why the truth of the conclusion is\nevident from the truth of the premises. Every explanation which does not\nultimately lead to a relation of which no \u201cwhy\u201d can further be demanded,\nstops at an accepted _qualitas occulta_; but this is the character of\nevery original force of nature. Every explanation in natural science must\nultimately end with such a _qualitas occulta_, and thus with complete\nobscurity. It must leave the inner nature of a stone just as much\nunexplained as that of a human being; it can give as little account of the\nweight, the cohesion, the chemical qualities, &c., of the former, as of\nthe knowing and acting of the latter. Thus, for example, weight is a\n_qualitas occulta_, for it can be thought away, and does not proceed as a\nnecessity from the form of knowledge; which, on the contrary, is not the\ncase with the law of inertia, for it follows from the law of causality,\nand is therefore sufficiently explained if it is referred to that law.\nThere are two things which are altogether inexplicable,\u2014that is to say, do\nnot ultimately lead to the relation which the principle of sufficient\nreason expresses. These are, first, the principle of sufficient reason\nitself in all its four forms, because it is the principle of all\nexplanation, which has meaning only in relation to it; secondly, that to\nwhich this principle does not extend, but which is the original source of\nall phenomena; the thing-in-itself, the knowledge of which is not subject\nto the principle of sufficient reason. We must be content for the present\nnot to understand this thing-in-itself, for it can only be made\nintelligible by means of the following book, in which we shall resume this\nconsideration of the possible achievements of the sciences. But at the\npoint at which natural science, and indeed every science, leaves things,\nbecause not only its explanation of them, but even the principle of this\nexplanation, the principle of sufficient reason, does not extend beyond\nthis point; there philosophy takes them up and treats them after its own\nmethod, which is quite distinct from the method of science. In my essay on\nthe principle of sufficient reason, \u00a7 51, I have shown how in the\ndifferent sciences the chief guiding clue is one or other form of that\nprinciple; and, in fact, perhaps the most appropriate classification of\nthe sciences might be based upon this circumstance. Every explanation\narrived at by the help of this clue is, as we have said, merely relative;\nit explains things in relation to each other, but something which indeed\nis presupposed is always left unexplained. In mathematics, for example,\nthis is space and time; in mechanics, physics, and chemistry it is matter,\nqualities, original forces and laws of nature; in botany and zoology it is\nthe difference of species, and life itself; in history it is the human\nrace with all its properties of thought and will: in all it is that form\nof the principle of sufficient reason which is respectively applicable. It\nis peculiar to _philosophy_ that it presupposes nothing as known, but\ntreats everything as equally external and a problem; not merely the\nrelations of phenomena, but also the phenomena themselves, and even the\nprinciple of sufficient reason to which the other sciences are content to\nrefer everything. In philosophy nothing would be gained by such a\nreference, as one member of the series is just as external to it as\nanother; and, moreover, that kind of connection is just as much a problem\nfor philosophy as what is joined together by it, and the latter again is\njust as much a problem after its combination has been explained as before\nit. For, as we have said, just what the sciences presuppose and lay down\nas the basis and the limits of their explanation, is precisely and\npeculiarly the problem of philosophy, which may therefore be said to begin\nwhere science ends. It cannot be founded upon demonstrations, for they\nlead from known principles to unknown, but everything is equally unknown\nand external to philosophy. There can be no principle in consequence of\nwhich the world with all its phenomena first came into existence, and\ntherefore it is not possible to construct, as Spinoza wished, a philosophy\nwhich demonstrates _ex firmis principiis_. Philosophy is the most general\nrational knowledge, the first principles of which cannot therefore be\nderived from another principle still more general. The principle of\ncontradiction establishes merely the agreement of concepts, but does not\nitself produce concepts. The principle of sufficient reason explains the\nconnections of phenomena, but not the phenomena themselves; therefore\nphilosophy cannot proceed upon these principles to seek a _causa\nefficiens_ or a _causa finalis_ of the whole world. My philosophy, at\nleast, does not by any means seek to know _whence_ or _wherefore_ the\nworld exists, but merely _what_ the world is. But the _why_ is here\nsubordinated to the _what_, for it already belongs to the world, as it\narises and has meaning and validity only through the form of its\nphenomena, the principle of sufficient reason. We might indeed say that\nevery one knows what the world is without help, for he is himself that\nsubject of knowledge of which the world is the idea; and so far this would\nbe true. But that knowledge is empirical, is in the concrete; the task of\nphilosophy is to reproduce this in the abstract to raise to permanent\nrational knowledge the successive changing perceptions, and in general,\nall that is contained under the wide concept of feeling and merely\nnegatively defined as not abstract, distinct, rational knowledge. It must\ntherefore consist of a statement in the abstract, of the nature of the\nwhole world, of the whole, and of all the parts. In order then that it may\nnot lose itself in the endless multitude of particular judgments, it must\nmake use of abstraction and think everything individual in the universal,\nand its differences also in the universal. It must therefore partly\nseparate and partly unite, in order to present to rational knowledge the\nwhole manifold of the world generally, according to its nature,\ncomprehended in a few abstract concepts. Through these concepts, in which\nit fixes the nature of the world, the whole individual must be known as\nwell as the universal, the knowledge of both therefore must be bound\ntogether to the minutest point. Therefore the capacity for philosophy\nconsists just in that in which Plato placed it, the knowledge of the one\nin the many, and the many in the one. Philosophy will therefore be a\nsum-total of general judgments, whose ground of knowledge is immediately\nthe world itself in its entirety, without excepting anything; thus all\nthat is to be found in human consciousness; it will be _a complete\nrecapitulation, as it were, a reflection, of the world in abstract\nconcepts_, which is only possible by the union of the essentially\nidentical in _one_ concept and the relegation of the different to another.\nThis task was already prescribed to philosophy by Bacon of Verulam when he\nsaid: _ea demum vera est philosophia, quae mundi ipsius voces fidelissime\nreddit, et veluti dictante mundo conscripta est, et nihil aliud est, quam\nejusdem_ SIMULACRUM ET REFLECTIO, _neque addit quidquam de proprio, sed\ntantum iterat et resonat_ (De Augm. Scient., L. 2, c. 13). But we take\nthis in a wider sense than Bacon could then conceive.\n\nThe agreement which all the sides and parts of the world have with each\nother, just because they belong to a whole, must also be found in this\nabstract copy of it. Therefore the judgments in this sum-total could to a\ncertain extent be deduced from each other, and indeed always reciprocally\nso deduced. Yet to make the first judgment possible, they must all be\npresent, and thus implied as prior to it in the knowledge of the world in\nthe concrete, especially as all direct proof is more certain than indirect\nproof; their harmony with each other by virtue of which they come together\ninto the unity of _one_ thought, and which arises from the harmony and\nunity of the world of perception itself, which is their common ground of\nknowledge, is not therefore to be made use of to establish them, as that\nwhich is prior to them, but is only added as a confirmation of their\ntruth. This problem itself can only become quite clear in being\nsolved.(23)\n\n\u00a7 16. After this full consideration of reason as a special faculty of\nknowledge belonging to man alone, and the results and phenomena peculiar\nto human nature brought about by it, it still remains for me to speak of\nreason, so far as it is the guide of human action, and in this respect may\nbe called _practical_. But what there is to say upon this point has found\nits place elsewhere in the appendix to this work, where I controvert the\nexistence of the so-called practical reason of Kant, which he (certainly\nvery conveniently) explained as the immediate source of virtue, and as the\nseat of an absolute (_i.e._, fallen from heaven) imperative. The detailed\nand thorough refutation of this Kantian principle of morality I have given\nlater in the \u201cFundamental Problems of Ethics.\u201d There remains, therefore,\nbut little for me to say here about the actual influence of reason, in the\ntrue sense of the word, upon action. At the commencement of our treatment\nof reason we remarked, in general terms, how much the action and behaviour\nof men differs from that of brutes, and that this difference is to be\nregarded as entirely due to the presence of abstract concepts in\nconsciousness. The influence of these upon our whole existence is so\npenetrating and significant that, on account of them, we are related to\nthe lower animals very much as those animals that see are related to those\nthat have no eyes (certain larvae, worms, and zoophytes). Animals without\neyes know only by touch what is immediately present to them in space, what\ncomes into contact with them; those which see, on the contrary, know a\nwide circle of near and distant objects. In the same way the absence of\nreason confines the lower animals to the ideas of perception, _i.e._, the\nreal objects which are immediately present to them in time; we, on the\ncontrary, on account of knowledge in the abstract, comprehend not only the\nnarrow actual present, but also the whole past and future, and the wide\nsphere of the possible; we view life freely on all its sides, and go far\nbeyond the present and the actual. Thus what the eye is in space and for\nsensuous knowledge, reason is, to a certain extent, in time and for inner\nknowledge. But as the visibility of objects has its worth and meaning only\nin the fact that it informs us of their tangibility, so the whole worth of\nabstract knowledge always consists in its relation to what is perceived.\nTherefore men naturally attach far more worth to immediate and perceived\nknowledge than to abstract concepts, to that which is merely thought; they\nplace empirical knowledge before logical. But this is not the opinion of\nmen who live more in words than in deeds, who have seen more on paper and\nin books than in actual life, and who in their greatest degeneracy become\npedants and lovers of the mere letter. Thus only is it conceivable that\nLeibnitz and Wolf and all their successors could go so far astray as to\nexplain knowledge of perception, after the example of Duns Scotus, as\nmerely confused abstract knowledge! To the honour of Spinoza, I must\nmention that his truer sense led him, on the contrary, to explain all\ngeneral concepts as having arisen from the confusion of that which was\nknown in perception (Eth. II., prop. 40, Schol. 1). It is also a result of\nperverted opinion that in mathematics the evidence proper to it was\nrejected, and logical evidence alone accepted; that everything in general\nwhich was not abstract knowledge was comprehended under the wide name of\nfeeling, and consequently was little valued; and lastly that the Kantian\nethics regarded the good will which immediately asserts itself upon\nknowledge of the circumstances, and guides to right and good action as\nmere feeling and emotion, and consequently as worthless and without merit,\nand would only recognise actions which proceed from abstract maxims as\nhaving moral worth.\n\nThe many-sided view of life as a whole which man, as distinguished from\nthe lower animals, possesses through reason, may be compared to a\ngeometrical, colourless, abstract, reduced plan of his actual life. He,\ntherefore, stands to the lower animals as the navigator who, by means of\nchart, compass, and quadrant, knows accurately his course and his position\nat any time upon the sea, stands to the uneducated sailors who see only\nthe waves and the heavens. Thus it is worth noticing, and indeed\nwonderful, how, besides his life in the concrete, man always lives another\nlife in the abstract. In the former he is given as a prey to all the\nstorms of actual life, and to the influence of the present; he must\nstruggle, suffer, and die like the brute. But his life in the abstract, as\nit lies before his rational consciousness, is the still reflection of the\nformer, and of the world in which he lives; it is just that reduced chart\nor plan to which we have referred. Here in the sphere of quiet\ndeliberation, what completely possessed him and moved him intensely\nbefore, appears to him cold, colourless, and for the moment external to\nhim; he is merely the spectator, the observer. In respect of this\nwithdrawal into reflection he may be compared to an actor who has played\nhis part in one scene, and who takes his place among the audience till it\nis time for him to go upon the stage again, and quietly looks on at\nwhatever may happen, even though it be the preparation for his own death\n(in the piece), but afterwards he again goes on the stage and acts and\nsuffers as he must. From this double life proceeds that quietness peculiar\nto human beings, so very different from the thoughtlessness of the brutes,\nand with which, in accordance with previous reflection, or a formed\ndetermination, or a recognised necessity, a man suffers or accomplishes in\ncold blood, what is of the utmost and often terrible importance to him;\nsuicide, execution, the duel, enterprises of every kind fraught with\ndanger to life, and, in general, things against which his whole animal\nnature rebels. Under such circumstances we see to what an extent reason\nhas mastered the animal nature, and we say to the strong: \u03c3\u03b9\u03b4\u03b7\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03bd\u03c5 \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\n\u1f21\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1! (_ferreum certe tibi cor_), Il. 24, 521. Here we can say truly that\nreason manifests itself practically, and thus wherever action is guided by\nreason, where the motives are abstract concepts, wherever we are not\ndetermined by particular ideas of perception, nor by the impression of the\nmoment which guides the brutes, there _practical reason_ shows itself. But\nI have fully explained in the Appendix, and illustrated by examples, that\nthis is entirely different from and unrelated to the ethical worth of\nactions; that rational action and virtuous action are two entirely\ndifferent things; that reason may just as well find itself in connection\nwith great evil as with great good, and by its assistance may give great\npower to the one as well as to the other; that it is equally ready and\nvaluable for the methodical and consistent carrying out of the noble and\nof the bad intention, of the wise as of the foolish maxim; which all\nresults from the constitution of its nature, which is feminine, receptive,\nretentive, and not spontaneous; all this I have shown in detail in the\nAppendix, and illustrated by examples. What is said there would have been\nplaced here, but on account of my polemic against Kant\u2019s pretended\npractical reason I have been obliged to relegate it to the Appendix, to\nwhich I therefore refer.\n\nThe ideal explained in the _Stoical philosophy_ is the most complete\ndevelopment of _practical reason_ in the true and genuine sense of the\nword; it is the highest summit to which man can attain by the mere use of\nhis reason, and in it his difference from the brutes shows itself most\ndistinctly. For the ethics of Stoicism are originally and essentially, not\na doctrine of virtue, but merely a guide to a rational life, the end and\naim of which is happiness through peace of mind. Virtuous conduct appears\nin it as it were merely by accident, as the means, not as the end.\nTherefore the ethical theory of Stoicism is in its whole nature and point\nof view fundamentally different from the ethical systems which lay stress\ndirectly upon virtue, such as the doctrines of the Vedas, of Plato, of\nChristianity, and of Kant. The aim of Stoical ethics is happiness: \u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03c4\u03bf \u03b5\u03c5\u03b4\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd (_virtutes omnes finem habere beatitudinem_) it is called\nin the account of the Stoa by Stob\u00e6us (Ecl., L. ii. c. 7, p. 114, and also\np. 138). Yet the ethics of Stoicism teach that happiness can only be\nattained with certainty through inward peace and quietness of spirit\n(\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03be\u03b9\u03b1), and that this again can only be reached through virtue; this\nis the whole meaning of the saying that virtue is the highest good. But if\nindeed by degrees the end is lost sight of in the means, and virtue is\ninculcated in a way which discloses an interest entirely different from\nthat of one\u2019s own happiness, for it contradicts this too distinctly; this\nis just one of those inconsistencies by means of which, in every system,\nthe immediately known, or, as it is called, felt truth leads us back to\nthe right way in defiance of syllogistic reasoning; as, for example, we\nsee clearly in the ethical teaching of Spinoza, which deduces a pure\ndoctrine of virtue from the egoistical _suum utile qu\u00e6rere_ by means of\npalpable sophisms. According to this, as I conceive the spirit of the\nStoical ethics, their source lies in the question whether the great\nprerogative of man, reason, which, by means of planned action and its\nresults, relieves life and its burdens so much, might not also be capable\nof freeing him at once, directly, _i.e._, through mere knowledge,\ncompletely, or nearly so, of the sorrows and miseries of every kind of\nwhich his life is full. They held that it was not in keeping with the\nprerogative of reason that the nature given with it, which by means of it\ncomprehends and contemplates an infinity of things and circumstances,\nshould yet, through the present, and the accidents that can be contained\nin the few years of a life that is short, fleeting, and uncertain, be\nexposed to such intense pain, to such great anxiety and suffering, as\narise from the tempestuous strain of the desires and the antipathies; and\nthey believed that the due application of reason must raise men above\nthem, and can make them invulnerable. Therefore Antisthenes says: \u0394\u03b5\u03b9\n\u03ba\u03c4\u03b1\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03bd, \u03b7 \u03b2\u03c1\u03bf\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd (_aut mentem parandam, aut laqueum._ Plut. de\nstoic. repugn., c. 14), _i.e._, life is so full of troubles and vexations,\nthat one must either rise above it by means of corrected thoughts, or\nleave it. It was seen that want and suffering did not directly and of\nnecessity spring from not having, but from desiring to have and not\nhaving; that therefore this desire to have is the necessary condition\nunder which alone it becomes a privation not to have and begets pain. \u039f\u03c5\n\u03c0\u03b5\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 \u03bb\u03c5\u03c0\u03b7\u03bd \u03b5\u03c1\u03b3\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9, \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03b8\u03c5\u03bc\u03b9\u03b1 (_non paupertas dolorem efficit, sed\ncupiditas_), Epict., fragm. 25. Men learned also from experience that it\nis only the hope of what is claimed that begets and nourishes the wish;\ntherefore neither the many unavoidable evils which are common to all, nor\nunattainable blessings, disquiet or trouble us, but only the trifling more\nor less of those things which we can avoid or attain; indeed, not only\nwhat is absolutely unavoidable or unattainable, but also what is merely\nrelatively so, leaves us quite undisturbed; therefore the ills that have\nonce become joined to our individuality, or the good things that must of\nnecessity always be denied us, are treated with indifference, in\naccordance with the peculiarity of human nature that every wish soon dies\nand can no more beget pain if it is not nourished by hope. It followed\nfrom all this that happiness always depends upon the proportion between\nour claims and what we receive. It is all one whether the quantities thus\nrelated be great or small, and the proportion can be established just as\nwell by diminishing the amount of the first as by increasing the amount of\nthe second; and in the same way it also follows that all suffering\nproceeds from the want of proportion between what we demand and expect and\nwhat we get. Now this want of proportion obviously lies only in knowledge,\nand it could be entirely abolished through fuller insight.(24) Therefore\nChrysippus says: \u03b4\u03b5\u03b9 \u03b6\u1fc3\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03bc\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c3\u03c5\u03bc\u03b2\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd (Stob.\nEcl., L. ii. c. 7, p. 134), that is, one ought to live with a due\nknowledge of the transitory nature of the things of the world. For as\noften as a man loses self-command, or is struck down by a misfortune, or\ngrows angry, or becomes faint-hearted, he shows that he finds things\ndifferent from what he expected, consequently that he was caught in error,\nand did not know the world and life, did not know that the will of the\nindividual is crossed at every step by the chance of inanimate nature and\nthe antagonism of aims and the wickedness of other individuals: he has\ntherefore either not made use of his reason in order to arrive at a\ngeneral knowledge of this characteristic of life, or he lacks judgment, in\nthat he does not recognise in the particular what he knows in general, and\nis therefore surprised by it and loses his self-command.(25) Thus also\nevery keen pleasure is an error and an illusion, for no attained wish can\ngive lasting satisfaction; and, moreover, every possession and every\nhappiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore\nbe demanded back the next hour. All pain rests on the passing away of such\nan illusion; thus both arise from defective knowledge; the wise man\ntherefore holds himself equally aloof from joy and sorrow, and no event\ndisturbs his \u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03be\u03b9\u03b1.\n\nIn accordance with this spirit and aim of the Stoa, Epictetus began and\nended with the doctrine as the kernel of his philosophy, that we should\nconsider well and distinguish what depends upon us and what does not, and\ntherefore entirely avoid counting upon the latter, whereby we shall\ncertainly remain free from all pain, sorrow, and anxiety. But that which\nalone is dependent upon us is the will; and here a transition gradually\ntakes place to a doctrine of virtue, for it is observed that as the outer\nworld, which is independent of us, determines good and bad fortune, so\ninner contentment with ourselves, or the absence of it, proceeds from the\nwill. But it was then asked whether we ought to apply the words _bonum_\nand _malum_ to the two former or to the two latter? This was indeed\narbitrary and a matter of choice, and did not make any real difference,\nbut yet the Stoics disputed everlastingly with the Peripatetics and\nEpicureans about it, and amused themselves with the inadmissible\ncomparison of two entirely incommensurable quantities, and the\nantithetical, paradoxical judgments which proceeded from them, and which\nthey flung at each other. The _Paradoxa_ of Cicero afford us an\ninteresting collection of these from the Stoical side.\n\nZeno, the founder, seems originally to have followed a somewhat different\npath. The starting-point with him was that for the attainment of the\nhighest good, _i.e._, blessedness and spiritual peace, one must live in\nharmony with oneself (\u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03be\u1fc3\u03bd; \u03b4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u1fbd \u1f11\u03bd\u03b1 \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\n\u03c3\u03c5\u03bc\u03c6\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03be\u1fc3\u03bd.\u2014_Consonanter vivere: hoc est secundum unam rationem et\nconcordem sibi vivere._ Stob. Ecl. eth. L. ii., c. 7, p. 132. Also: \u0391\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd\n\u03b4\u03b9\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c5\u03bc\u03c6\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u1f11\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u1fc3 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9 \u1f41\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03b2\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd. _Virtutem esse\nanimi affectiomem secum per totam vitam consentientem_, _ibid._, p. 104.)\nNow this was only possible for a man if he determined himself entirely\nrationally, according to concepts, not according to changing impressions\nand moods; since, however, only the maxims of our conduct, not the\nconsequences nor the outward circumstances, are in our power, in order to\nbe always consistent we must set before us as our aim only the maxims and\nnot the consequences and circumstances, and thus again a doctrine of\nvirtue is introduced.\n\nBut the ethical principle of Zeno\u2014to live in harmony with oneself\u2014appeared\neven to his immediate successors to be too formal and empty. They\ntherefore gave it material content by the addition\u2014\u201cto live in harmony\nwith nature\u201d (\u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03c9\u03c2 \u03c4\u1fc3 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03b6\u1fc3\u03bd), which, as Stob\u00e6us mentions in\nanother place, was first added by Kleanthes, and extended the matter very\nmuch on account of the wide sphere of the concept and the vagueness of the\nexpression. For Kleanthes meant the whole of nature in general, while\nChrysippus meant human nature in particular (Diog. Laert., 7, 89). It\nfollowed that what alone was adapted to the latter was virtue, just as the\nsatisfaction of animal desires was adapted to animal natures; and thus\nethics had again to be forcibly united to a doctrine of virtue, and in\nsome way or other established through physics. For the Stoics always aimed\nat unity of principle, as for them God and the world were not dissevered.\n\nThe ethical system of Stoicism, regarded as a whole, is in fact a very\nvaluable and estimable attempt to use the great prerogative of man,\nreason, for an important and salutary end; to raise him above the\nsuffering and pain to which all life is exposed, by means of a maxim\u2014\n\n\n    \u201c_Qua ratione queas traducere leniter \u0153vum:_\n    _Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cupido,_\n    _Ne pavor et rerum mediocriter utilium spes,_\u201d\n\n\nand thus to make him partake, in the highest degree, of the dignity which\nbelongs to him as a rational being, as distinguished from the brutes; a\ndignity of which, in this sense at any rate, we can speak, though not in\nany other. It is a consequence of my view of the ethical system of\nStoicism that it must be explained at the part of my work at which I\nconsider what reason is and what it can do. But although it may to a\ncertain extent be possible to attain that end through the application of\nreason, and through a purely rational system of ethics, and although\nexperience shows that the happiest men are those purely rational\ncharacters commonly called practical philosophers,\u2014and rightly so, because\njust as the true, that is, the theoretical philosopher carries life into\nthe concept, they carry the concept into life,\u2014yet it is far from the case\nthat perfection can be attained in this way, and that the reason, rightly\nused, can really free us from the burden and sorrow of life, and lead us\nto happiness. Rather, there lies an absolute contradiction in wishing to\nlive without suffering, and this contradiction is also implied in the\ncommonly used expression, \u201cblessed life.\u201d This will become perfectly clear\nto whoever comprehends the whole of the following exposition. In this\npurely rational system of ethics the contradiction reveals itself thus,\nthe Stoic is obliged in his doctrine of the way to the blessed life (for\nthat is what his ethical system always remains) to insert a recommendation\nof suicide (as among the magnificent ornaments and apparel of Eastern\ndespots there is always a costly vial of poison) for the case in which the\nsufferings of the body, which cannot be philosophised away by any\nprinciples or syllogistic reasonings, are paramount and incurable; thus\nits one aim, blessedness, is rendered vain, and nothing remains as a mode\nof escape from suffering except death; in such a case then death must be\nvoluntarily accepted, just as we would take any other medicine. Here then\na marked antagonism is brought out between the ethical system of Stoicism\nand all those systems referred to above which make virtue in itself\ndirectly, and accompanied by the most grievous sorrows, their aim, and\nwill not allow a man to end his life in order to escape from suffering.\nNot one of them, however, was able to give the true reason for the\nrejection of suicide, but they laboriously collected illusory explanations\nfrom all sides: the true reason will appear in the Fourth Book in the\ncourse of the development of our system. But the antagonism referred to\nreveals and establishes the essential difference in fundamental principle\nbetween Stoicism, which is just a special form of end\u00e6monism, and those\ndoctrines we have mentioned, although both are often at one in their\nresults, and are apparently related. And the inner contradiction referred\nto above, with which the ethical system of Stoicism is affected even in\nits fundamental thought, shows itself further in the circumstance that its\nideal, the Stoic philosopher, as the system itself represents him, could\nnever obtain life or inner poetic truth, but remains a wooden, stiff\nlay-figure of which nothing can be made. He cannot himself make use of his\nwisdom, and his perfect peace, contentment, and blessedness directly\ncontradict the nature of man, and preclude us from forming any concrete\nidea of him. When compared with him, how entirely different appear the\novercomers of the world, and voluntary hermits that Indian philosophy\npresents to us, and has actually produced; or indeed, the holy man of\nChristianity, that excellent form full of deep life, of the greatest\npoetic truth, and the highest significance, which stands before us in\nperfect virtue, holiness, and sublimity, yet in a state of supreme\nsuffering.(26)\n\n\n\n\n\nSECOND BOOK. THE WORLD AS WILL.\n\n\n\n\nFirst Aspect. The Objectification Of The Will.\n\n\n    Nos habitat, non tartara, sed nec sidera coeli:\n    Spiritus, in nobis qui viget, illa facit.\n\n\n\u00a7 17. In the first book we considered the idea merely as such, that is,\nonly according to its general form. It is true that as far as the abstract\nidea, the concept, is concerned, we obtained a knowledge of it in respect\nof its content also, because it has content and meaning only in relation\nto the idea of perception, without which it would be worthless and empty.\nAccordingly, directing our attention exclusively to the idea of\nperception, we shall now endeavour to arrive at a knowledge of its\ncontent, its more exact definition, and the forms which it presents to us.\nAnd it will specially interest us to find an explanation of its peculiar\nsignificance, that significance which is otherwise merely felt, but on\naccount of which it is that these pictures do not pass by us entirely\nstrange and meaningless, as they must otherwise do, but speak to us\ndirectly, are understood, and obtain an interest which concerns our whole\nnature.\n\nWe direct our attention to mathematics, natural science, and philosophy,\nfor each of these holds out the hope that it will afford us a part of the\nexplanation we desire. Now, taking philosophy first, we find that it is\nlike a monster with many heads, each of which speaks a different language.\nThey are not, indeed, all at variance on the point we are here\nconsidering, the significance of the idea of perception. For, with the\nexception of the Sceptics and the Idealists, the others, for the most\npart, speak very much in the same way of an _object_ which constitutes the\n_basis_ of the idea, and which is indeed different in its whole being and\nnature from the idea, but yet is in all points as like it as one egg is to\nanother. But this does not help us, for we are quite unable to distinguish\nsuch an object from the idea; we find that they are one and the same; for\nevery object always and for ever presupposes a subject, and therefore\nremains idea, so that we recognised objectivity as belonging to the most\nuniversal form of the idea, which is the division into subject and object.\nFurther, the principle of sufficient reason, which is referred to in\nsupport of this doctrine, is for us merely the form of the idea, the\norderly combination of one idea with another, but not the combination of\nthe whole finite or infinite series of ideas with something which is not\nidea at all, and which cannot therefore be presented in perception. Of the\nSceptics and Idealists we spoke above, in examining the controversy about\nthe reality of the outer world.\n\nIf we turn to mathematics to look for the fuller knowledge we desire of\nthe idea of perception, which we have, as yet, only understood generally,\nmerely in its form, we find that mathematics only treats of these ideas so\nfar as they fill time and space, that is, so far as they are quantities.\nIt will tell us with the greatest accuracy the how-many and the how-much;\nbut as this is always merely relative, that is to say, merely a comparison\nof one idea with others, and a comparison only in the one respect of\nquantity, this also is not the information we are principally in search\nof.\n\nLastly, if we turn to the wide province of natural science, which is\ndivided into many fields, we may, in the first place, make a general\ndivision of it into two parts. It is either the description of forms,\nwhich I call _Morphology_, or the explanation of changes, which I call\n_Etiology_. The first treats of the permanent forms, the second of the\nchanging matter, according to the laws of its transition from one form to\nanother. The first is the whole extent of what is generally called natural\nhistory. It teaches us, especially in the sciences of botany and zoology,\nthe various permanent, organised, and therefore definitely determined\nforms in the constant change of individuals; and these forms constitute a\ngreat part of the content of the idea of perception. In natural history\nthey are classified, separated, united, arranged according to natural and\nartificial systems, and brought under concepts which make a general view\nand knowledge of the whole of them possible. Further, an infinitely fine\nanalogy both in the whole and in the parts of these forms, and running\nthrough them all (_unit\u00e9 de plan_), is established, and thus they may be\ncompared to innumerable variations on a theme which is not given. The\npassage of matter into these forms, that is to say, the origin of\nindividuals, is not a special part of natural science, for every\nindividual springs from its like by generation, which is everywhere\nequally mysterious, and has as yet evaded definite knowledge. The little\nthat is known on the subject finds its place in physiology, which belongs\nto that part of natural science I have called etiology. Mineralogy also,\nespecially where it becomes geology, inclines towards etiology, though it\nprincipally belongs to morphology. Etiology proper comprehends all those\nbranches of natural science in which the chief concern is the knowledge of\ncause and effect. The sciences teach how, according to an invariable rule,\none condition of matter is necessarily followed by a certain other\ncondition; how one change necessarily conditions and brings about a\ncertain other change; this sort of teaching is called _explanation_. The\nprincipal sciences in this department are mechanics, physics, chemistry,\nand physiology.\n\nIf, however, we surrender ourselves to its teaching, we soon become\nconvinced that etiology cannot afford us the information we chiefly\ndesire, any more than morphology. The latter presents to us innumerable\nand infinitely varied forms, which are yet related by an unmistakable\nfamily likeness. These are for us ideas, and when only treated in this\nway, they remain always strange to us, and stand before us like\nhieroglyphics which we do not understand. Etiology, on the other hand,\nteaches us that, according to the law of cause and effect, this particular\ncondition of matter brings about that other particular condition, and thus\nit has explained it and performed its part. However, it really does\nnothing more than indicate the orderly arrangement according to which the\nstates of matter appear in space and time, and teach in all cases what\nphenomenon must necessarily appear at a particular time in a particular\nplace. It thus determines the position of phenomena in time and space,\naccording to a law whose special content is derived from experience, but\nwhose universal form and necessity is yet known to us independently of\nexperience. But it affords us absolutely no information about the inner\nnature of any one of these phenomena: this is called a _force of nature_,\nand it lies outside the province of causal explanation, which calls the\nconstant uniformity with which manifestations of such a force appear\nwhenever their known conditions are present, a _law of nature_. But this\nlaw of nature, these conditions, and this appearance in a particular place\nat a particular time, are all that it knows or ever can know. The force\nitself which manifests itself, the inner nature of the phenomena which\nappear in accordance with these laws, remains always a secret to it,\nsomething entirely strange and unknown in the case of the simplest as well\nas of the most complex phenomena. For although as yet etiology has most\ncompletely achieved its aim in mechanics, and least completely in\nphysiology, still the force on account of which a stone falls to the\nground or one body repels another is, in its inner nature, not less\nstrange and mysterious than that which produces the movements and the\ngrowth of an animal. The science of mechanics presupposes matter, weight,\nimpenetrability, the possibility of communicating motion by impact,\ninertia and so forth as ultimate facts, calls them forces of nature, and\ntheir necessary and orderly appearance under certain conditions a law of\nnature. Only after this does its explanation begin, and it consists in\nindicating truly and with mathematical exactness, how, where and when each\nforce manifests itself, and in referring every phenomenon which presents\nitself to the operation of one of these forces. Physics, chemistry, and\nphysiology proceed in the same way in their province, only they presuppose\nmore and accomplish less. Consequently the most complete etiological\nexplanation of the whole of nature can never be more than an enumeration\nof forces which cannot be explained, and a reliable statement of the rule\naccording to which phenomena appear in time and space, succeed, and make\nway for each other. But the inner nature of the forces which thus appear\nremains unexplained by such an explanation, which must confine itself to\nphenomena and their arrangement, because the law which it follows does not\nextend further. In this respect it may be compared to a section of a piece\nof marble which shows many veins beside each other, but does not allow us\nto trace the course of the veins from the interior of the marble to its\nsurface. Or, if I may use an absurd but more striking comparison, the\nphilosophical investigator must always have the same feeling towards the\ncomplete etiology of the whole of nature, as a man who, without knowing\nhow, has been brought into a company quite unknown to him, each member of\nwhich in turn presents another to him as his friend and cousin, and\ntherefore as quite well known, and yet the man himself, while at each\nintroduction he expresses himself gratified, has always the question on\nhis lips: \u201cBut how the deuce do I stand to the whole company?\u201d\n\nThus we see that, with regard to those phenomena which we know only as our\nideas, etiology can never give us the desired information that shall carry\nus beyond this point. For, after all its explanations, they still remain\nquite strange to us, as mere ideas whose significance we do not\nunderstand. The causal connection merely gives us the rule and the\nrelative order of their appearance in space and time, but affords us no\nfurther knowledge of that which so appears. Moreover, the law of causality\nitself has only validity for ideas, for objects of a definite class, and\nit has meaning only in so far as it presupposes them. Thus, like these\nobjects themselves, it always exists only in relation to a subject, that\nis, conditionally; and so it is known just as well if we start from the\nsubject, _i.e._, _a priori_, as if we start from the object, _i.e._, _a\nposteriori_. Kant indeed has taught us this.\n\nBut what now impels us to inquiry is just that we are not satisfied with\nknowing that we have ideas, that they are such and such, and that they are\nconnected according to certain laws, the general expression of which is\nthe principle of sufficient reason. We wish to know the significance of\nthese ideas; we ask whether this world is merely idea; in which case it\nwould pass by us like an empty dream or a baseless vision, not worth our\nnotice; or whether it is also something else, something more than idea,\nand if so, what. Thus much is certain, that this something we seek for\nmust be completely and in its whole nature different from the idea; that\nthe forms and laws of the idea must therefore be completely foreign to it;\nfurther, that we cannot arrive at it from the idea under the guidance of\nthe laws which merely combine objects, ideas, among themselves, and which\nare the forms of the principle of sufficient reason.\n\nThus we see already that we can never arrive at the real nature of things\nfrom without. However much we investigate, we can never reach anything but\nimages and names. We are like a man who goes round a castle seeking in\nvain for an entrance, and sometimes sketching the fa\u00e7ades. And yet this is\nthe method that has been followed by all philosophers before me.\n\n\u00a7 18. In fact, the meaning for which we seek of that world which is\npresent to us only as our idea, or the transition from the world as mere\nidea of the knowing subject to whatever it may be besides this, would\nnever be found if the investigator himself were nothing more than the pure\nknowing subject (a winged cherub without a body). But he is himself rooted\nin that world; he finds himself in it as an _individual_, that is to say,\nhis knowledge, which is the necessary supporter of the whole world as\nidea, is yet always given through the medium of a body, whose affections\nare, as we have shown, the starting-point for the understanding in the\nperception of that world. His body is, for the pure knowing subject, an\nidea like every other idea, an object among objects. Its movements and\nactions are so far known to him in precisely the same way as the changes\nof all other perceived objects, and would be just as strange and\nincomprehensible to him if their meaning were not explained for him in an\nentirely different way. Otherwise he would see his actions follow upon\ngiven motives with the constancy of a law of nature, just as the changes\nof other objects follow upon causes, stimuli, or motives. But he would not\nunderstand the influence of the motives any more than the connection\nbetween every other effect which he sees and its cause. He would then call\nthe inner nature of these manifestations and actions of his body which he\ndid not understand a force, a quality, or a character, as he pleased, but\nhe would have no further insight into it. But all this is not the case;\nindeed the answer to the riddle is given to the subject of knowledge who\nappears as an individual, and the answer is _will_. This and this alone\ngives him the key to his own existence, reveals to him the significance,\nshows him the inner mechanism of his being, of his action, of his\nmovements. The body is given in two entirely different ways to the subject\nof knowledge, who becomes an individual only through his identity with it.\nIt is given as an idea in intelligent perception, as an object among\nobjects and subject to the laws of objects. And it is also given in quite\na different way as that which is immediately known to every one, and is\nsignified by the word _will_. Every true act of his will is also at once\nand without exception a movement of his body. The act of will and the\nmovement of the body are not two different things objectively known, which\nthe bond of causality unites; they do not stand in the relation of cause\nand effect; they are one and the same, but they are given in entirely\ndifferent ways,\u2014immediately, and again in perception for the\nunderstanding. The action of the body is nothing but the act of the will\nobjectified, _i.e._, passed into perception. It will appear later that\nthis is true of every movement of the body, not merely those which follow\nupon motives, but also involuntary movements which follow upon mere\nstimuli, and, indeed, that the whole body is nothing but objectified will,\n_i.e._, will become idea. All this will be proved and made quite clear in\nthe course of this work. In one respect, therefore, I shall call the body\nthe _objectivity of will_; as in the previous book, and in the essay on\nthe principle of sufficient reason, in accordance with the one-sided point\nof view intentionally adopted there (that of the idea), I called it _the\nimmediate object_. Thus in a certain sense we may also say that will is\nthe knowledge _a priori_ of the body, and the body is the knowledge _a\nposteriori_ of the will. Resolutions of the will which relate to the\nfuture are merely deliberations of the reason about what we shall will at\na particular time, not real acts of will. Only the carrying out of the\nresolve stamps it as will, for till then it is never more than an\nintention that may be changed, and that exists only in the reason _in\nabstracto_. It is only in reflection that to will and to act are\ndifferent; in reality they are one. Every true, genuine, immediate act of\nwill is also, at once and immediately, a visible act of the body. And,\ncorresponding to this, every impression upon the body is also, on the\nother hand, at once and immediately an impression upon the will. As such\nit is called pain when it is opposed to the will; gratification or\npleasure when it is in accordance with it. The degrees of both are widely\ndifferent. It is quite wrong, however, to call pain and pleasure ideas,\nfor they are by no means ideas, but immediate affections of the will in\nits manifestation, the body; compulsory, instantaneous willing or\nnot-willing of the impression which the body sustains. There are only a\nfew impressions of the body which do not touch the will, and it is through\nthese alone that the body is an immediate object of knowledge, for, as\nperceived by the understanding, it is already an indirect object like all\nothers. These impressions are, therefore, to be treated directly as mere\nideas, and excepted from what has been said. The impressions we refer to\nare the affections of the purely objective senses of sight, hearing, and\ntouch, though only so far as these organs are affected in the way which is\nspecially peculiar to their specific nature. This affection of them is so\nexcessively weak an excitement of the heightened and specifically modified\nsensibility of these parts that it does not affect the will, but only\nfurnishes the understanding with the data out of which the perception\narises, undisturbed by any excitement of the will. But every stronger or\ndifferent kind of affection of these organs of sense is painful, that is\nto say, against the will, and thus they also belong to its objectivity.\nWeakness of the nerves shows itself in this, that the impressions which\nhave only such a degree of strength as would usually be sufficient to make\nthem data for the understanding reach the higher degree at which they\ninfluence the will, that is to say, give pain or pleasure, though more\noften pain, which is, however, to some extent deadened and inarticulate,\nso that not only particular tones and strong light are painful to us, but\nthere ensues a generally unhealthy and hypochondriacal disposition which\nis not distinctly understood. The identity of the body and the will shows\nitself further, among other ways, in the circumstance that every vehement\nand excessive movement of the will, _i.e._, every emotion, agitates the\nbody and its inner constitution directly, and disturbs the course of its\nvital functions. This is shown in detail in \u201cWill in Nature,\u201d p. 27 of the\nsecond edition and p. 28 of the third.\n\nLastly, the knowledge which I have of my will, though it is immediate,\ncannot be separated from that which I have of my body. I know my will, not\nas a whole, not as a unity, not completely, according to its nature, but I\nknow it only in its particular acts, and therefore in time, which is the\nform of the phenomenal aspect of my body, as of every object. Therefore\nthe body is a condition of the knowledge of my will. Thus, I cannot really\nimagine this will apart from my body. In the essay on the principle of\nsufficient reason, the will, or rather the subject of willing, is treated\nas a special class of ideas or objects. But even there we saw this object\nbecome one with the subject; that is, we saw it cease to be an object. We\nthere called this union the miracle \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03be\u03bf\u03c7\u03b7\u03bd, and the whole of the\npresent work is to a certain extent an explanation of this. So far as I\nknow my will specially as object, I know it as body. But then I am again\nat the first class of ideas laid down in that essay, _i.e._, real objects.\nAs we proceed we shall see always more clearly that these ideas of the\nfirst class obtain their explanation and solution from those of the fourth\nclass given in the essay, which could no longer be properly opposed to the\nsubject as object, and that, therefore, we must learn to understand the\ninner nature of the law of causality which is valid in the first class,\nand of all that happens in accordance with it from the law of motivation\nwhich governs the fourth class.\n\nThe identity of the will and the body, of which we have now given a\ncursory explanation, can only be proved in the manner we have adopted\nhere. We have proved this identity for the first time, and shall do so\nmore and more fully in the course of this work. By \u201cproved\u201d we mean raised\nfrom the immediate consciousness, from knowledge in the concrete to\nabstract knowledge of the reason, or carried over into abstract knowledge.\nOn the other hand, from its very nature it can never be demonstrated, that\nis, deduced as indirect knowledge from some other more direct knowledge,\njust because it is itself the most direct knowledge; and if we do not\napprehend it and stick to it as such, we shall expect in vain to receive\nit again in some indirect way as derivative knowledge. It is knowledge of\nquite a special kind, whose truth cannot therefore properly be brought\nunder any of the four rubrics under which I have classified all truth in\nthe essay on the principle of sufficient reason, \u00a7 29, the logical, the\nempirical, the metaphysical, and the metalogical, for it is not, like all\nthese, the relation of an abstract idea to another idea, or to the\nnecessary form of perceptive or of abstract ideation, but it is the\nrelation of a judgment to the connection which an idea of perception, the\nbody, has to that which is not an idea at all, but something _toto genere_\ndifferent, will. I should like therefore to distinguish this from all\nother truth, and call it \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03be\u03bf\u03c7\u03b7\u03bd _philosophical truth_. We can turn\nthe expression of this truth in different ways and say: My body and my\nwill are one;\u2014or, What as an idea of perception I call my body, I call my\nwill, so far as I am conscious of it in an entirely different way which\ncannot be compared to any other;\u2014or, My body is the _objectivity_ of my\nwill;\u2014or, My body considered apart from the fact that it is my idea is\nstill my will, and so forth.(27)\n\n\u00a7 19. In the first book we were reluctantly driven to explain the human\nbody as merely idea of the subject which knows it, like all the other\nobjects of this world of perception. But it has now become clear that what\nenables us consciously to distinguish our own body from all other objects\nwhich in other respects are precisely the same, is that our body appears\nin consciousness in quite another way _toto genere_ different from idea,\nand this we denote by the word _will_; and that it is just this double\nknowledge which we have of our own body that affords us information about\nit, about its action and movement following on motives, and also about\nwhat it experiences by means of external impressions; in a word, about\nwhat it is, not as idea, but as more than idea; that is to say, what it is\n_in itself_. None of this information have we got directly with regard to\nthe nature, action, and experience of other real objects.\n\nIt is just because of this special relation to one body that the knowing\nsubject is an individual. For regarded apart from this relation, his body\nis for him only an idea like all other ideas. But the relation through\nwhich the knowing subject is an _individual_, is just on that account a\nrelation which subsists only between him and one particular idea of all\nthose which he has. Therefore he is conscious of this _one_ idea, not\nmerely as an idea, but in quite a different way as a will. If, however, he\nabstracts from that special relation, from that twofold and completely\nheterogeneous knowledge of what is one and the same, then that _one_, the\nbody, is an idea like all other ideas. Therefore, in order to understand\nthe matter, the individual who knows must either assume that what\ndistinguishes that one idea from others is merely the fact that his\nknowledge stands in this double relation to it alone; that insight in two\nways at the same time is open to him only in the case of this one object\nof perception, and that this is to be explained not by the difference of\nthis object from all others, but only by the difference between the\nrelation of his knowledge to this one object, and its relation to all\nother objects. Or else he must assume that this object is essentially\ndifferent from all others; that it alone of all objects is at once both\nwill and idea, while the rest are only ideas, _i.e._, only phantoms. Thus\nhe must assume that his body is the only real individual in the world,\n_i.e._, the only phenomenon of will and the only immediate object of the\nsubject. That other objects, considered merely as _ideas_, are like his\nbody, that is, like it, fill space (which itself can only be present as\nidea), and also, like it, are causally active in space, is indeed\ndemonstrably certain from the law of causality which is _a priori_ valid\nfor ideas, and which admits of no effect without a cause; but apart from\nthe fact that we can only reason from an effect to a cause generally, and\nnot to a similar cause, we are still in the sphere of mere ideas, in which\nalone the law of causality is valid, and beyond which it can never take\nus. But whether the objects known to the individual only as ideas are yet,\nlike his own body, manifestations of a will, is, as was said in the First\nBook, the proper meaning of the question as to the reality of the external\nworld. To deny this is _theoretical egoism_, which on that account regards\nall phenomena that are outside its own will as phantoms, just as in a\npractical reference exactly the same thing is done by practical egoism.\nFor in it a man regards and treats himself alone as a person, and all\nother persons as mere phantoms. Theoretical egoism can never be\ndemonstrably refuted, yet in philosophy it has never been used otherwise\nthan as a sceptical sophism, _i.e._, a pretence. As a serious conviction,\non the other hand, it could only be found in a madhouse, and as such it\nstands in need of a cure rather than a refutation. We do not therefore\ncombat it any further in this regard, but treat it as merely the last\nstronghold of scepticism, which is always polemical. Thus our knowledge,\nwhich is always bound to individuality and is limited by this\ncircumstance, brings with it the necessity that each of us can only _be\none_, while, on the other hand, each of us can _know all_; and it is this\nlimitation that creates the need for philosophy. We therefore who, for\nthis very reason, are striving to extend the limits of our knowledge\nthrough philosophy, will treat this sceptical argument of theoretical\negoism which meets us, as an army would treat a small frontier fortress.\nThe fortress cannot indeed be taken, but the garrison can never sally\nforth from it, and therefore we pass it by without danger, and are not\nafraid to have it in our rear.\n\nThe double knowledge which each of us has of the nature and activity of\nhis own body, and which is given in two completely different ways, has now\nbeen clearly brought out. We shall accordingly make further use of it as a\nkey to the nature of every phenomenon in nature, and shall judge of all\nobjects which are not our own bodies, and are consequently not given to\nour consciousness in a double way but only as ideas, according to the\nanalogy of our own bodies, and shall therefore assume that as in one\naspect they are idea, just like our bodies, and in this respect are\nanalogous to them, so in another aspect, what remains of objects when we\nset aside their existence as idea of the subject, must in its inner nature\nbe the same as that in us which we call _will_. For what other kind of\nexistence or reality should we attribute to the rest of the material\nworld? Whence should we take the elements out of which we construct such a\nworld? Besides will and idea nothing is known to us or thinkable. If we\nwish to attribute the greatest known reality to the material world which\nexists immediately only in our idea, we give it the reality which our own\nbody has for each of us; for that is the most real thing for every one.\nBut if we now analyse the reality of this body and its actions, beyond the\nfact that it is idea, we find nothing in it except the will; with this its\nreality is exhausted. Therefore we can nowhere find another kind of\nreality which we can attribute to the material world. Thus if we hold that\nthe material world is something more than merely our idea, we must say\nthat besides being idea, that is, in itself and according to its inmost\nnature, it is that which we find immediately in ourselves as _will_. I say\naccording to its inmost nature; but we must first come to know more\naccurately this real nature of the will, in order that we may be able to\ndistinguish from it what does not belong to itself, but to its\nmanifestation, which has many grades. Such, for example, is the\ncircumstance of its being accompanied by knowledge, and the determination\nby motives which is conditioned by this knowledge. As we shall see farther\non, this does not belong to the real nature of will, but merely to its\ndistinct manifestation as an animal or a human being. If, therefore, I\nsay,\u2014the force which attracts a stone to the earth is according to its\nnature, in itself, and apart from all idea, will, I shall not be supposed\nto express in this proposition the insane opinion that the stone moves\nitself in accordance with a known motive, merely because this is the way\nin which will appears in man.(28) We shall now proceed more clearly and in\ndetail to prove, establish, and develop to its full extent what as yet has\nonly been provisionally and generally explained.(29)\n\n\u00a7 20. As we have said, the will proclaims itself primarily in the\nvoluntary movements of our own body, as the inmost nature of this body, as\nthat which it is besides being object of perception, idea. For these\nvoluntary movements are nothing else than the visible aspect of the\nindividual acts of will, with which they are directly coincident and\nidentical, and only distinguished through the form of knowledge into which\nthey have passed, and in which alone they can be known, the form of idea.\n\nBut these acts of will have always a ground or reason outside themselves\nin motives. Yet these motives never determine more than what I will at\n_this_ time, in _this_ place, and under _these_ circumstances, not _that_\nI will in general, or _what_ I will in general, that is, the maxims which\ncharacterise my volition generally. Therefore the inner nature of my\nvolition cannot be explained from these motives; but they merely determine\nits manifestation at a given point of time: they are merely the occasion\nof my will showing itself; but the will itself lies outside the province\nof the law of motivation, which determines nothing but its appearance at\neach point of time. It is only under the presupposition of my empirical\ncharacter that the motive is a sufficient ground of explanation of my\naction. But if I abstract from my character, and then ask, why, in\ngeneral, I will this and not that, no answer is possible, because it is\nonly the manifestation of the will that is subject to the principle of\nsufficient reason, and not the will itself, which in this respect is to be\ncalled _groundless_. At this point I presuppose Kant\u2019s doctrine of the\nempirical and intelligible character, and also my own treatment of the\nsubject in \u201cThe Fundamental Problems of Ethics,\u201d pp. 48, 58, and 178, _et\nseq._, of first edition (p. 174, _et seq._, of second edition). I shall\nalso have to speak more fully on the question in the Fourth Book. For the\npresent, I have only to draw attention to this, that the fact of one\nmanifestation being established through another, as here the deed through\nthe motive, does not at all conflict with the fact that its real nature is\nwill, which itself has no _ground_; for as the principle of sufficient\nreason in all its aspects is only the form of knowledge, its validity\nextends only to the idea, to the phenomena, to the visibility of the will,\nbut not to the will itself, which becomes visible.\n\nIf now every action of my body is the manifestation of an act of will in\nwhich my will itself in general, and as a whole, thus my character,\nexpresses itself under given motives, manifestation of the will must be\nthe inevitable condition and presupposition of every action. For the fact\nof its manifestation cannot depend upon something which does not exist\ndirectly and only through it, which consequently is for it merely\naccidental, and through which its manifestation itself would be merely\naccidental. Now that condition is just the whole body itself. Thus the\nbody itself must be manifestation of the will, and it must be related to\nmy will as a whole, that is, to my intelligible character, whose\nphenomenal appearance in time is my empirical character, as the particular\naction of the body is related to the particular act of the will. The whole\nbody, then, must be simply my will become visible, must be my will itself,\nso far as this is object of perception, an idea of the first class. It has\nalready been advanced in confirmation of this that every impression upon\nmy body also affects my will at once and immediately, and in this respect\nis called pain or pleasure, or, in its lower degrees, agreeable or\ndisagreeable sensation; and also, conversely, that every violent movement\nof the will, every emotion or passion, convulses the body and disturbs the\ncourse of its functions. Indeed we can also give an etiological account,\nthough a very incomplete one, of the origin of my body, and a somewhat\nbetter account of its development and conservation, and this is the\nsubstance of physiology. But physiology merely explains its theme in\nprecisely the same way as motives explain action. Thus the physiological\nexplanation of the functions of the body detracts just as little from the\nphilosophical truth that the whole existence of this body and the sum\ntotal of its functions are merely the objectification of that will which\nappears in its outward actions in accordance with a motive, as the\nestablishment of the individual action through the motive and the\nnecessary sequence of the action from the motive conflicts with the fact\nthat action in general, and according to its nature, is only the\nmanifestation of a will which itself has no ground. If, however,\nphysiology tries to refer even these outward actions, the immediate\nvoluntary movements, to causes in the organism,\u2014for example, if it\nexplains the movement of the muscles as resulting from the presence of\nfluids (\u201clike the contraction of a cord when it is wet,\u201d says Reil in his\n\u201cArchiv f\u00fcr Physiologie,\u201d vol. vi. p. 153), even supposing it really could\ngive a thorough explanation of this kind, yet this would never invalidate\nthe immediately certain truth that every voluntary motion (_functiones\nanimales_) is the manifestation of an act of will. Now, just as little can\nthe physiological explanation of vegetative life (_functiones naturales\nvitales_), however far it may advance, ever invalidate the truth that the\nwhole animal life which thus develops itself is the manifestation of will.\nIn general, then, as we have shown above, no etiological explanation can\never give us more than the necessarily determined position in time and\nspace of a particular manifestation, its necessary appearance there,\naccording to a fixed law; but the inner nature of everything that appears\nin this way remains wholly inexplicable, and is presupposed by every\netiological explanation, and merely indicated by the names, force, or law\nof nature, or, if we are speaking of action, character or will. Thus,\nalthough every particular action, under the presupposition of the definite\ncharacter, necessarily follows from the given motive, and although growth,\nthe process of nourishment, and all the changes of the animal body take\nplace according to necessarily acting causes (stimuli), yet the whole\nseries of actions, and consequently every individual act, and also its\ncondition, the whole body itself which accomplishes it, and therefore also\nthe process through which and in which it exists, are nothing but the\nmanifestation of the will, the becoming visible, _the objectification of\nthe will_. Upon this rests the perfect suitableness of the human and\nanimal body to the human and animal will in general, resembling, though\nfar surpassing, the correspondence between an instrument made for a\npurpose and the will of the maker, and on this account appearing as\ndesign, _i.e._, the teleological explanation of the body. The parts of the\nbody must, therefore, completely correspond to the principal desires\nthrough which the will manifests itself; they must be the visible\nexpression of these desires. Teeth, throat, and bowels are objectified\nhunger; the organs of generation are objectified sexual desire; the\ngrasping hand, the hurrying feet, correspond to the more indirect desires\nof the will which they express. As the human form generally corresponds to\nthe human will generally, so the individual bodily structure corresponds\nto the individually modified will, the character of the individual, and\ntherefore it is throughout and in all its parts characteristic and full of\nexpression. It is very remarkable that Parmenides already gave expression\nto this in the following verses, quoted by Aristotle (Metaph. iii. 5):\u2014\n\n\n    \u1f49\u03c2 \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u1f11\u03ba\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b5\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9 \u03ba\u03c1\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03c5\u03ba\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\n    \u03a4\u03c9\u03c2 \u03bd\u03bf\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd; \u03c4\u03bf \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\n    \u0395\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd, \u1f41\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1 \u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03b5\u03b9, \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03c9\u03bd \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\n    \u039a\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9; \u03c4\u03bf \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03c0\u03bb\u03b5\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9 \u03bd\u03bf\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1.\n\n\n(Ut enim cuique complexio membrorum flexibilium se habet, ita mens\nhominibus adest: idem namque est, quod sapit, membrorum natura hominibus,\net omnibus et omni: quod enim plus est, intelligentia est.)(30)\n\n\u00a7 21. Whoever has now gained from all these expositions a knowledge _in\nabstracto_, and therefore clear and certain, of what every one knows\ndirectly _in concreto_, _i.e._, as feeling, a knowledge that his will is\nthe real inner nature of his phenomenal being, which manifests itself to\nhim as idea, both in his actions and in their permanent substratum, his\nbody, and that his will is that which is most immediate in his\nconsciousness, though it has not as such completely passed into the form\nof idea in which object and subject stand over against each other, but\nmakes itself known to him in a direct manner, in which he does not quite\nclearly distinguish subject and object, yet is not known as a whole to the\nindividual himself, but only in its particular acts,\u2014whoever, I say, has\nwith me gained this conviction will find that of itself it affords him the\nkey to the knowledge of the inmost being of the whole of nature; for he\nnow transfers it to all those phenomena which are not given to him, like\nhis own phenomenal existence, both in direct and indirect knowledge, but\nonly in the latter, thus merely one-sidedly as _idea_ alone. He will\nrecognise this will of which we are speaking not only in those phenomenal\nexistences which exactly resemble his own, in men and animals as their\ninmost nature, but the course of reflection will lead him to recognise the\nforce which germinates and vegetates in the plant, and indeed the force\nthrough which the crystal is formed, that by which the magnet turns to the\nnorth pole, the force whose shock he experiences from the contact of two\ndifferent kinds of metals, the force which appears in the elective\naffinities of matter as repulsion and attraction, decomposition and\ncombination, and, lastly, even gravitation, which acts so powerfully\nthroughout matter, draws the stone to the earth and the earth to the\nsun,\u2014all these, I say, he will recognise as different only in their\nphenomenal existence, but in their inner nature as identical, as that\nwhich is directly known to him so intimately and so much better than\nanything else, and which in its most distinct manifestation is called\n_will_. It is this application of reflection alone that prevents us from\nremaining any longer at the phenomenon, and leads us to the _thing in\nitself_. Phenomenal existence is idea and nothing more. All idea, of\nwhatever kind it may be, all _object_, is _phenomenal_ existence, but the\n_will_ alone is a _thing in itself_. As such, it is throughout not idea,\nbut _toto genere_ different from it; it is that of which all idea, all\nobject, is the phenomenal appearance, the visibility, the objectification.\nIt is the inmost nature, the kernel, of every particular thing, and also\nof the whole. It appears in every blind force of nature and also in the\npreconsidered action of man; and the great difference between these two is\nmerely in the degree of the manifestation, not in the nature of what\nmanifests itself.\n\n\u00a7 22. Now, if we are to think as an object this thing-in-itself (we wish\nto retain the Kantian expression as a standing formula), which, as such,\nis never object, because all object is its mere manifestation, and\ntherefore cannot be it itself, we must borrow for it the name and concept\nof an object, of something in some way objectively given, consequently of\none of its own manifestations. But in order to serve as a clue for the\nunderstanding, this can be no other than the most complete of all its\nmanifestations, _i.e._, the most distinct, the most developed, and\ndirectly enlightened by knowledge. Now this is the human will. It is,\nhowever, well to observe that here, at any rate, we only make use of a\n_denominatio a potiori_, through which, therefore, the concept of will\nreceives a greater extension than it has hitherto had. Knowledge of the\nidentical in different phenomena, and of difference in similar phenomena,\nis, as Plato so often remarks, a _sine qua non_ of philosophy. But\nhitherto it was not recognised that every kind of active and operating\nforce in nature is essentially identical with will, and therefore the\nmultifarious kinds of phenomena were not seen to be merely different\nspecies of the same genus, but were treated as heterogeneous. Consequently\nthere could be no word to denote the concept of this genus. I therefore\nname the genus after its most important species, the direct knowledge of\nwhich lies nearer to us and guides us to the indirect knowledge of all\nother species. But whoever is incapable of carrying out the required\nextension of the concept will remain involved in a permanent\nmisunderstanding. For by the word _will_ he understands only that species\nof it which has hitherto been exclusively denoted by it, the will which is\nguided by knowledge, and whose manifestation follows only upon motives,\nand indeed merely abstract motives, and thus takes place under the\nguidance of the reason. This, we have said, is only the most prominent\nexample of the manifestation of will. We must now distinctly separate in\nthought the inmost essence of this manifestation which is known to us\ndirectly, and then transfer it to all the weaker, less distinct\nmanifestations of the same nature, and thus we shall accomplish the\ndesired extension of the concept of will. From another point of view I\nshould be equally misunderstood by any one who should think that it is all\nthe same in the end whether we denote this inner nature of all phenomena\nby the word _will_ or by any other. This would be the case if the\nthing-in-itself were something whose existence we merely _inferred_, and\nthus knew indirectly and only in the abstract. Then, indeed, we might call\nit what we pleased; the name would stand merely as the symbol of an\nunknown quantity. But the word _will_, which, like a magic spell,\ndiscloses to us the inmost being of everything in nature, is by no means\nan unknown quantity, something arrived at only by inference, but is fully\nand immediately comprehended, and is so familiar to us that we know and\nunderstand what will is far better than anything else whatever. The\nconcept of will has hitherto commonly been subordinated to that of force,\nbut I reverse the matter entirely, and desire that every force in nature\nshould be thought as will. It must not be supposed that this is mere\nverbal quibbling or of no consequence; rather, it is of the greatest\nsignificance and importance. For at the foundation of the concept of\nforce, as of all other concepts, there ultimately lies the knowledge in\nsense-perception of the objective world, that is to say, the phenomenon,\nthe idea; and the concept is constructed out of this. It is an abstraction\nfrom the province in which cause and effect reign, _i.e._, from ideas of\nperception, and means just the causal nature of causes at the point at\nwhich this causal nature is no further etiologically explicable, but is\nthe necessary presupposition of all etiological explanation. The concept\nwill, on the other hand, is of all possible concepts the only one which\nhas its source _not_ in the phenomenal, _not_ in the mere idea of\nperception, but comes from within, and proceeds from the most immediate\nconsciousness of each of us, in which each of us knows his own\nindividuality, according to its nature, immediately, apart from all form,\neven that of subject and object, and which at the same time is this\nindividuality, for here the subject and the object of knowledge are one.\nIf, therefore, we refer the concept of _force_ to that of _will_, we have\nin fact referred the less known to what is infinitely better known;\nindeed, to the one thing that is really immediately and fully known to us,\nand have very greatly extended our knowledge. If, on the contrary, we\nsubsume the concept of will under that of force, as has hitherto always\nbeen done, we renounce the only immediate knowledge which we have of the\ninner nature of the world, for we allow it to disappear in a concept which\nis abstracted from the phenomenal, and with which we can therefore never\ngo beyond the phenomenal.\n\n\u00a7 23. The _will_ as a thing in itself is quite different from its\nphenomenal appearance, and entirely free from all the forms of the\nphenomenal, into which it first passes when it manifests itself, and which\ntherefore only concern its _objectivity_, and are foreign to the will\nitself. Even the most universal form of all idea, that of being object for\na subject, does not concern it; still less the forms which are subordinate\nto this and which collectively have their common expression in the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, to which we know that time and space\nbelong, and consequently multiplicity also, which exists and is possible\nonly through these. In this last regard I shall call time and space the\n_principium individuationis_, borrowing an expression from the old\nschoolmen, and I beg to draw attention to this, once for all. For it is\nonly through the medium of time and space that what is one and the same,\nboth according to its nature and to its concept, yet appears as different,\nas a multiplicity of co-existent and successive phenomena. Thus time and\nspace are the _principium individuationis_, the subject of so many\nsubtleties and disputes among the schoolmen, which may be found collected\nin Suarez (Disp. 5, Sect. 3). According to what has been said, the will as\na thing-in-itself lies outside the province of the principle of sufficient\nreason in all its forms, and is consequently completely groundless,\nalthough all its manifestations are entirely subordinated to the principle\nof sufficient reason. Further, it is free from all _multiplicity_,\nalthough its manifestations in time and space are innumerable. It is\nitself one, though not in the sense in which an object is one, for the\nunity of an object can only be known in opposition to a possible\nmultiplicity; nor yet in the sense in which a concept is one, for the\nunity of a concept originates only in abstraction from a multiplicity; but\nit is one as that which lies outside time and space, the _principium\nindividuationis_, _i.e._, the possibility of multiplicity. Only when all\nthis has become quite clear to us through the subsequent examination of\nthe phenomena and different manifestations of the will, shall we fully\nunderstand the meaning of the Kantian doctrine that time, space and\ncausality do not belong to the thing-in-itself, but are only forms of\nknowing.\n\nThe uncaused nature of will has been actually recognised, where it\nmanifests itself most distinctly, as the will of man, and this has been\ncalled free, independent. But on account of the uncaused nature of the\nwill itself, the necessity to which its manifestation is everywhere\nsubjected has been overlooked, and actions are treated as free, which they\nare not. For every individual action follows with strict necessity from\nthe effect of the motive upon the character. All necessity is, as we have\nalready said, the relation of the consequent to the reason, and nothing\nmore. The principle of sufficient reason is the universal form of all\nphenomena, and man in his action must be subordinated to it like every\nother phenomenon. But because in self-consciousness the will is known\ndirectly and in itself, in this consciousness lies also the consciousness\nof freedom. The fact is, however, overlooked that the individual, the\nperson, is not will as a thing-in-itself, but is a _phenomenon_ of will,\nis already determined as such, and has come under the form of the\nphenomenal, the principle of sufficient reason. Hence arises the strange\nfact that every one believes himself _a priori_ to be perfectly free, even\nin his individual actions, and thinks that at every moment he can commence\nanother manner of life, which just means that he can become another\nperson. But _a posteriori_, through experience, he finds to his\nastonishment that he is not free, but subjected to necessity; that in\nspite of all his resolutions and reflections he does not change his\nconduct, and that from the beginning of his life to the end of it, he must\ncarry out the very character which he himself condemns, and as it were\nplay the part he has undertaken to the end. I cannot pursue this subject\nfurther at present, for it belongs, as ethical, to another part of this\nwork. In the meantime, I only wish to point out here that the _phenomenon_\nof the will which in itself is uncaused, is yet as such subordinated to\nthe law of necessity, that is, the principle of sufficient reason, so that\nin the necessity with which the phenomena of nature follow each other, we\nmay find nothing to hinder us from recognising in them the manifestations\nof will.\n\nOnly those changes which have no other ground than a motive, _i.e._, an\nidea, have hitherto been regarded as manifestations of will. Therefore in\nnature a will has only been attributed to man, or at the most to animals;\nfor knowledge, the idea, is of course, as I have said elsewhere, the true\nand exclusive characteristic of animal life. But that the will is also\nactive where no knowledge guides it, we see at once in the instinct and\nthe mechanical skill of animals.(31) That they have ideas and knowledge is\nhere not to the point, for the end towards which they strive as definitely\nas if it were a known motive, is yet entirely unknown to them. Therefore\nin such cases their action takes place without motive, is not guided by\nthe idea, and shows us first and most distinctly how the will may be\nactive entirely without knowledge. The bird of a year old has no idea of\nthe eggs for which it builds a nest; the young spider has no idea of the\nprey for which it spins a web; nor has the ant-lion any idea of the ants\nfor which he digs a trench for the first time. The larva of the\nstag-beetle makes the hole in the wood, in which it is to await its\nmetamorphosis, twice as big if it is going to be a male beetle as if it is\ngoing to be a female, so that if it is a male there may be room for the\nhorns, of which, however, it has no idea. In such actions of these\ncreatures the will is clearly operative as in their other actions, but it\nis in blind activity, which is indeed accompanied by knowledge but not\nguided by it. If now we have once gained insight into the fact, that idea\nas motive is not a necessary and essential condition of the activity of\nthe will, we shall more easily recognise the activity of will where it is\nless apparent. For example, we shall see that the house of the snail is no\nmore made by a will which is foreign to the snail itself, than the house\nwhich we build is produced through another will than our own; but we shall\nrecognise in both houses the work of a will which objectifies itself in\nboth the phenomena\u2014a will which works in us according to motives, but in\nthe snail still blindly as formative impulse directed outwards. In us also\nthe same will is in many ways only blindly active: in all the functions of\nour body which are not guided by knowledge, in all its vital and\nvegetative processes, digestion, circulation, secretion, growth,\nreproduction. Not only the actions of the body, but the whole body itself\nis, as we have shown above, phenomenon of the will, objectified will,\nconcrete will. All that goes on in it must therefore proceed through will,\nalthough here this will is not guided by knowledge, but acts blindly\naccording to causes, which in this case are called _stimuli_.\n\nI call a _cause_, in the narrowest sense of the word, that state of\nmatter, which, while it introduces another state with necessity, yet\nsuffers just as great a change itself as that which it causes; which is\nexpressed in the rule, \u201caction and reaction are equal.\u201d Further, in the\ncase of what is properly speaking a cause, the effect increases directly\nin proportion to the cause, and therefore also the reaction. So that, if\nonce the mode of operation be known, the degree of the effect may be\nmeasured and calculated from the degree of the intensity of the cause; and\nconversely the degree of the intensity of the cause may be calculated from\nthe degree of the effect. Such causes, properly so called, operate in all\nthe phenomena of mechanics, chemistry, and so forth; in short, in all the\nchanges of unorganised bodies. On the other hand, I call a _stimulus_,\nsuch a cause as sustains no reaction proportional to its effect, and the\nintensity of which does not vary directly in proportion to the intensity\nof its effect, so that the effect cannot be measured by it. On the\ncontrary, a small increase of the stimulus may cause a very great increase\nof the effect, or conversely, it may eliminate the previous effect\naltogether, and so forth. All effects upon organised bodies as such are of\nthis kind. All properly organic and vegetative changes of the animal body\nmust therefore be referred to stimuli, not to mere causes. But the\nstimulus, like every cause and motive generally, never determines more\nthan the point of time and space at which the manifestation of every force\nis to take place, and does not determine the inner nature of the force\nitself which is manifested. This inner nature we know, from our previous\ninvestigation, is will, to which therefore we ascribe both the unconscious\nand the conscious changes of the body. The stimulus holds the mean, forms\nthe transition between the motive, which is causality accompanied\nthroughout by knowledge, and the cause in the narrowest sense. In\nparticular cases it is sometimes nearer a motive, sometimes nearer a\ncause, but yet it can always be distinguished from both. Thus, for\nexample, the rising of the sap in a plant follows upon stimuli, and cannot\nbe explained from mere causes, according to the laws of hydraulics or\ncapillary attraction; yet it is certainly assisted by these, and\naltogether approaches very near to a purely causal change. On the other\nhand, the movements of the _Hedysarum gyrans_ and the _Mimosa pudica_,\nalthough still following upon mere stimuli, are yet very like movements\nwhich follow upon motives, and seem almost to wish to make the transition.\nThe contraction of the pupils of the eyes as the light is increased is due\nto stimuli, but it passes into movement which is due to motive; for it\ntakes place, because too strong lights would affect the retina painfully,\nand to avoid this we contract the pupils. The occasion of an erection is a\nmotive, because it is an idea, yet it operates with the necessity of a\nstimulus, _i.e._, it cannot be resisted, but we must put the idea away in\norder to make it cease to affect us. This is also the case with disgusting\nthings, which excite the desire to vomit. Thus we have treated the\ninstinct of animals as an actual link, of quite a distinct kind, between\nmovement following upon stimuli, and action following upon a known motive.\nNow we might be asked to regard breathing as another link of this kind. It\nhas been disputed whether it belongs to the voluntary or the involuntary\nmovements, that is to say, whether it follows upon motive or stimulus, and\nperhaps it may be explained as something which is between the two.\nMarshall Hall (\u201cOn the Diseases of the Nervous System,\u201d \u00a7 293 sq.)\nexplains it as a mixed function, for it is partly under the influence of\nthe cerebral (voluntary), and partly under that of the spinal\n(non-voluntary) nerves. However, we are finally obliged to number it with\nthe expressions of will which result from motives. For other motives,\n_i.e._, mere ideas, can determine the will to check it or accelerate it,\nand, as is the case with every other voluntary action, it seems to us that\nwe could give up breathing altogether and voluntarily suffocate. And in\nfact we could do so if any other motive influenced the will sufficiently\nstrongly to overcome the pressing desire for air. According to some\naccounts Diogenes actually put an end to his life in this way (Diog.\nLaert. VI. 76). Certain negroes also are said to have done this (F. B.\nOsiander \u201cOn Suicide\u201d [1813] pp. 170-180). If this be true, it affords us\na good example of the influence of abstract motives, _i.e._, of the\nvictory of distinctively rational over merely animal will. For, that\nbreathing is at least partially conditioned by cerebral activity is shown\nby the fact that the primary cause of death from prussic acid is that it\nparalyses the brain, and so, indirectly, restricts the breathing; but if\nthe breathing be artificially maintained till the stupefaction of the\nbrain has passed away, death will not ensue. We may also observe in\npassing that breathing affords us the most obvious example of the fact\nthat motives act with just as much necessity as stimuli, or as causes in\nthe narrowest sense of the word, and their operation can only be\nneutralised by antagonistic motives, as action is neutralised by\nre-action. For, in the case of breathing, the illusion that we can stop\nwhen we like is much weaker than in the case of other movements which\nfollow upon motives; because in breathing the motive is very powerful,\nvery near to us, and its satisfaction is very easy, for the muscles which\naccomplish it are never tired, nothing, as a rule, obstructs it, and the\nwhole process is supported by the most inveterate habit of the individual.\nAnd yet all motives act with the same necessity. The knowledge that\nnecessity is common to movements following upon motives, and those\nfollowing upon stimuli, makes it easier for us to understand that that\nalso which takes place in our bodily organism in accordance with stimuli\nand in obedience to law, is yet, according to its inner nature\u2014will, which\nin all its manifestations, though never in itself, is subordinated to the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, that is, to necessity.(32) Accordingly, we\nshall not rest contented with recognising that animals, both in their\nactions and also in their whole existence, bodily structure and\norganisation, are manifestations of will; but we shall extend to plants\nalso this immediate knowledge of the essential nature of things which is\ngiven to us alone. Now all the movements of plants follow upon stimuli;\nfor the absence of knowledge, and the movement following upon motives\nwhich is conditioned by knowledge, constitutes the only essential\ndifference between animals and plants. Therefore, what appears for the\nidea as plant life, as mere vegetation, as blindly impelling force, we\nshall claim, according to its inner nature, for will, and recognise it as\njust that which constitutes the basis of our own phenomenal being, as it\nexpresses itself in our actions, and also in the whole existence of our\nbody itself.\n\nIt only remains for us to take the final step, the extension of our way of\nlooking at things to all those forces which act in nature in accordance\nwith universal, unchangeable laws, in conformity with which the movements\nof all those bodies take place, which are wholly without organs, and have\ntherefore no susceptibility for stimuli, and have no knowledge, which is\nthe necessary condition of motives. Thus we must also apply the key to the\nunderstanding of the inner nature of things, which the immediate knowledge\nof our own existence alone can give us, to those phenomena of the\nunorganised world which are most remote from us. And if we consider them\nattentively, if we observe the strong and unceasing impulse with which the\nwaters hurry to the ocean, the persistency with which the magnet turns\never to the north pole, the readiness with which iron flies to the magnet,\nthe eagerness with which the electric poles seek to be re-united, and\nwhich, just like human desire, is increased by obstacles; if we see the\ncrystal quickly and suddenly take form with such wonderful regularity of\nconstruction, which is clearly only a perfectly definite and accurately\ndetermined impulse in different directions, seized and retained by\ncrystallisation; if we observe the choice with which bodies repel and\nattract each other, combine and separate, when they are set free in a\nfluid state, and emancipated from the bonds of rigidness; lastly, if we\nfeel directly how a burden which hampers our body by its gravitation\ntowards the earth, unceasingly presses and strains upon it in pursuit of\nits one tendency; if we observe all this, I say, it will require no great\neffort of the imagination to recognise, even at so great a distance, our\nown nature. That which in us pursues its ends by the light of knowledge;\nbut here, in the weakest of its manifestations, only strives blindly and\ndumbly in a one-sided and unchangeable manner, must yet in both cases come\nunder the name of will, as it is everywhere one and the same\u2014just as the\nfirst dim light of dawn must share the name of sunlight with the rays of\nthe full mid-day. For the name _will_ denotes that which is the inner\nnature of everything in the world, and the one kernel of every phenomenon.\n\nYet the remoteness, and indeed the appearance of absolute difference\nbetween the phenomena of unorganised nature and the will which we know as\nthe inner reality of our own being, arises chiefly from the contrast\nbetween the completely determined conformity to law of the one species of\nphenomena, and the apparently unfettered freedom of the other. For in man,\nindividuality makes itself powerfully felt. Every one has a character of\nhis own; and therefore the same motive has not the same influence over\nall, and a thousand circumstances which exist in the wide sphere of the\nknowledge of the individual, but are unknown to others, modify its effect.\nTherefore action cannot be predetermined from the motive alone, for the\nother factor is wanting, the accurate acquaintance with the individual\ncharacter, and with the knowledge which accompanies it. On the other hand,\nthe phenomena of the forces of nature illustrate the opposite extreme.\nThey act according to universal laws, without variation, without\nindividuality in accordance with openly manifest circumstances, subject to\nthe most exact predetermination; and the same force of nature appears in\nits million phenomena in precisely the same way. In order to explain this\npoint and prove the identity of the _one_ indivisible will in all its\ndifferent phenomena, in the weakest as in the strongest, we must first of\nall consider the relation of the will as thing-in-itself to its phenomena,\nthat is, the relation of the world as will to the world as idea; for this\nwill open to us the best way to a more thorough investigation of the whole\nsubject we are considering in this second book.(33)\n\n\u00a7 24. We have learnt from the great Kant that time, space, and causality,\nwith their entire constitution, and the possibility of all their forms,\nare present in our consciousness quite independently of the objects which\nappear in them, and which constitute their content; or, in other words,\nthey can be arrived at just as well if we start from the subject as if we\nstart from the object. Therefore, with equal accuracy, we may call them\neither forms of intuition or perception of the subject, or qualities of\nthe object _as object_ (with Kant, phenomenon), _i.e._, _idea_. We may\nalso regard these forms as the irreducible boundary between object and\nsubject. All objects must therefore exist in them, yet the subject,\nindependently of the phenomenal object, possesses and surveys them\ncompletely. But if the objects appearing in these forms are not to be\nempty phantoms, but are to have a meaning, they must refer to something,\nmust be the expression of something which is not, like themselves, object,\nidea, a merely relative existence for a subject, but which exists without\nsuch dependence upon something which stands over against it as a condition\nof its being, and independent of the forms of such a thing, _i.e._, _is\nnot idea_, but a _thing-in-itself_. Consequently it may at least be asked:\nAre these ideas, these objects, something more than or apart from the fact\nthat they are ideas, objects of the subject? And what would they be in\nthis sense? What is that other side of them which is _toto genere_\ndifferent from idea? What is the thing-in-itself? _The will_, we have\nanswered, but for the present I set that answer aside.\n\nWhatever the thing-in-itself may be, Kant is right in his conclusion that\ntime, space, and causality (which we afterwards found to be forms of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, the general expression of the forms of the\nphenomenon) are not its properties, but come to it only after, and so far\nas, it has become idea. That is, they belong only to its phenomenal\nexistence, not to itself. For since the subject fully understands and\nconstructs them out of itself, independently of all object, they must be\ndependent upon _existence as idea_ as such, not upon that which becomes\nidea. They must be the form of the idea as such; but not qualities of that\nwhich has assumed this form. They must be already given with the mere\nantithesis of subject and object (not as concepts but as facts), and\nconsequently they must be only the more exact determination of the form of\nknowledge in general, whose most universal determination is that\nantithesis itself. Now, that in the phenomenon, in the object, which is in\nits turn conditioned by time, space and causality, inasmuch as it can only\nbecome idea by means of them, namely _multiplicity_, through co-existence\nand succession, _change_ and _permanence_ through the law of causality,\n_matter_ which can only become idea under the presupposition of causality,\nand lastly, all that becomes idea only by means of these,\u2014all this, I say,\nas a whole, does not in reality belong to that which appears, to that\nwhich has passed into the form of idea, but belongs merely to this form\nitself. And conversely, that in the phenomenon which is not conditioned\nthrough time, space and causality, and which cannot be referred to them,\nnor explained in accordance with them, is precisely that in which the\nthing manifested, the thing-in-itself, directly reveals itself. It follows\nfrom this that the most complete capacity for being known, that is to say,\nthe greatest clearness, distinctness, and susceptibility of exhaustive\nexplanation, will necessarily belong to that which pertains to knowledge\n_as such_, and thus to the _form_ of knowledge; but not to that which in\nitself is not idea, not object, but which has become knowledge only\nthrough entering these forms; in other words, has become idea, object.\nThus only that which depends entirely upon being an object of knowledge,\nupon existing as idea in general and _as such_ (not upon that which\n_becomes_ known, and has only _become_ idea), which therefore belongs\nwithout distinction to everything that is known, and which, on that\naccount, is found just as well if we start from the subject as if we start\nfrom the object,\u2014this alone can afford us without reserve a sufficient,\nexhaustive knowledge, a knowledge which is clear to the very foundation.\nBut this consists of nothing but those forms of all phenomena of which we\nare conscious _a priori_, and which may be generally expressed as the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. Now, the forms of this principle which\noccur in knowledge of perception (with which alone we are here concerned)\nare time, space, and causality. The whole of pure mathematics and pure\nnatural science _a priori_ is based entirely upon these. Therefore it is\nonly in these sciences that knowledge finds no obscurity, does not rest\nupon what is incomprehensible (groundless, _i.e._, will), upon what cannot\nbe further deduced. It is on this account that Kant wanted, as we have\nsaid, to apply the name science specially and even exclusively to these\nbranches of knowledge together with logic. But, on the other hand, these\nbranches of knowledge show us nothing more than mere connections,\nrelations of one idea to another, form devoid of all content. All content\nwhich they receive, every phenomenon which fills these forms, contains\nsomething which is no longer completely knowable in its whole nature,\nsomething which can no longer be entirely explained through something\nelse, something then which is groundless, through which consequently the\nknowledge loses its evidence and ceases to be completely lucid. This that\nwithholds itself from investigation, however, is the thing-in-itself, is\nthat which is essentially not idea, not object of knowledge, but has only\nbecome knowable by entering that form. The form is originally foreign to\nit, and the thing-in-itself can never become entirely one with it, can\nnever be referred to mere form, and, since this form is the principle of\nsufficient reason, can never be completely explained. If therefore all\nmathematics affords us an exhaustive knowledge of that which in the\nphenomena is quantity, position, number, in a word, spatial and temporal\nrelations; if all etiology gives us a complete account of the regular\nconditions under which phenomena, with all their determinations, appear in\ntime and space, but, with it all, teaches us nothing more than why in each\ncase this particular phenomenon must appear just at this time here, and at\nthis place now; it is clear that with their assistance we can never\npenetrate to the inner nature of things. There always remains something\nwhich no explanation can venture to attack, but which it always\npresupposes; the forces of nature, the definite mode of operation of\nthings, the quality and character of every phenomenon, that which is\nwithout ground, that which does not depend upon the form of the\nphenomenal, the principle of sufficient reason, but is something to which\nthis form in itself is foreign, something which has yet entered this form,\nand now appears according to its law, a law, however, which only\ndetermines the appearance, not that which appears, only the how, not the\nwhat, only the form, not the content. Mechanics, physics, and chemistry\nteach the rules and laws according to which the forces of impenetrability,\ngravitation, rigidity, fluidity, cohesion, elasticity, heat, light,\naffinity, magnetism, electricity, &c., operate; that is to say, the law,\nthe rule which these forces observe whenever they enter time and space.\nBut do what we will, the forces themselves remain _qualitates occult\u00e6_.\nFor it is just the thing-in-itself, which, because it is manifested,\nexhibits these phenomena, which are entirely different from itself. In its\nmanifestation, indeed, it is completely subordinated to the principle of\nsufficient reason as the form of the idea, but it can never itself be\nreferred to this form, and therefore cannot be fully explained\netiologically, can never be completely fathomed. It is certainly perfectly\ncomprehensible so far as it has assumed that form, that is, so far as it\nis phenomenon, but its inner nature is not in the least explained by the\nfact that it can thus be comprehended. Therefore the more necessity any\nknowledge carries with it, the more there is in it of that which cannot be\notherwise thought or presented in perception\u2014as, for example,\nspace-relations\u2014the clearer and more sufficing then it is, the less pure\nobjective content it has, or the less reality, properly so called, is\ngiven in it. And conversely, the more there is in it which must be\nconceived as mere chance, and the more it impresses us as given merely\nempirically, the more proper objectivity and true reality is there in such\nknowledge, and at the same time, the more that is inexplicable, that is,\nthat cannot be deduced from anything else.\n\nIt is true that at all times an etiology, unmindful of its real aim, has\nstriven to reduce all organised life to chemism or electricity; all\nchemism, that is to say quality, again to mechanism (action determined by\nthe shape of the atom), this again sometimes to the object of phoronomy,\n_i.e._, the combination of time and space, which makes motion possible,\nsometimes to the object of mere geometry, _i.e._, position in space (much\nin the same way as we rightly deduce the diminution of an effect from the\nsquare of the distance, and the theory of the lever in a purely\ngeometrical manner): geometry may finally be reduced to arithmetic, which,\non account of its one dimension, is of all the forms of the principle of\nsufficient reason, the most intelligible, comprehensible, and completely\nsusceptible of investigation. As instances of the method generally\nindicated here, we may refer to the atoms of Democritus, the vortex of\nDescartes, the mechanical physics of Lesage, which towards the end of last\ncentury tried to explain both chemical affinities and gravitation\nmechanically by impact and pressure, as may be seen in detail in \u201c_Lucr\u00e8ce\nNeutonien_;\u201d Reil\u2019s form and combination as the cause of animal life, also\ntends in this direction. Finally, the crude materialism which even now in\nthe middle of the nineteenth century has been served up again under the\nignorant delusion that it is original, belongs distinctly to this class.\nIt stupidly denies vital force, and first of all tries to explain the\nphenomena of life from physical and chemical forces, and those again from\nthe mechanical effects of the matter, position, form, and motion of\nimagined atoms, and thus seeks to reduce all the forces of nature to\naction and reaction as its thing-in-itself. According to this teaching,\nlight is the mechanical vibration or undulation of an imaginary ether,\npostulated for this end. This ether, if it reaches the eye, beats rapidly\nupon the retina, and gives us the knowledge of colour. Thus, for example,\nfour hundred and eighty-three billion beats in a second give red, and\nseven hundred and twenty-seven billion beats in a second give violet. Upon\nthis theory, persons who are colour-blind must be those who are unable to\ncount the beats, must they not? Such crass, mechanical, clumsy, and\ncertainly knotty theories, which remind one of Democritus, are quite\nworthy of those who, fifty years after the appearance of Goethe\u2019s doctrine\nof colour, still believe in Newton\u2019s homogeneous light, and are not\nashamed to say so. They will find that what is overlooked in the child\n(Democritus) will not be forgiven to the man. They might indeed, some day,\ncome to an ignominious end; but then every one would slink away and\npretend that he never had anything to do with them. We shall soon have to\nspeak again of this false reduction of the forces of nature to each other;\nso much for the present. Supposing this theory were possible, all would\ncertainly be explained and established and finally reduced to an\narithmetical problem, which would then be the holiest thing in the temple\nof wisdom, to which the principle of sufficient reason would at last have\nhappily conducted us. But all content of the phenomenon would have\ndisappeared, and the mere form would remain. The \u201cwhat appears\u201d would be\nreferred to the \u201chow it appears,\u201d and this \u201chow\u201d would be what is _a\npriori_ knowable, therefore entirely dependent on the subject, therefore\nonly for the subject, therefore, lastly, mere phantom, idea and form of\nidea, through and through: no thing-in-itself could be demanded.\nSupposing, then, that this were possible, the whole world would be derived\nfrom the subject, and in fact, that would be accomplished which Fichte\nwanted to _seem_ to accomplish by his empty bombast. But it is not\npossible: phantasies, sophisms, castles in the air, have been constructed\nin this way, but science never. The many and multifarious phenomena in\nnature have been successfully referred to particular original forces, and\nas often as this has been done, a real advance has been made. Several\nforces and qualities, which were at first regarded as different, have been\nderived from each other, and thus their number has been curtailed. (For\nexample, magnetism from electricity.) Etiology will have reached its goal\nwhen it has recognised and exhibited as such all the original forces of\nnature, and established their mode of operation, _i.e._, the law according\nto which, under the guidance of causality, their phenomena appear in time\nand space, and determine their position with regard to each other. But\ncertain original forces will always remain over; there will always remain\nas an insoluble residuum a content of phenomena which cannot be referred\nto their form, and thus cannot be explained from something else in\naccordance with the principle of sufficient reason. For in everything in\nnature there is something of which no ground can ever be assigned, of\nwhich no explanation is possible, and no ulterior cause is to be sought.\nThis is the specific nature of its action, _i.e._, the nature of its\nexistence, its being. Of each particular effect of the thing a cause may\nbe certainly indicated, from which it follows that it must act just at\nthis time and in this place; but no cause can ever be found from which it\nfollows that a thing acts in general, and precisely in the way it does. If\nit has no other qualities, if it is merely a mote in a sunbeam, it yet\nexhibits this unfathomable something, at least as weight and\nimpenetrability. But this, I say, is to the mote what his will is to a\nman; and, like the human will, it is, according to its inner nature, not\nsubject to explanation; nay, more\u2014it is in itself identical with this\nwill. It is true that a motive may be given for every manifestation of\nwill, for every act of will at a particular time and in a particular\nplace, upon which it must necessarily follow, under the presupposition of\nthe character of the man. But no reason can ever be given that the man has\nthis character; that he wills at all; that, of several motives, just this\none and no other, or indeed that any motive at all, moves his will. That\nwhich in the case of man is the unfathomable character which is\npresupposed in every explanation of his actions from motives is, in the\ncase of every unorganised body, its definitive quality\u2014the mode of its\naction, the manifestations of which are occasioned by impressions from\nwithout, while it itself, on the contrary, is determined by nothing\noutside itself, and thus is also inexplicable. Its particular\nmanifestations, through which alone it becomes visible, are subordinated\nto the principle of sufficient reason; it itself is groundless. This was\nin substance rightly understood by the schoolmen, who called it _forma\nsubstantialis_. (Cf. Suarez, Disput. Metaph., disp. xv. sect. 1.)\n\nIt is a greater and a commoner error that the phenomena which we best\nunderstand are those which are of most frequent occurrence, and which are\nmost universal and simple; for, on the contrary, these are just the\nphenomena that we are most accustomed to see about us, and to be ignorant\nof. It is just as inexplicable to us that a stone should fall to the earth\nas that an animal should move itself. It has been supposed, as we have\nremarked above, that, starting from the most universal forces of nature\n(gravitation, cohesion, impenetrability), it was possible to explain from\nthem the rarer forces, which only operate under a combination of\ncircumstances (for example, chemical quality, electricity, magnetism),\nand, lastly, from these to understand the organism and the life of\nanimals, and even the nature of human knowing and willing. Men resigned\nthemselves without a word to starting from mere _qualitates occult\u00e6_, the\nelucidation of which was entirely given up, for they intended to build\nupon them, not to investigate them. Such an intention cannot, as we have\nalready said, be carried out. But apart from this, such structures would\nalways stand in the air. What is the use of explanations which ultimately\nrefer us to something which is quite as unknown as the problem with which\nwe started? Do we in the end understand more of the inner nature of these\nuniversal natural forces than of the inner nature of an animal? Is not the\none as much a sealed book to us as the other? Unfathomable because it is\nwithout ground, because it is the content, that which the phenomenon is,\nand which can never be referred to the form, to the how, to the principle\nof sufficient reason. But we, who have in view not etiology but\nphilosophy, that is, not relative but unconditioned knowledge of the real\nnature of the world, take the opposite course, and start from that which\nis immediately and most completely known to us, and fully and entirely\ntrusted by us\u2014that which lies nearest to us, in order to understand that\nwhich is known to us only at a distance, one-sidedly and indirectly. From\nthe most powerful, most significant, and most distinct phenomenon we seek\nto arrive at an understanding of those that are less complete and weaker.\nWith the exception of my own body, all things are known to me only on\n_one_ side, that of the idea. Their inner nature remains hidden from me\nand a profound secret, even if I know all the causes from which their\nchanges follow. Only by comparison with that which goes on in me if my\nbody performs an action when I am influenced by a motive\u2014only by\ncomparison, I say, with what is the inner nature of my own changes\ndetermined by external reasons, can I obtain insight into the way in which\nthese lifeless bodies change under the influence of causes, and so\nunderstand what is their inner nature. For the knowledge of the causes of\nthe manifestation of this inner nature affords me merely the rule of its\nappearance in time and space, and nothing more. I can make this comparison\nbecause my body is the only object of which I know not merely the _one_\nside, that of the idea, but also the other side which is called will.\nThus, instead of believing that I would better understand my own\norganisation, and then my own knowing and willing, and my movements\nfollowing upon motives, if I could only refer them to movements due to\nelectrical, chemical, and mechanical causes, I must, seeing that I seek\nphilosophy and not etiology, learn to understand from my own movements\nfollowing upon motives the inner nature of the simplest and commonest\nmovements of an unorganised body which I see following upon causes. I must\nrecognise the inscrutable forces which manifest themselves in all natural\nbodies as identical in kind with that which in me is the will, and as\ndiffering from it only in degree. That is to say, the fourth class of\nideas given in the Essay on the Principle of Sufficient Reason must be the\nkey to the knowledge of the inner nature of the first class, and by means\nof the law of motivation I must come to understand the inner meaning of\nthe law of causation.\n\nSpinoza (Epist. 62) says that if a stone which has been projected through\nthe air had consciousness, it would believe that it was moving of its own\nwill. I add to this only that the stone would be right. The impulse given\nit is for the stone what the motive is for me, and what in the case of the\nstone appears as cohesion, gravitation, rigidity, is in its inner nature\nthe same as that which I recognise in myself as will, and what the stone\nalso, if knowledge were given to it, would recognise as will. In the\npassage referred to, Spinoza had in view the necessity with which the\nstone flies, and he rightly desires to transfer this necessity to that of\nthe particular act of will of a person. I, on the other hand, consider the\ninner being, which alone imparts meaning and validity to all real\nnecessity (_i.e._, effect following upon a cause) as its presupposition.\nIn the case of men this is called character; in the case of a stone it is\ncalled quality, but it is the same in both. When it is immediately known\nit is called will. In the stone it has the weakest, and in man the\nstrongest degree of visibility, of objectivity. St. Augustine recognises,\nwith a true instinct, this identity of the tendencies of all things with\nour own willing, and I cannot refrain from quoting his na\u00efve account of\nthe matter:\u2014\u201c_Si pecora essemus, carnalem vitam et quod secundum sensum\nejusdem est amaremus, idque esset sufficiens bonum nostrum, et secundum\nhoc si esset nobis bene, nihil aliud qu\u00e6reremus. Item, si arbores essemus,\nnihil quidem sentientes motu amare possemus: verumtamen id quasi appetere\nvideremur, quo feracius essemus, uberiusque fructuos\u00e6. Si essemus lapides,\naut fluctus, aut ventus, aut flamma, vel quid ejusmodi, sine ullo quidem\nsensu atque vita, non tamen nobis deesset quasi quidam nostrorum locorum\natque ordinis appetitus. Nam velut amores corporum momenta sunt ponderum,\nsive deorsum gravitate, sive sursum levitate nitantur: ita enim corpus\npondere, sicut animus amore fertur quocunque fertur_\u201d (De Civ. Dei, xi.\n28).\n\nIt ought further to be mentioned that Euler saw that the inner nature of\ngravitation must ultimately be referred to an \u201cinclination and desire\u201d\n(thus will) peculiar to material bodies (in the 68th letter to the\nPrincess). Indeed, it is just this that makes him averse to the conception\nof gravitation as it existed for Newton, and he is inclined to try a\nmodification of it in accordance with the earlier Cartesian theory, and so\nto derive gravitation from the impact of an ether upon the bodies, as\nbeing \u201cmore rational and more suitable for persons who like clear and\nintelligible principles.\u201d He wishes to banish attraction from physics as a\n_qualitas occulta_. This is only in keeping with the dead view of nature\nwhich prevailed at Euler\u2019s time as the correlative of the immaterial soul.\nIt is only worth noticing because of its bearing upon the fundamental\ntruth established by me, which even at that time this fine intellect saw\nglimmering in the distance. He hastened to turn in time, and then, in his\nanxiety at seeing all the prevalent fundamental views endangered, he\nsought safety in the old and already exploded absurdities.\n\nWe know that _multiplicity_ in general is necessarily conditioned by space\nand time, and is only thinkable in them. In this respect they are called\nthe _principium individuationis_. But we have found that space and time\nare forms of the principle of sufficient reason. In this principle all our\nknowledge _a priori_ is expressed, but, as we showed above, this _a\npriori_ knowledge, as such, only applies to the knowableness of things,\nnot to the things themselves, _i.e._, it is only our form of knowledge, it\nis not a property of the thing-in-itself. The thing-in-itself is, as such,\nfree from all forms of knowledge, even the most universal, that of being\nan object for the subject. In other words, the thing-in-itself is\nsomething altogether different from the idea. If, now, this\nthing-in-itself is _the will_, as I believe I have fully and convincingly\nproved it to be, then, regarded as such and apart from its manifestation,\nit lies outside time and space, and therefore knows no multiplicity, and\nis consequently _one_. Yet, as I have said, it is not one in the sense in\nwhich an individual or a concept is one, but as something to which the\ncondition of the possibility of multiplicity, the _principium\nindividuationis_, is foreign. The multiplicity of things in space and\ntime, which collectively constitute the objectification of will, does not\naffect the will itself, which remains indivisible notwithstanding it. It\nis not the case that, in some way or other, a smaller part of will is in\nthe stone and a larger part in the man, for the relation of part and whole\nbelongs exclusively to space, and has no longer any meaning when we go\nbeyond this form of intuition or perception. The more and the less have\napplication only to the phenomenon of will, that is, its visibility, its\nobjectification. Of this there is a higher grade in the plant than in the\nstone; in the animal a higher grade than in the plant: indeed, the passage\nof will into visibility, its objectification, has grades as innumerable as\nexist between the dimmest twilight and the brightest sunshine, the loudest\nsound and the faintest echo. We shall return later to the consideration of\nthese grades of visibility which belong to the objectification of the\nwill, to the reflection of its nature. But as the grades of its\nobjectification do not directly concern the will itself, still less is it\nconcerned by the multiplicity of the phenomena of these different grades,\n_i.e._, the multitude of individuals of each form, or the particular\nmanifestations of each force. For this multiplicity is directly\nconditioned by time and space, into which the will itself never enters.\nThe will reveals itself as completely and as much in _one_ oak as in\nmillions. Their number and multiplication in space and time has no meaning\nwith regard to it, but only with regard to the multiplicity of individuals\nwho know in space and time, and who are themselves multiplied and\ndispersed in these. The multiplicity of these individuals itself belongs\nnot to the will, but only to its manifestation. We may therefore say that\nif, _per impossibile_, a single real existence, even the most\ninsignificant, were to be entirely annihilated, the whole world would\nnecessarily perish with it. The great mystic Angelus Silesius feels this\nwhen he says\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cI know God cannot live an instant without me,\n    He must give up the ghost if I should cease to be.\u201d\n\n\nMen have tried in various ways to bring the immeasurable greatness of the\nmaterial universe nearer to the comprehension of us all, and then they\nhave seized the opportunity to make edifying remarks. They have referred\nperhaps to the relative smallness of the earth, and indeed of man; or, on\nthe contrary, they have pointed out the greatness of the mind of this man\nwho is so insignificant\u2014the mind that can solve, comprehend, and even\nmeasure the greatness of the universe, and so forth. Now, all this is very\nwell, but to me, when I consider the vastness of the world, the most\nimportant point is this, that the thing-in-itself, whose manifestation is\nthe world\u2014whatever else it may be\u2014cannot have its true self spread out and\ndispersed after this fashion in boundless space, but that this endless\nextension belongs only to its manifestation. The thing-in-itself, on the\ncontrary, is present entire and undivided in every object of nature and in\nevery living being. Therefore we lose nothing by standing still beside any\nsingle individual thing, and true wisdom is not to be gained by measuring\nout the boundless world, or, what would be more to the purpose, by\nactually traversing endless space. It is rather to be attained by the\nthorough investigation of any individual thing, for thus we seek to arrive\nat a full knowledge and understanding of its true and peculiar nature.\n\nThe subject which will therefore be fully considered in the next book, and\nwhich has, doubtless, already presented itself to the mind of every\nstudent of Plato, is, that these different grades of the objectification\nof will which are manifested in innumerable individuals, and exist as\ntheir unattained types or as the eternal forms of things, not entering\nthemselves into time and space, which are the medium of individual things,\nbut remaining fixed, subject to no change, always being, never becoming,\nwhile the particular things arise and pass away, always become and never\nare,\u2014that these _grades of the objectification of will_ are, I say, simply\n_Plato\u2019s Ideas_. I make this passing reference to the matter here in order\nthat I may be able in future to use the word _Idea_ in this sense. In my\nwritings, therefore, the word is always to be understood in its true and\noriginal meaning given to it by Plato, and has absolutely no reference to\nthose abstract productions of dogmatising scholastic reason, which Kant\nhas inaptly and illegitimately used this word to denote, though Plato had\nalready appropriated and used it most fitly. By Idea, then, I understand\nevery definite and fixed grade of the objectification of will, so far as\nit is thing-in-itself, and therefore has no multiplicity. These grades are\nrelated to individual things as their eternal forms or prototypes. The\nshortest and most concise statement of this famous Platonic doctrine is\ngiven us by Diogenes Laertes (iii. 12): \u201c\u1f41 \u03a0\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c6\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9, \u03b5\u03bd \u03c4\u1fc3 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c2\n\u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f11\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03b1\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1, \u03c4\u03b1 \u03b4\u1fbd \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b5\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9, \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\n\u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03c9\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03c9\u03c4\u03b1\u201d\u2014(\u201c_Plato ideas in natura velut exemplaria dixit\nsubsistere; cetera his esse similia, ad istarum similitudinem\nconsistentia_\u201d). Of Kant\u2019s misuse of the word I take no further notice;\nwhat it is needful to say about it will be found in the Appendix.\n\n\u00a7 26. The lowest grades of the objectification of will are to be found in\nthose most universal forces of nature which partly appear in all matter\nwithout exception, as gravity and impenetrability, and partly have shared\nthe given matter among them, so that certain of them reign in one species\nof matter and others in another species, constituting its specific\ndifference, as rigidity, fluidity, elasticity, electricity, magnetism,\nchemical properties and qualities of every kind. They are in themselves\nimmediate manifestations of will, just as much as human action; and as\nsuch they are groundless, like human character. Only their particular\nmanifestations are subordinated to the principle of sufficient reason,\nlike the particular actions of men. They themselves, on the other hand,\ncan never be called either effect or cause, but are the prior and\npresupposed conditions of all causes and effects through which their real\nnature unfolds and reveals itself. It is therefore senseless to demand a\ncause of gravity or electricity, for they are original forces. Their\nexpressions, indeed, take place in accordance with the law of cause and\neffect, so that every one of their particular manifestations has a cause,\nwhich is itself again just a similar particular manifestation which\ndetermines that this force must express itself here, must appear in space\nand time; but the force itself is by no means the effect of a cause, nor\nthe cause of an effect. It is therefore a mistake to say \u201cgravity is the\ncause of a stone falling;\u201d for the cause in this case is rather the\nnearness of the earth, because it attracts the stone. Take the earth away\nand the stone will not fall, although gravity remains. The force itself\nlies quite outside the chain of causes and effects, which presupposes\ntime, because it only has meaning in relation to it; but the force lies\noutside time. The individual change always has for its cause another\nchange just as individual as itself, and not the force of which it is the\nexpression. For that which always gives its efficiency to a cause, however\nmany times it may appear, is a force of nature. As such, it is groundless,\n_i.e._, it lies outside the chain of causes and outside the province of\nthe principle of sufficient reason in general, and is philosophically\nknown as the immediate objectivity of will, which is the \u201cin-itself\u201d of\nthe whole of nature; but in etiology, which in this reference is physics,\nit is set down as an original force, _i.e._, a _qualitas occulta_.\n\nIn the higher grades of the objectivity of will we see individuality\noccupy a prominent position, especially in the case of man, where it\nappears as the great difference of individual characters, _i.e._, as\ncomplete personality, outwardly expressed in strongly marked individual\nphysiognomy, which influences the whole bodily form. None of the brutes\nhave this individuality in anything like so high a degree, though the\nhigher species of them have a trace of it; but the character of the\nspecies completely predominates over it, and therefore they have little\nindividual physiognomy. The farther down we go, the more completely is\nevery trace of the individual character lost in the common character of\nthe species, and the physiognomy of the species alone remains. We know the\nphysiological character of the species, and from that we know exactly what\nis to be expected from the individual; while, on the contrary, in the\nhuman species every individual has to be studied and fathomed for himself,\nwhich, if we wish to forecast his action with some degree of certainty,\nis, on account of the possibility of concealment that first appears with\nreason, a matter of the greatest difficulty. It is probably connected with\nthis difference of the human species from all others, that the folds and\nconvolutions of the brain, which are entirely wanting in birds, and very\nweakly marked in rodents, are even in the case of the higher animals far\nmore symmetrical on both sides, and more constantly the same in each\nindividual, than in the case of human beings.(34) It is further to be\nregarded as a phenomenon of this peculiar individual character which\ndistinguishes men from all the lower animals, that in the case of the\nbrutes the sexual instinct seeks its satisfaction without observable\nchoice of objects, while in the case of man this choice is, in a purely\ninstinctive manner and independent of all reflection, carried so far that\nit rises into a powerful passion. While then every man is to be regarded\nas a specially determined and characterised phenomenon of will, and indeed\nto a certain extent as a special Idea, in the case of the brutes this\nindividual character as a whole is wanting, because only the species has a\nspecial significance. And the farther we go from man, the fainter becomes\nthe trace of this individual character, so that plants have no individual\nqualities left, except such as may be fully explained from the favourable\nor unfavourable external influences of soil, climate, and other accidents.\nFinally, in the inorganic kingdom of nature all individuality disappears.\nThe crystal alone is to be regarded as to a certain extent individual. It\nis a unity of the tendency in definite directions, fixed by\ncrystallisation, which makes the trace of this tendency permanent. It is\nat the same time a cumulative repetition of its primitive form, bound into\nunity by an idea, just as the tree is an aggregate of the single\ngerminating fibre which shows itself in every rib of the leaves, in every\nleaf, in every branch; which repeats itself, and to some extent makes each\nof these appear as a separate growth, nourishing itself from the greater\nas a parasite, so that the tree, resembling the crystal, is a systematic\naggregate of small plants, although only the whole is the complete\nexpression of an individual Idea, _i.e._, of this particular grade of the\nobjectification of will. But the individuals of the same species of\ncrystal can have no other difference than such as is produced by external\naccidents; indeed we can make at pleasure large or small crystals of every\nspecies. The individual, however, as such, that is, with traces of an\nindividual character, does not exist further in unorganised nature. All\nits phenomena are expressions of general forces of nature, _i.e._, of\nthose grades of the objectification of will which do not objectify\nthemselves (as is the case in organised nature), by means of the\ndifference of the individualities which collectively express the whole of\nthe Idea, but show themselves only in the species, and as a whole, without\nany variation in each particular example of it. Time, space, multiplicity,\nand existence conditioned by causes, do not belong to the will or to the\nIdea (the grade of the objectification of will), but only to their\nparticular phenomena. Therefore such a force of nature as, for example,\ngravity or electricity, must show itself as such in precisely the same way\nin all its million phenomena, and only external circumstances can modify\nthese. This unity of its being in all its phenomena, this unchangeable\nconstancy of the appearance of these, whenever, under the guidance of\ncausality, the necessary conditions are present, is called a _law of\nnature_. If such a law is once learned from experience, then the\nphenomenon of that force of nature, the character of which is expressed\nand laid down in it, may be accurately forecast and counted upon. But it\nis just this conformity to law of the phenomena of the lower grades of the\nobjectification of will which gives them such a different aspect from the\nphenomena of the same will in the higher, _i.e._, the more distinct,\ngrades of its objectification, in animals, and in men and their actions,\nwhere the stronger or weaker influence of the individual character and the\nsusceptibility to motives which often remain hidden from the spectator,\nbecause they lie in knowledge, has had the result that the identity of the\ninner nature of the two kinds of phenomena has hitherto been entirely\noverlooked.\n\nIf we start from the knowledge of the particular, and not from that of the\nIdea, there is something astonishing, and sometimes even terrible, in the\nabsolute uniformity of the laws of nature. It might astonish us that\nnature never once forgets her laws; that if, for example, it has once been\naccording to a law of nature that where certain materials are brought\ntogether under given conditions, a chemical combination will take place,\nor gas will be evolved, or they will go on fire; if these conditions are\nfulfilled, whether by our interposition or entirely by chance (and in this\ncase the accuracy is the more astonishing because unexpected), to-day just\nas well as a thousand years ago, the determined phenomenon will take place\nat once and without delay. We are most vividly impressed with the\nmarvellousness of this fact in the case of rare phenomena, which only\noccur under very complex circumstances, but which we are previously\ninformed will take place if these conditions are fulfilled. For example,\nwhen we are told that if certain metals, when arranged alternately in\nfluid with which an acid has been mixed, are brought into contact, silver\nleaf brought between the extremities of this combination will suddenly be\nconsumed in a green flame; or that under certain conditions the hard\ndiamond turns into carbonic acid. It is the ghostly omnipresence of\nnatural forces that astonishes us in such cases, and we remark here what\nin the case of phenomena which happen daily no longer strikes us, how the\nconnection between cause and effect is really as mysterious as that which\nis imagined between a magic formula and a spirit that must appear when\ninvoked by it. On the other hand, if we have attained to the philosophical\nknowledge that a force of nature is a definite grade of the\nobjectification of will, that is to say, a definite grade of that which we\nrecognise as our own inmost nature, and that this will, in itself, and\ndistinguished from its phenomena and their forms, lies outside time and\nspace, and that, therefore, the multiplicity, which is conditioned by time\nand space, does not belong to it, nor directly to the grade of its\nobjectification, _i.e._, the Idea, but only to the phenomena of the Idea;\nand if we remember that the law of causality has significance only in\nrelation to time and space, inasmuch as it determines the position of the\nmultitude of phenomena of the different Ideas in which the will reveals\nitself, governing the order in which they must appear; if, I say, in this\nknowledge the inner meaning of the great doctrine of Kant has been fully\ngrasped, the doctrine that time, space, and causality do not belong to the\nthing-in-itself, but merely to the phenomenon, that they are only the\nforms of our knowledge, not qualities of things in themselves; then we\nshall understand that this astonishment at the conformity to law and\naccurate operation of a force of nature, this astonishment at the complete\nsameness of all its million phenomena and the infallibility of their\noccurrence, is really like that of a child or a savage who looks for the\nfirst time through a glass with many facets at a flower, and marvels at\nthe complete similarity of the innumerable flowers which he sees, and\ncounts the leaves of each of them separately.\n\nThus every universal, original force of nature is nothing but a low grade\nof the objectification of will, and we call every such grade an eternal\n_Idea_ in Plato\u2019s sense. But a _law of nature_ is the relation of the Idea\nto the form of its manifestation. This form is time, space, and causality,\nwhich are necessarily and inseparably connected and related to each other.\nThrough time and space the Idea multiplies itself in innumerable\nphenomena, but the order according to which it enters these forms of\nmultiplicity is definitely determined by the law of causality; this law is\nas it were the norm of the limit of these phenomena of different Ideas, in\naccordance with which time, space, and matter are assigned to them. This\nnorm is therefore necessarily related to the identity of the aggregate of\nexisting matter, which is the common substratum of all those different\nphenomena. If all these were not directed to that common matter in the\npossession of which they must be divided, there would be no need for such\na law to decide their claims. They might all at once and together fill a\nboundless space throughout an endless time. Therefore, because all these\nphenomena of the eternal Ideas are directed to one and the same matter,\nmust there be a rule for their appearance and disappearance; for if there\nwere not, they would not make way for each other. Thus the law of\ncausality is essentially bound up with that of the permanence of\nsubstance; they reciprocally derive significance from each other. Time and\nspace, again, are related to them in the same way. For time is merely the\npossibility of conflicting states of the same matter, and space is merely\nthe possibility of the permanence of the same matter under all sorts of\nconflicting states. Accordingly, in the preceding book we explained matter\nas the union of space and time, and this union shows itself as change of\nthe accidents in the permanence of the substance, of which causality or\nbecoming is the universal possibility. And accordingly, we said that\nmatter is through and through causality. We explained the understanding as\nthe subjective correlative of causality, and said matter (and thus the\nwhole world as idea) exists only for the understanding; the understanding\nis its condition, its supporter as its necessary correlative. I repeat all\nthis in passing, merely to call to mind what was demonstrated in the First\nBook, for it is necessary for the complete understanding of these two\nbooks that their inner agreement should be observed, since what is\ninseparably united in the actual world as its two sides, will and idea,\nhas, in order that we might understand each of them more clearly in\nisolation, been dissevered in these two books.\n\nIt may not perhaps be superfluous to elucidate further by an example how\nthe law of causality has meaning only in relation to time and space, and\nthe matter which consists in the union of the two. For it determines the\nlimits in accordance with which the phenomena of the forces of nature\ndivide themselves in the possession of matter, while the original forces\nof nature, as the immediate objectification of will, which, as a thing in\nitself, is not subordinated to the principle of sufficient reason, lie\noutside these forms, within which alone all etiological explanation has\nvalidity and meaning, and just on that account can never lead us to the\ninner reality of nature. For this purpose let us think of some kind of\nmachine constructed according to the laws of mechanics. Iron weights begin\nthe motion by their gravity; copper wheels resist by their rigidity,\naffect and raise each other and the lever by their impenetrability, and so\non. Here gravity, rigidity, and impenetrability are original unexplained\nforces; mechanics only gives us the condition under which, and the manner\nin which, they manifest themselves, appear, and govern a definite matter,\ntime, and place. If, now, a strong magnet is made to attract the iron of\nthe weight, and overcome its gravity, the movement of the machine stops,\nand the matter becomes forthwith the scene of quite a different force of\nnature\u2014magnetism, of which etiology again gives no further explanation\nthan the condition under which it appears. Or let us suppose that the\ncopper discs of such a machine are laid upon zinc plates, and an acid\nsolution introduced between them. At once the same matter of the machine\nhas become subject to another original force, galvanism, which now governs\nit according to its own laws, and reveals itself in it through its\nphenomena; and etiology can again tell us nothing about this force except\nthe conditions under which, and the laws in accordance with which, it\nmanifests itself. Let us now raise the temperature and add pure acid; the\nwhole machine burns; that is to say, once more an entirely different force\nof nature, chemical energy, asserts at this time and in this place\nirresistible claims to this particular matter, and reveals itself in it as\nIdea, as a definite grade of the objectification of will. The calcined\nmetal thus produced now unites with an acid, and a salt is obtained which\nforms itself into crystals. These are the phenomena of another Idea, which\nin itself is again quite inexplicable, while the appearance of its\nphenomena is dependent upon certain conditions which etiology can give us.\nThe crystals dissolve, mix with other materials, and vegetation springs up\nfrom them\u2014a new phenomenon of will: and so the same permanent matter may\nbe followed _ad infinitum_, to observe how now this and now that natural\nforce obtains a right to it and temporarily takes possession of it, in\norder to appear and reveal its own nature. The condition of this right,\nthe point of time and space at which it becomes valid, is given by\ncausality, but the explanation founded upon this law only extends thus\nfar. The force itself is a manifestation of will, and as such is not\nsubject to the forms of the principle of sufficient reason, that is, it is\ngroundless. It lies outside all time, is omnipresent, and seems as it were\nto wait constantly till the circumstances occur under which it can appear\nand take possession of a definite matter, supplanting the forces which\nhave reigned in it till then. All time exists only for the phenomena of\nsuch a force, and is without significance for the force itself. Through\nthousands of years chemical forces slumber in matter till the contact with\nthe reagents sets them free; then they appear; but time exists only for\nthe phenomena, not for the forces themselves. For thousands of years\ngalvanism slumbered in copper and zinc, and they lay quietly beside\nsilver, which must be consumed in flame as soon as all three are brought\ntogether under the required conditions. Even in the organic kingdom we see\na dry seed preserve the slumbering force through three thousand years, and\nwhen at last the favourable circumstances occur, grow up as a plant.(35)\n\nIf by this exposition the difference between a force of nature and all its\nphenomena has been made quite distinct; if we have seen clearly that the\nformer is the will itself at this particular grade of its objectification,\nbut that multiplicity comes to phenomena only through time and space, and\nthat the law of causality is nothing but the determination of the position\nof these phenomena in time and space; then we shall recognise the complete\ntruth and the deep meaning of Malebranche\u2019s doctrine of occasional causes\n(_causes occasionelles_). It is well worth while comparing this doctrine\nof his, as he explains it in the \u201c_Recherches de la V\u00e9rite_,\u201d both in the\n3rd Chapter of the second part of the 6th Book, and in the\n_\u00e9claircissements_ appended to this chapter, with this exposition of mine,\nand observing the complete agreement of the two doctrines in the case of\nsuch different systems of thought. Indeed I cannot help admiring how\nMalebranche, though thoroughly involved in the positive dogmas which his\nage inevitably forced upon him, yet, in such bonds and under such a\nburden, hit the truth so happily, so correctly, and even knew how to\ncombine it with these dogmas, at all events verbally.\n\nFor the power of truth is incredibly great and of unspeakable endurance.\nWe find constant traces of it in all, even the most eccentric and absurd\ndogmas, of different times and different lands,\u2014often indeed in strange\ncompany, curiously mixed up with other things, but still recognisable. It\nis like a plant that germinates under a heap of great stones, but still\nstruggles up to the light, working itself through with many deviations and\nwindings, disfigured, worn out, stunted in its growth,\u2014but yet, to the\nlight.\n\nIn any case Malebranche is right: every natural cause is only an\noccasional cause. It only gives opportunity or occasion for the\nmanifestation of the one indivisible will which is the \u201cin-itself\u201d of all\nthings, and whose graduated objectification is the whole visible world.\nOnly the appearance, the becoming visible, in this place, at this time, is\nbrought about by the cause and is so far dependent on it, but not the\nwhole of the phenomenon, nor its inner nature. This is the will itself, to\nwhich the principle of sufficient reason has not application, and which is\ntherefore groundless. Nothing in the world has a sufficient cause of its\nexistence generally, but only a cause of existence just here and just now.\nThat a stone exhibits now gravity, now rigidity, now electricity, now\nchemical qualities, depends upon causes, upon impressions upon it from\nwithout, and is to be explained from these. But these qualities\nthemselves, and thus the whole inner nature of the stone which consists in\nthem, and therefore manifests itself in all the ways referred to; thus, in\ngeneral, that the stone is such as it is, that it exists generally\u2014all\nthis, I say, has no ground, but is the visible appearance of the\ngroundless will. Every cause is thus an occasional cause. We have found it\nto be so in nature, which is without knowledge, and it is also precisely\nthe same when motives and not causes or stimuli determine the point at\nwhich the phenomena are to appear, that is to say, in the actions of\nanimals and human beings. For in both cases it is one and the same will\nwhich appears; very different in the grades of its manifestation,\nmultiplied in the phenomena of these grades, and, in respect of these,\nsubordinated to the principle of sufficient reason, but in itself free\nfrom all this. Motives do not determine the character of man, but only the\nphenomena of his character, that is, his actions; the outward fashion of\nhis life, not its inner meaning and content. These proceed from the\ncharacter which is the immediate manifestation of the will, and is\ntherefore groundless. That one man is bad and another good, does not\ndepend upon motives or outward influences, such as teaching and preaching,\nand is in this sense quite inexplicable. But whether a bad man shows his\nbadness in petty acts of injustice, cowardly tricks, and low knavery which\nhe practises in the narrow sphere of his circumstances, or whether as a\nconqueror he oppresses nations, throws a world into lamentation, and sheds\nthe blood of millions; this is the outward form of his manifestation, that\nwhich is unessential to it, and depends upon the circumstances in which\nfate has placed him, upon his surroundings, upon external influences, upon\nmotives; but his decision upon these motives can never be explained from\nthem; it proceeds from the will, of which this man is a manifestation. Of\nthis we shall speak in the Fourth Book. The manner in which the character\ndiscloses its qualities is quite analogous to the way in which those of\nevery material body in unconscious nature are disclosed. Water remains\nwater with its intrinsic qualities, whether as a still lake it reflects\nits banks, or leaps in foam from the cliffs, or, artificially confined,\nspouts in a long jet into the air. All that depends upon external causes;\nthe one form is as natural to it as the other, but it will always show the\nsame form in the same circumstances; it is equally ready for any, but in\nevery case true to its character, and at all times revealing this alone.\nSo will every human character under all circumstances reveal itself, but\nthe phenomena which proceed from it will always be in accordance with the\ncircumstances.\n\n\u00a7 27. If, from the foregoing consideration of the forces of nature and\ntheir phenomena, we have come to see clearly how far an explanation from\ncauses can go, and where it must stop if it is not to degenerate into the\nvain attempt to reduce the content of all phenomena to their mere form, in\nwhich case there would ultimately remain nothing but form, we shall be\nable to settle in general terms what is to be demanded of etiology as a\nwhole. It must seek out the causes of all phenomena in nature, _i.e._, the\ncircumstances under which they invariably appear. Then it must refer the\nmultitude of phenomena which have various forms in various circumstances\nto what is active in every phenomenon, and is presupposed in the\ncause,\u2014original forces of nature. It must correctly distinguish between a\ndifference of the phenomenon which arises from a difference of the force,\nand one which results merely from a difference of the circumstances under\nwhich the force expresses itself; and with equal care it must guard\nagainst taking the expressions of one and the same force under different\ncircumstances for the manifestations of different forces, and conversely\nagainst taking for manifestations of one and the same force what\noriginally belongs to different forces. Now this is the direct work of the\nfaculty of judgment, and that is why so few men are capable of increasing\nour insight in physics, while all are able to enlarge experience.\nIndolence and ignorance make us disposed to appeal too soon to original\nforces. This is exemplified with an exaggeration that savours of irony in\nthe entities and quidities of the schoolmen. Nothing is further from my\ndesire than to favour their resuscitation. We have just as little right to\nappeal to the objectification of will, instead of giving a physical\nexplanation, as we have to appeal to the creative power of God. For\nphysics demands causes, and the will is never a cause. Its whole relation\nto the phenomenon is not in accordance with the principle of sufficient\nreason. But that which in itself is the will exists in another aspect as\nidea; that is to say, is phenomenon. As such, it obeys the laws which\nconstitute the form of the phenomenon. Every movement, for example,\nalthough it is always a manifestation of will, must yet have a cause from\nwhich it is to be explained in relation to a particular time and space;\nthat is, not in general in its inner nature, but as a _particular_\nphenomenon. In the case of the stone, this is a mechanical cause; in that\nof the movement of a man, it is a motive; but in no case can it be\nwanting. On the other hand, the universal common nature of all phenomena\nof one particular kind, that which must be presupposed if the explanation\nfrom causes is to have any sense and meaning, is the general force of\nnature, which, in physics, must remain a _qualitas occulta_, because with\nit the etiological explanation ends and the metaphysical begins. But the\nchain of causes and effects is never broken by an original force to which\nit has been necessary to appeal. It does not run back to such a force as\nif it were its first link, but the nearest link, as well as the remotest,\npresupposes the original force, and could otherwise explain nothing. A\nseries of causes and effects may be the manifestation of the most\ndifferent kinds of forces, whose successive visible appearances are\nconducted through it, as I have illustrated above by the example of a\nmetal machine. But the difference of these original forces, which cannot\nbe referred to each other, by no means breaks the unity of that chain of\ncauses, and the connection between all its links. The etiology and the\nphilosophy of nature never do violence to each other, but go hand in hand,\nregarding the same object from different points of view. Etiology gives an\naccount of the causes which necessarily produce the particular phenomenon\nto be explained. It exhibits, as the foundation of all its explanations,\nthe universal forces which are active in all these causes and effects. It\naccurately defines, enumerates, and distinguishes these forces, and then\nindicates all the different effects in which each force appears, regulated\nby the difference of the circumstances, always in accordance with its own\npeculiar character, which it discloses in obedience to an invariable rule,\ncalled _a law of nature_. When all this has been thoroughly accomplished\nby physics in every particular, it will be complete, and its work will be\ndone. There will then remain no unknown force in unorganised nature, nor\nany effect, which has not been proved to be the manifestation of one of\nthese forces under definite circumstances, in accordance with a law of\nnature. Yet a law of nature remains merely the observed rule according to\nwhich nature invariably proceeds whenever certain definite circumstances\noccur. Therefore a law of nature may be defined as a fact expressed\ngenerally\u2014_un fait g\u00e9n\u00e9ralis\u00e9_\u2014and thus a complete enumeration of all the\nlaws of nature would only be a complete register of facts. The\nconsideration of nature as a whole is thus completed in _morphology_,\nwhich enumerates, compares, and arranges all the enduring forms of\norganised nature. Of the causes of the appearance of the individual\ncreature it has little to say, for in all cases this is procreation (the\ntheory of which is a separate matter), and in rare cases the _generatio\n\u00e6quivoca_. But to this last belongs, strictly speaking, the manner in\nwhich all the lower grades of the objectification of will, that is to say,\nphysical and chemical phenomena, appear as individual, and it is precisely\nthe task of etiology to point out the conditions of this appearance.\nPhilosophy, on the other hand, concerns itself only with the universal, in\nnature as everywhere else. The original forces themselves are here its\nobject, and it recognises in them the different grades of the objectivity\nof will, which is the inner nature, the \u201cin-itself\u201d of this world; and\nwhen it regards the world apart from will, it explains it as merely the\nidea of the subject. But if etiology, instead of preparing the way for\nphilosophy, and supplying its doctrines with practical application by\nmeans of instances, supposes that its aim is rather to deny the existence\nof all original forces, except perhaps _one_, the most general, for\nexample, impenetrability, which it imagines it thoroughly understands, and\nconsequently seeks forcibly to refer all the others to it\u2014it forsakes its\nown province and can only give us error instead of truth. The content of\nnature is supplanted by its form, everything is ascribed to the\ncircumstances which work from without, and nothing to the inner nature of\nthe thing. Now if it were possible to succeed by this method, a problem in\narithmetic would ultimately, as we have already remarked, solve the riddle\nof the universe. But this is the method adopted by those, referred to\nabove, who think that all physiological effects ought to be reduced to\nform and combination, this, perhaps, to electricity, and this again to\nchemism, and chemism to mechanism. The mistake of Descartes, for example,\nand of all the Atomists, was of this last description. They referred the\nmovements of the globe to the impact of a fluid, and the qualities of\nmatter to the connection and form of the atoms, and hence they laboured to\nexplain all the phenomena of nature as merely manifestations of\nimpenetrability and cohesion. Although this has been given up, precisely\nthe same error is committed in our own day by the electrical, chemical,\nand mechanical physiologists, who obstinately attempt to explain the whole\nof life and all the functions of the organism from \u201cform and combination.\u201d\nIn Meckel\u2019s \u201cArchiv f\u00fcr Physiologie\u201d (1820, vol. v. p. 185) we still find\nit stated that the aim of physiological explanation is the reduction of\norganic life to the universal forces with which physics deals. Lamarck\nalso, in his \u201c_Philosophie Zoologique_,\u201d explains life as merely the\neffect of warmth and electricity: _le calorique et la mati\u00e8re \u00e9lectrique\nsuffisent parfaitement pour composer ensemble cette cause essentielle de\nla vie_ (p. 16). According to this, warmth and electricity would be the\n\u201cthing-in-itself,\u201d and the world of animals and plants its phenomenal\nappearance. The absurdity of this opinion becomes glaringly apparent at\nthe 306th and following pages of that work. It is well known that all\nthese opinions, that have been so often refuted, have reappeared quite\nrecently with renewed confidence. If we carefully examine the foundation\nof these views, we shall find that they ultimately involve the\npresupposition that the organism is merely an aggregate of phenomena of\nphysical, chemical, and mechanical forces, which have come together here\nby chance, and produced the organism as a freak of nature without further\nsignificance. The organism of an animal or of a human being would\ntherefore be, if considered philosophically, not the exhibition of a\nspecial Idea, that is, not itself immediate objectivity of the will at a\ndefinite higher grade, but in it would appear only those Ideas which\nobjectify the will in electricity, in chemism, and in mechanism. Thus the\norganism would be as fortuitously constructed by the concurrence of these\nforces as the forms of men and beasts in clouds and stalactites, and would\ntherefore in itself be no more interesting than they are. However, we\nshall see immediately how far the application of physical and chemical\nmodes of explanation to the organism may yet, within certain limits, be\nallowable and useful; for I shall explain that the vital force certainly\navails itself of and uses the forces of unorganised nature; yet these\nforces no more constitute the vital force than a hammer and anvil make a\nblacksmith. Therefore even the most simple example of plant life can never\nbe explained from these forces by any theory of capillary attraction and\nendosmose, much less animal life. The following observations will prepare\nthe way for this somewhat difficult discussion.\n\nIt follows from all that has been said that it is certainly an error on\nthe part of natural science to seek to refer the higher grades of the\nobjectification of will to the lower; for the failure to recognise, or the\ndenial of, original and self-existing forces of nature is just as wrong as\nthe groundless assumption of special forces when what occurs is merely a\npeculiar kind of manifestation of what is already known. Thus Kant rightly\nsays that it would be absurd to hope for a blade of grass from a Newton,\nthat is, from one who reduced the blade of grass to the manifestations of\nphysical and chemical forces, of which it was the chance product, and\ntherefore a mere freak of nature, in which no special Idea appeared,\n_i.e._, the will did not directly reveal itself in it in a higher and\nspecific grade, but just as in the phenomena of unorganised nature and by\nchance in this form. The schoolmen, who certainly would not have allowed\nsuch a doctrine, would rightly have said that it was a complete denial of\nthe _forma substantialis_, and a degradation of it to the _forma\naccidentalis_. For the _forma substantialis_ of Aristotle denotes exactly\nwhat I call the grade of the objectification of will in a thing. On the\nother hand, it is not to be overlooked that in all Ideas, that is, in all\nforces of unorganised, and all forms of organised nature, it is _one and\nthe same_ will that reveals itself, that is to say, which enters the form\nof the idea and passes into _objectivity_. Its unity must therefore be\nalso recognisable through an inner relationship between all its phenomena.\nNow this reveals itself in the higher grades of the objectification of\nwill, where the whole phenomenon is more distinct, thus in the vegetable\nand animal kingdoms, through the universally prevailing analogy of all\nforms, the fundamental type which recurs in all phenomena. This has,\ntherefore, become the guiding principle of the admirable zoological system\nwhich was originated by the French in this century, and it is most\ncompletely established in comparative anatomy as _l\u2019unit\u00e9 de plan_,\n_l\u2019uniformit\u00e9 de l\u2019\u00e9l\u00e9ment anatomique_. To discover this fundamental type\nhas been the chief concern, or at any rate the praiseworthy endeavour, of\nthe natural philosophers of the school of Schelling, who have in this\nrespect considerable merit, although in many cases their hunt after\nanalogies in nature degenerated into mere conceits. They have, however,\nrightly shown that that general relationship and family likeness exists\nalso in the Ideas of unorganised nature; for example, between electricity\nand magnetism, the identity of which was afterwards established; between\nchemical attraction and gravitation, and so forth. They specially called\nattention to the fact that _polarity_, that is, the sundering of a force\ninto two qualitatively different and opposed activities striving after\nreunion, which also shows itself for the most part in space as a\ndispersion in opposite directions, is a fundamental type of almost all the\nphenomena of nature, from the magnet and the crystal to man himself. Yet\nthis knowledge has been current in China from the earliest times, in the\ndoctrine of opposition of Yin and Yang. Indeed, since all things in the\nworld are the objectification of one and the same will, and therefore in\ntheir inner nature identical, it must not only be the case that there is\nthat unmistakable analogy between them, and that in every phenomenon the\ntrace, intimation, and plan of the higher phenomenon that lies next to it\nin point of development shows itself, but also because all these forms\nbelong to the world as _idea_, it is indeed conceivable that even in the\nmost universal forms of the idea, in that peculiar framework of the\nphenomenal world space and time, it may be possible to discern and\nestablish the fundamental type, intimation, and plan of what fills the\nforms. It seems to have been a dim notion of this that was the origin of\nthe Cabala and all the mathematical philosophy of the Pythagoreans, and\nalso of the Chinese in Y-king. In the school of Schelling also, to which\nwe have already referred, we find, among their efforts to bring to light\nthe similarity among the phenomena of nature, several attempts (though\nrather unfortunate ones) to deduce laws of nature from the laws of pure\nspace and time. However, one can never tell to what extent a man of genius\nwill realise both endeavours.\n\nNow, although the difference between phenomenon and thing-in-itself is\nnever lost sight of, and therefore the identity of the will which\nobjectifies itself in all Ideas can never (because it has different grades\nof its objectification) be distorted to mean identity of the particular\nIdeas themselves in which it appears, so that, for example, chemical or\nelectrical attraction can never be reduced to the attraction of\ngravitation, although this inner analogy is known, and the former may be\nregarded as, so to speak, higher powers of the latter, just as little does\nthe similarity of the construction of all animals warrant us in mixing and\nidentifying the species and explaining the more developed as mere\nvariations of the less developed; and although, finally, the physiological\nfunctions are never to be reduced to chemical or physical processes, yet,\nin justification of this procedure, within certain limits, we may accept\nthe following observations as highly probable.\n\nIf several of the phenomena of will in the lower grades of its\nobjectification\u2014that is, in unorganised nature\u2014come into conflict because\neach of them, under the guidance of causality, seeks to possess a given\nportion of matter, there arises from the conflict the phenomenon of a\nhigher Idea which prevails over all the less developed phenomena\npreviously there, yet in such a way that it allows the essence of these to\ncontinue to exist in a subordinate manner, in that it takes up into itself\nfrom them something which is analogous to them. This process is only\nintelligible from the identity of the will which manifests itself in all\nthe Ideas, and which is always striving after higher objectification. We\nthus see, for example, in the hardening of the bones, an unmistakable\nanalogy to crystallisation, as the force which originally had possession\nof the chalk, although ossification is never to be reduced to\ncrystallisation. The analogy shows itself in a weaker degree in the flesh\nbecoming firm. The combination of humours in the animal body and secretion\nare also analogous to chemical combination and separation. Indeed, the\nlaws of chemistry are still strongly operative in this case, but\nsubordinated, very much modified, and mastered by a higher Idea; therefore\nmere chemical forces outside the organism will never afford us such\nhumours; but\n\n\n    \u201cEncheiresin natur\u00e6 nennt es die Chemie,\n    Spottet ihrer selbst und weiss nicht wie.\u201d\n\n\nThe more developed Idea resulting from this victory over several lower\nIdeas or objectifications of will, gains an entirely new character by\ntaking up into itself from every Idea over which it has prevailed a\nstrengthened analogy. The will objectifies itself in a new, more distinct\nway. It originally appears in _generatio \u00e6quivoca_; afterwards in\nassimilation to the given germ, organic moisture, plant, animal, man. Thus\nfrom the strife of lower phenomena the higher arise, swallowing them all\nup, but yet realising in the higher grade the tendency of all the lower.\nHere, then, already the law applies\u2014_Serpens nisi serpentem comederit non\nfit draco._\n\nI wish it had been possible for me to dispel by clearness of explanation\nthe obscurity which clings to the subject of these thoughts; but I see\nvery well that the reader\u2019s own consideration of the matter must\nmaterially aid me if I am not to remain uncomprehended or misunderstood.\nAccording to the view I have expressed, the traces of chemical and\nphysical modes of operation will indeed be found in the organism, but it\ncan never be explained from them; because it is by no means a phenomenon\neven accidentally brought about through the united actions of such forces,\nbut a higher Idea which has overcome these lower ideas by _subduing\nassimilation_; for the _one_ will which objectifies itself in all Ideas\nalways seeks the highest possible objectification, and has therefore in\nthis case given up the lower grades of its manifestation after a conflict,\nin order to appear in a higher grade, and one so much the more powerful.\nNo victory without conflict: since the higher Idea or objectification of\nwill can only appear through the conquest of the lower, it endures the\nopposition of these lower Ideas, which, although brought into subjection,\nstill constantly strive to obtain an independent and complete expression\nof their being. The magnet that has attracted a piece of iron carries on a\nperpetual conflict with gravitation, which, as the lower objectification\nof will, has a prior right to the matter of the iron; and in this constant\nbattle the magnet indeed grows stronger, for the opposition excites it, as\nit were, to greater effort. In the same way every manifestation of the\nwill, including that which expresses itself in the human organism, wages a\nconstant war against the many physical and chemical forces which, as lower\nIdeas, have a prior right to that matter. Thus the arm falls which for a\nwhile, overcoming gravity, we have held stretched out; thus the pleasing\nsensation of health, which proclaims the victory of the Idea of the\nself-conscious organism over the physical and chemical laws, which\noriginally governed the humours of the body, is so often interrupted, and\nis indeed always accompanied by greater or less discomfort, which arises\nfrom the resistance of these forces, and on account of which the\nvegetative part of our life is constantly attended by slight pain. Thus\nalso digestion weakens all the animal functions, because it requires the\nwhole vital force to overcome the chemical forces of nature by\nassimilation. Hence also in general the burden of physical life, the\nnecessity of sleep, and, finally, of death; for at last these subdued\nforces of nature, assisted by circumstances, win back from the organism,\nwearied even by the constant victory, the matter it took from them, and\nattain to an unimpeded expression of their being. We may therefore say\nthat every organism expresses the Idea of which it is the image, only\nafter we have subtracted the part of its force which is expended in\nsubduing the lower Ideas that strive with it for matter. This seems to\nhave been running in the mind of Jacob B\u00f6hm when he says somewhere that\nall the bodies of men and animals, and even all plants, are really half\ndead. According as the subjection in the organism of these forces of\nnature, which express the lower grades of the objectification of will, is\nmore or less successful, the more or the less completely does it attain to\nthe expression of its Idea; that is to say, the nearer it is to the\n_ideal_ or the further from it\u2014the _ideal_ of beauty in its species.\n\nThus everywhere in nature we see strife, conflict, and alternation of\nvictory, and in it we shall come to recognise more distinctly that\nvariance with itself which is essential to the will. Every grade of the\nobjectification of will fights for the matter, the space, and the time of\nthe others. The permanent matter must constantly change its form; for\nunder the guidance of causality, mechanical, physical, chemical, and\norganic phenomena, eagerly striving to appear, wrest the matter from each\nother, for each desires to reveal its own Idea. This strife may be\nfollowed through the whole of nature; indeed nature exists only through\nit: \u03b5\u03b9 \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03bc\u03b7 \u03b7\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf \u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b5\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd, \u1f11\u03bd \u03b1\u03bd \u03b7\u03bd \u1f01\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1, \u1f61\u03c2 \u03c6\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd\n\u0395\u03bc\u03c0\u03b5\u03b4\u03bf\u03ba\u03bb\u03b7\u03c2; (nam si non inesset in rebus contentio, unum omnia essent, ut\nait Empedocles. Aris. Metaph., B. 5). Yet this strife itself is only the\nrevelation of that variance with itself which is essential to the will.\nThis universal conflict becomes most distinctly visible in the animal\nkingdom. For animals have the whole of the vegetable kingdom for their\nfood, and even within the animal kingdom every beast is the prey and the\nfood of another; that is, the matter in which its Idea expresses itself\nmust yield itself to the expression of another Idea, for each animal can\nonly maintain its existence by the constant destruction of some other.\nThus the will to live everywhere preys upon itself, and in different forms\nis its own nourishment, till finally the human race, because it subdues\nall the others, regards nature as a manufactory for its use. Yet even the\nhuman race, as we shall see in the Fourth Book, reveals in itself with\nmost terrible distinctness this conflict, this variance with itself of the\nwill, and we find _homo homini lupus_. Meanwhile we can recognise this\nstrife, this subjugation, just as well in the lower grades of the\nobjectification of will. Many insects (especially ichneumon-flies) lay\ntheir eggs on the skin, and even in the body of the larv\u00e6 of other\ninsects, whose slow destruction is the first work of the newly hatched\nbrood. The young hydra, which grows like a bud out of the old one, and\nafterwards separates itself from it, fights while it is still joined to\nthe old one for the prey that offers itself, so that the one snatches it\nout of the mouth of the other (Trembley, Polypod., ii. p. 110, and iii. p.\n165). But the bulldog-ant of Australia affords us the most extraordinary\nexample of this kind; for if it is cut in two, a battle begins between the\nhead and the tail. The head seizes the tail with its teeth, and the tail\ndefends itself bravely by stinging the head: the battle may last for half\nan hour, until they die or are dragged away by other ants. This contest\ntakes place every time the experiment is tried. (From a letter by Howitt\nin the W. Journal, reprinted in Galignani\u2019s Messenger, 17th November\n1855.) On the banks of the Missouri one sometimes sees a mighty oak the\nstem and branches of which are so encircled, fettered, and interlaced by a\ngigantic wild vine, that it withers as if choked. The same thing shows\nitself in the lowest grades; for example, when water and carbon are\nchanged into vegetable sap, or vegetables or bread into blood by organic\nassimilation; and so also in every case in which animal secretion takes\nplace, along with the restriction of chemical forces to a subordinate mode\nof activity. This also occurs in unorganised nature, when, for example,\ncrystals in process of formation meet, cross, and mutually disturb each\nother to such an extent that they are unable to assume the pure\ncrystalline form, so that almost every cluster of crystals is an image of\nsuch a conflict of will at this low grade of its objectification; or\nagain, when a magnet forces its magnetism upon iron, in order to express\nits Idea in it; or when galvanism overcomes chemical affinity, decomposes\nthe closest combinations, and so entirely suspends the laws of chemistry\nthat the acid of a decomposed salt at the negative pole must pass to the\npositive pole without combining with the alkalies through which it goes on\nits way, or turning red the litmus paper that touches it. On a large scale\nit shows itself in the relation between the central body and the planet,\nfor although the planet is in absolute dependence, yet it always resists,\njust like the chemical forces in the organism; hence arises the constant\ntension between centripetal and centrifugal force, which keeps the globe\nin motion, and is itself an example of that universal essential conflict\nof the manifestation of will which we are considering. For as every body\nmust be regarded as the manifestation of a will, and as will necessarily\nexpresses itself as a struggle, the original condition of every world that\nis formed into a globe cannot be rest, but motion, a striving forward in\nboundless space without rest and without end. Neither the law of inertia\nnor that of causality is opposed to this: for as, according to the former,\nmatter as such is alike indifferent to rest and motion, its original\ncondition may just as well be the one as the other, therefore if we first\nfind it in motion, we have just as little right to assume that this was\npreceded by a condition of rest, and to inquire into the cause of the\norigin of the motion, as, conversely, if we found it at rest, we would\nhave to assume a previous motion and inquire into the cause of its\nsuspension. It is, therefore, not needful to seek for a first impulse for\ncentrifugal force, for, according to the hypothesis of Kant and Laplace,\nit is, in the case of the planets, the residue of the original rotation of\nthe central body, from which the planets have separated themselves as it\ncontracted. But to this central body itself motion is essential; it always\ncontinues its rotation, and at the same time rushes forward in endless\nspace, or perhaps circulates round a greater central body invisible to us.\nThis view entirely agrees with the conjecture of astronomers that there is\na central sun, and also with the observed advance of our whole solar\nsystem, and perhaps of the whole stellar system to which our sun belongs.\nFrom this we are finally led to assume a general advance of fixed stars,\ntogether with the central sun, and this certainly loses all meaning in\nboundless space (for motion in absolute space cannot be distinguished from\nrest), and becomes, as is already the case from its striving and aimless\nflight, an expression of that nothingness, that failure of all aim, which,\nat the close of this book, we shall be obliged to recognise in the\nstriving of will in all its phenomena. Thus boundless space and endless\ntime must be the most universal and essential forms of the collective\nphenomena of will, which exist for the expression of its whole being.\nLastly, we can recognise that conflict which we are considering of all\nphenomena of will against each other in simple matter regarded as such;\nfor the real characteristic of matter is correctly expressed by Kant as\nrepulsive and attractive force; so that even crude matter has its\nexistence only in the strife of conflicting forces. If we abstract from\nall chemical differences in matter, or go so far back in the chain of\ncauses and effects that as yet there is no chemical difference, there\nremains mere matter,\u2014the world rounded to a globe, whose life, _i.e._,\nobjectification of will, is now constituted by the conflict between\nattractive and repulsive forces, the former as gravitation pressing from\nall sides towards the centre, the latter as impenetrability always\nopposing the former either as rigidity or elasticity; and this constant\npressure and resistance may be regarded as the objectivity of will in its\nvery lowest grade, and even there it expresses its character.\n\nWe should see the will express itself here in the lowest grade as blind\nstriving, an obscure, inarticulate impulse, far from susceptible of being\ndirectly known. It is the simplest and the weakest mode of its\nobjectification. But it appears as this blind and unconscious striving in\nthe whole of unorganised nature, in all those original forces of which it\nis the work of physics and chemistry to discover and to study the laws,\nand each of which manifests itself to us in millions of phenomena which\nare exactly similar and regular, and show no trace of individual\ncharacter, but are mere multiplicity through space and time, _i.e._,\nthrough the _principium individuationis_, as a picture is multiplied\nthrough the facets of a glass.\n\nFrom grade to grade objectifying itself more distinctly, yet still\ncompletely without consciousness as an obscure striving force, the will\nacts in the vegetable kingdom also, in which the bond of its phenomena\nconsists no longer properly of causes, but of stimuli; and, finally, also\nin the vegetative part of the animal phenomenon, in the production and\nmaturing of the animal, and in sustaining its inner economy, in which the\nmanifestation of will is still always necessarily determined by stimuli.\nThe ever-ascending grades of the objectification of will bring us at last\nto the point at which the individual that expresses the Idea could no\nlonger receive food for its assimilation through mere movement following\nupon stimuli. For such a stimulus must be waited for, but the food has now\ncome to be of a more special and definite kind, and with the\never-increasing multiplicity of the individual phenomena, the crowd and\nconfusion has become so great that they interfere with each other, and the\nchance of the individual that is moved merely by stimuli and must wait for\nits food would be too unfavourable. From the point, therefore, at which\nthe animal has delivered itself from the egg or the womb in which it\nvegetated without consciousness, its food must be sought out and selected.\nFor this purpose movement following upon motives, and therefore\nconsciousness, becomes necessary, and consequently it appears as an agent,\n\u03bc\u03b7\u03c7\u03b1\u03bd\u03b7, called in at this stage of the objectification of will for the\nconservation of the individual and the propagation of the species. It\nappears represented by the brain or a large ganglion, just as every other\neffort or determination of the will which objectifies itself is\nrepresented by an organ, that is to say, manifests itself for the idea as\nan organ.(36) But with this means of assistance, this \u03bc\u03b7\u03c7\u03b1\u03bd\u03b7, the _world\nas idea_ comes into existence at a stroke, with all its forms, object and\nsubject, time, space, multiplicity, and causality. The world now shows its\nsecond side. Till now _mere will_, it becomes also _idea_, object of the\nknowing subject. The will, which up to this point followed its tendency in\nthe dark with unerring certainty, has at this grade kindled for itself a\nlight as a means which became necessary for getting rid of the\ndisadvantage which arose from the throng and the complicated nature of its\nmanifestations, and which would have accrued precisely to the most perfect\nof them. The hitherto infallible certainty and regularity with which it\nworked in unorganised and merely vegetative nature, rested upon the fact\nthat it alone was active in its original nature, as blind impulse, will,\nwithout assistance, and also without interruption, from a second and\nentirely different world, the world as idea, which is indeed only the\nimage of its own inner being, but is yet of quite another nature, and now\nencroaches on the connected whole of its phenomena. Hence its infallible\ncertainty comes to an end. Animals are already exposed to illusion, to\ndeception. They have, however, merely ideas of perception, no conceptions,\nno reflection, and they are therefore bound to the present; they cannot\nhave regard for the future. It seems as if this knowledge without reason\nwas not in all cases sufficient for its end, and at times required, as it\nwere, some assistance. For the very remarkable phenomenon presents itself,\nthat the blind working of the will and the activity enlightened by\nknowledge encroach in a most astonishing manner upon each other\u2019s spheres\nin two kinds of phenomena. In the one case we find in the very midst of\nthose actions of animals which are guided by perceptive knowledge and its\nmotives one kind of action which is accomplished apart from these, and\nthus through the necessity of the blindly acting will. I refer to those\nmechanical instincts which are guided by no motive or knowledge, and which\nyet have the appearance of performing their work from abstract rational\nmotives. The other case, which is opposed to this, is that in which, on\nthe contrary, the light of knowledge penetrates into the workshop of the\nblindly active will, and illuminates the vegetative functions of the human\norganism. I mean clairvoyance. Finally, when the will has attained to the\nhighest grade of its objectification, that knowledge of the understanding\ngiven to brutes to which the senses supply the data, out of which there\narises mere perception confined to what is immediately present, does not\nsuffice. That complicated, many-sided, imaginative being, man, with his\nmany needs, and exposed as he is to innumerable dangers, must, in order to\nexist, be lighted by a double knowledge; a higher power, as it were, of\nperceptive knowledge must be given him, and also reason, as the faculty of\nframing abstract conceptions. With this there has appeared reflection,\nsurveying the future and the past, and, as a consequence, deliberation,\ncare, the power of premeditated action independent of the present, and\nfinally, the full and distinct consciousness of one\u2019s own deliberate\nvolition as such. Now if with mere knowledge of perception there arose the\npossibility of illusion and deception, by which the previous infallibility\nof the blind striving of will was done away with, so that mechanical and\nother instincts, as expressions of unconscious will, had to lend their\nhelp in the midst of those that were conscious, with the entrance of\nreason that certainty and infallibility of the expressions of will (which\nat the other extreme in unorganised nature appeared as strict conformity\nto law) is almost entirely lost; instinct disappears altogether;\ndeliberation, which is supposed to take the place of everything else,\nbegets (as was shown in the First Book) irresolution and uncertainty; then\nerror becomes possible, and in many cases obstructs the adequate\nobjectification of the will in action. For although in the character the\nwill has already taken its definite and unchangeable bent or direction, in\naccordance with which volition, when occasioned by the presence of a\nmotive, invariably takes place, yet error can falsify its expressions, for\nit introduces illusive motives that take the place of the real ones which\nthey resemble;(37) as, for example, when superstition forces on a man\nimaginary motives which impel him to a course of action directly opposed\nto the way in which the will would otherwise express itself in the given\ncircumstances. Agamemnon slays his daughter; a miser dispenses alms, out\nof pure egotism, in the hope that he will some day receive an\nhundred-fold; and so on.\n\nThus knowledge generally, rational as well as merely sensuous, proceeds\noriginally from the will itself, belongs to the inner being of the higher\ngrades of its objectification as a mere \u03bc\u03b7\u03c7\u03b1\u03bd\u03b7, a means of supporting the\nindividual and the species, just like any organ of the body. Originally\ndestined for the service of the will for the accomplishment of its aims,\nit remains almost throughout entirely subjected to its service: it is so\nin all brutes and in almost all men. Yet we shall see in the Third Book\nhow in certain individual men knowledge can deliver itself from this\nbondage, throw off its yoke, and, free from all the aims of will, exist\npurely for itself, simply as a clear mirror of the world, which is the\nsource of art. Finally, in the Fourth Book, we shall see how, if this kind\nof knowledge reacts on the will, it can bring about self-surrender,\n_i.e._, resignation, which is the final goal, and indeed the inmost nature\nof all virtue and holiness, and is deliverance from the world.\n\n\u00a7 28. We have considered the great multiplicity and diversity of the\nphenomena in which the will objectifies itself, and we have seen their\nendless and implacable strife with each other. Yet, according to the whole\ndiscussion up to this point, the will itself, as thing-in-itself, is by no\nmeans included in that multiplicity and change. The diversity of the\n(Platonic) Ideas, _i.e._, grades of objectification, the multitude of\nindividuals in which each of these expresses itself, the struggle of forms\nfor matter,\u2014all this does not concern it, but is only the manner of its\nobjectification, and only through this has an indirect relation to it, by\nvirtue of which it belongs to the expression of the nature of will for the\nidea. As the magic-lantern shows many different pictures, which are all\nmade visible by one and the same light, so in all the multifarious\nphenomena which fill the world together or throng after each other as\nevents, only _one will_ manifests itself, of which everything is the\nvisibility, the objectivity, and which remains unmoved in the midst of\nthis change; it alone is thing-in-itself; all objects are manifestations,\nor, to speak the language of Kant, phenomena. Although in man, as\n(Platonic) Idea, the will finds its clearest and fullest objectification,\nyet man alone could not express its being. In order to manifest the full\nsignificance of the will, the Idea of man would need to appear, not alone\nand sundered from everything else, but accompanied by the whole series of\ngrades, down through all the forms of animals, through the vegetable\nkingdom to unorganised nature. All these supplement each other in the\ncomplete objectification of will; they are as much presupposed by the Idea\nof man as the blossoms of a tree presuppose leaves, branches, stem, and\nroot; they form a pyramid, of which man is the apex. If fond of similes,\none might also say that their manifestations accompany that of man as\nnecessarily as the full daylight is accompanied by all the gradations of\ntwilight, through which, little by little, it loses itself in darkness; or\none might call them the echo of man, and say: Animal and plant are the\ndescending fifth and third of man, the inorganic kingdom is the lower\noctave. The full truth of this last comparison will only become clear to\nus when, in the following book, we attempt to fathom the deep significance\nof music, and see how a connected, progressive melody, made up of high,\nquick notes, may be regarded as in some sense expressing the life and\nefforts of man connected by reflection, while the unconnected complemental\nnotes and the slow bass, which make up the harmony necessary to perfect\nthe music, represent the rest of the animal kingdom and the whole of\nnature that is without knowledge. But of this in its own place, where it\nwill not sound so paradoxical. We find, however, that the _inner\nnecessity_ of the gradation of its manifestations, which is inseparable\nfrom the adequate objectification of the will, is expressed by an _outer\nnecessity_ in the whole of these manifestations themselves, by reason of\nwhich man has need of the beasts for his support, the beasts in their\ngrades have need of each other as well as of plants, which in their turn\nrequire the ground, water, chemical elements and their combinations, the\nplanet, the sun, rotation and motion round the sun, the curve of the\nellipse, &c., &c. At bottom this results from the fact that the will must\nlive on itself, for there exists nothing beside it, and it is a hungry\nwill. Hence arise eager pursuit, anxiety, and suffering.\n\nIt is only the knowledge of the unity of will as thing-in-itself, in the\nendless diversity and multiplicity of the phenomena, that can afford us\nthe true explanation of that wonderful, unmistakable analogy of all the\nproductions of nature, that family likeness on account of which we may\nregard them as variations on the same ungiven theme. So in like measure,\nthrough the distinct and thoroughly comprehended knowledge of that\nharmony, that essential connection of all the parts of the world, that\nnecessity of their gradation which we have just been considering, we shall\nobtain a true and sufficient insight into the inner nature and meaning of\nthe undeniable _teleology_ of all organised productions of nature, which,\nindeed, we presupposed _a priori_, when considering and investigating\nthem.\n\nThis _teleology_ is of a twofold description; sometimes an _inner\nteleology_, that is, an agreement of all the parts of a particular\norganism, so ordered that the sustenance of the individual and the species\nresults from it, and therefore presents itself as the end of that\ndisposition or arrangement. Sometimes, however, there is an _outward\nteleology_, a relation of unorganised to organised nature in general, or\nof particular parts of organised nature to each other, which makes the\nmaintenance of the whole of organised nature, or of the particular animal\nspecies, possible, and therefore presents itself to our judgment as the\nmeans to this end.\n\n_Inner teleology_ is connected with the scheme of our work in the\nfollowing way. If, in accordance with what has been said, all variations\nof form in nature, and all multiplicity of individuals, belong not to the\nwill itself, but merely to its objectivity and the form of this\nobjectivity, it necessarily follows that the will is indivisible and is\npresent as a whole in every manifestation, although the grades of its\nobjectification, the (Platonic) Ideas, are very different from each other.\nWe may, for the sake of simplicity, regard these different Ideas as in\nthemselves individual and simple acts of the will, in which it expresses\nits nature more or less. Individuals, however, are again manifestations of\nthe Ideas, thus of these acts, in time, space, and multiplicity. Now, in\nthe lowest grades of objectivity, such an act (or an Idea) retains its\nunity in the manifestation; while, in order to appear in higher grades, it\nrequires a whole series of conditions and developments in time, which only\ncollectively express its nature completely. Thus, for example the Idea\nthat reveals itself in any general force of nature has always one single\nexpression, although it presents itself differently according to the\nexternal relations that are present: otherwise its identity could not be\nproved, for this is done by abstracting the diversity that arises merely\nfrom external relations. In the same way the crystal has only _one_\nmanifestation of life, crystallisation, which afterwards has its fully\nadequate and exhaustive expression in the rigid form, the corpse of that\nmomentary life. The plant, however, does not express the Idea, whose\nphenomenon it is, at once and through a single manifestation, but in a\nsuccession of developments of its organs in time. The animal not only\ndevelops its organism in the same manner, in a succession of forms which\nare often very different (metamorphosis), but this form itself, although\nit is already objectivity of will at this grade, does not attain to a full\nexpression of its Idea. This expression must be completed through the\nactions of the animal, in which its empirical character, common to the\nwhole species, manifests itself, and only then does it become the full\nrevelation of the Idea, a revelation which presupposes the particular\norganism as its first condition. In the case of man, the empirical\ncharacter is peculiar to every individual (indeed, as we shall see in the\nFourth Book, even to the extent of supplanting entirely the character of\nthe species, through the self-surrender of the whole will). That which is\nknown as the empirical character, through the necessary development in\ntime, and the division into particular actions that is conditioned by it,\nis, when we abstract from this temporal form of the manifestation the\n_intelligible character_, according to the expression of Kant, who shows\nhis undying merit especially in establishing this distinction and\nexplaining the relation between freedom and necessity, _i.e._, between the\nwill as thing-in-itself and its manifestations in time.(38) Thus the\nintelligible character coincides with the Idea, or, more accurately, with\nthe original act of will which reveals itself in it. So far then, not only\nthe empirical character of every man, but also that of every species of\nanimal and plant, and even of every original force of unorganised nature,\nis to be regarded as the manifestation of an intelligible character, that\nis, of a timeless, indivisible act of will. I should like here to draw\nattention in passing to the na\u00efvet\u00e9 with which every plant expresses and\nlays open its whole character in its mere form, reveals its whole being\nand will. This is why the physiognomy of plants is so interesting; while\nin order to know an animal in its Idea, it is necessary to observe the\ncourse of its action. As for man, he must be fully investigated and\ntested, for reason makes him capable of a high degree of dissimulation.\nThe beast is as much more na\u00efve than the man as the plant is more na\u00efve\nthan the beast. In the beast we see the will to live more naked, as it\nwere, than in the man, in whom it is clothed with so much knowledge, and\nis, moreover, so veiled through the capacity for dissimulation, that it is\nalmost only by chance, and here and there, that its true nature becomes\napparent. In the plant it shows itself quite naked, but also much weaker,\nas mere blind striving for existence without end or aim. For the plant\nreveals its whole being at the first glance, and with complete innocence,\nwhich does not suffer from the fact that it carries its organs of\ngeneration exposed to view on its upper surface, though in all animals\nthey have been assigned to the most hidden part. This innocence of the\nplant results from its complete want of knowledge. Guilt does not lie in\nwilling, but in willing with knowledge. Every plant speaks to us first of\nall of its home, of the climate, and the nature of the ground in which it\nhas grown. Therefore, even those who have had little practice easily tell\nwhether an exotic plant belongs to the tropical or the temperate zone, and\nwhether it grows in water, in marshes, on mountain, or on moorland.\nBesides this, however, every plant expresses the special will of its\nspecies, and says something that cannot be uttered in any other tongue.\nBut we must now apply what has been said to the teleological consideration\nof the organism, so far as it concerns its inner design. If in unorganised\nnature the Idea, which is everywhere to be regarded as a single act of\nwill, reveals itself also in a single manifestation which is always the\nsame, and thus one may say that here the empirical character directly\npartakes of the unity of the intelligible, coincides, as it were, with it,\nso that no inner design can show itself here; if, on the contrary, all\norganisms express their Ideas through a series of successive developments,\nconditioned by a multiplicity of co-existing parts, and thus only the sum\nof the manifestations of the empirical character collectively constitute\nthe expression of the intelligible character; this necessary co-existence\nof the parts and succession of the stages of development does not destroy\nthe unity of the appearing Idea, the act of will which expresses itself;\nnay, rather this unity finds its expression in the necessary relation and\nconnection of the parts and stages of development with each other, in\naccordance with the law of causality. Since it is the will which is one,\nindivisible, and therefore entirely in harmony with itself, that reveals\nitself in the whole Idea as in act, its manifestation, although broken up\ninto a number of different parts and conditions, must yet show this unity\nagain in the thorough agreement of all of these. This is effected by a\nnecessary relation and dependence of all the parts upon each other, by\nmeans of which the unity of the Idea is re-established in the\nmanifestation. In accordance with this, we now recognise these different\nparts and functions of the organism as related to each other reciprocally\nas means and end, but the organism itself as the final end of all.\nConsequently, neither the breaking up of the Idea, which in itself is\nsimple, into the multiplicity of the parts and conditions of the organism,\non the one hand, nor, on the other hand, the re-establishment of its unity\nthrough the necessary connection of the parts and functions which arises\nfrom the fact that they are the cause and effect, the means and end, of\neach other, is peculiar and essential to the appearing will as such, to\nthe thing-in-itself, but only to its manifestation in space, time, and\ncausality (mere modes of the principle of sufficient reason, the form of\nthe phenomenon). They belong to the world as idea, not to the world as\nwill; they belong to the way in which the will becomes object, _i.e._,\nidea at this grade of its objectivity. Every one who has grasped the\nmeaning of this discussion\u2014a discussion which is perhaps somewhat\ndifficult\u2014will now fully understand the doctrine of Kant, which follows\nfrom it, that both the design of organised and the conformity to law of\nunorganised nature are only introduced by our understanding, and therefore\nboth belong only to the phenomenon, not to the thing-in-itself. The\nsurprise, which was referred to above, at the infallible constancy of the\nconformity to law of unorganised nature, is essentially the same as the\nsurprise that is excited by design in organised nature; for in both cases\nwhat we wonder at is only the sight of the original unity of the Idea,\nwhich, for the phenomenon, has assumed the form of multiplicity and\ndiversity.(39)\n\nAs regards the second kind of teleology, according to the division made\nabove, the _outer_ design, which shows itself, not in the inner economy of\nthe organisms, but in the support and assistance they receive from\nwithout, both from unorganised nature and from each other; its general\nexplanation is to be found in the exposition we have just given. For the\nwhole world, with all its phenomena, is the objectivity of the one\nindivisible will, the Idea, which is related to all other Ideas as harmony\nis related to the single voice. Therefore that unity of the will must show\nitself also in the agreement of all its manifestations. But we can very\nmuch increase the clearness of this insight if we go somewhat more closely\ninto the manifestations of that outer teleology and agreement of the\ndifferent parts of nature with each other, an inquiry which will also\nthrow some light on the foregoing exposition. We shall best attain this\nend by considering the following analogy.\n\nThe character of each individual man, so far as it is thoroughly\nindividual, and not entirely included in that of the species, may be\nregarded as a special Idea, corresponding to a special act of the\nobjectification of will. This act itself would then be his intelligible\ncharacter, and his empirical character would be the manifestation of it.\nThe empirical character is entirely determined through the intelligible,\nwhich is without ground, _i.e._, as thing-in-itself is not subordinated to\nthe principle of sufficient reason (the form of the phenomenon). The\nempirical character must in the course of life afford us the express image\nof the intelligible, and can only become what the nature of the latter\ndemands. But this property extends only to the essential, not to the\nunessential in the course of life to which it applies. To this unessential\nbelong the detailed events and actions which are the material in which the\nempirical character shows itself. These are determined by outward\ncircumstances, which present the motives upon which the character reacts\naccording to its nature; and as they may be very different, the outward\nform of the manifestation of the empirical character, that is, the\ndefinite actual or historical form of the course of life, will have to\naccommodate itself to their influence. Now this form may be very\ndifferent, although what is essential to the manifestation, its content,\nremains the same. Thus, for example it is immaterial whether a man plays\nfor nuts or for crowns; but whether a man cheats or plays fairly, that is\nthe real matter; the latter is determined by the intelligible character,\nthe former by outward circumstances. As the same theme may be expressed in\na hundred different variations, so the same character may be expressed in\na hundred very different lives. But various as the outward influence may\nbe, the empirical character which expresses itself in the course of life\nmust yet, whatever form it takes, accurately objectify the intelligible\ncharacter, for the latter adapts its objectification to the given material\nof actual circumstances. We have now to assume something analogous to the\ninfluence of outward circumstances upon the life that is determined in\nessential matters by the character, if we desire to understand how the\nwill, in the original act of its objectification, determines the various\nIdeas in which it objectifies itself, that is, the different forms of\nnatural existence of every kind, among which it distributes its\nobjectification, and which must therefore necessarily have a relation to\neach other in the manifestation. We must assume that between all these\nmanifestations of the _one_ will there existed a universal and reciprocal\nadaptation and accommodation of themselves to each other, by which,\nhowever, as we shall soon see more clearly, all time-determination is to\nbe excluded, for the Idea lies outside time. In accordance with this,\nevery manifestation must have adapted itself to the surroundings into\nwhich it entered, and these again must have adapted themselves to it,\nalthough it occupied a much later position in time; and we see this\n_consensus natur\u00e6_ everywhere. Every plant is therefore adapted to its\nsoil and climate, every animal to its element and the prey that will be\nits food, and is also in some way protected, to a certain extent, against\nits natural enemy: the eye is adapted to the light and its refrangibility,\nthe lungs and the blood to the air, the air-bladder of fish to water, the\neye of the seal to the change of the medium in which it must see, the\nwater-pouch in the stomach of the camel to the drought of the African\ndeserts, the sail of the nautilus to the wind that is to drive its little\nbark, and so on down to the most special and astonishing outward\nadaptations.(40) We must abstract however here from all temporal\nrelations, for these can only concern the manifestation of the Idea, not\nthe Idea itself. Accordingly this kind of explanation must also be used\nretrospectively, and we must not merely admit that every species\naccommodated itself to the given environment, but also that this\nenvironment itself, which preceded it in time, had just as much regard for\nthe being that would some time come into it. For it is one and the same\nwill that objectifies itself in the whole world; it knows no time, for\nthis form of the principle of sufficient reason does not belong to it, nor\nto its original objectivity, the Ideas, but only to the way in which these\nare known by the individuals who themselves are transitory, _i.e._, to the\nmanifestation of the Ideas. Thus, time has no significance for our present\nexamination of the manner in which the objectification of the will\ndistributes itself among the Ideas, and the Ideas whose _manifestations_\nentered into the course of time earlier, according to the law of\ncausality, to which as phenomena they are subject, have no advantage over\nthose whose manifestation entered later; nay rather, these last are the\ncompletest objectifications of the will, to which the earlier\nmanifestations must adapt themselves just as much as they must adapt\nthemselves to the earlier. Thus the course of the planets, the tendency to\nthe ellipse, the rotation of the earth, the division of land and sea, the\natmosphere, light, warmth, and all such phenomena, which are in nature\nwhat bass is in harmony, adapted themselves in anticipation of the coming\nspecies of living creatures of which they were to become the supporter and\nsustainer. In the same way the ground adapted itself to the nutrition of\nplants, plants adapted themselves to the nutrition of animals, animals to\nthat of other animals, and conversely they all adapted themselves to the\nnutrition of the ground. All the parts of nature correspond to each other,\nfor it is _one_ will that appears in them all, but the course of time is\nquite foreign to its original and only _adequate objectification_ (this\nexpression will be explained in the following book), the Ideas. Even now,\nwhen the species have only to sustain themselves, no longer to come into\nexistence, we see here and there some such forethought of nature extending\nto the future, and abstracting as it were from the process of time, a\nself-adaptation of what is to what is yet to come. The bird builds the\nnest for the young which it does not yet know; the beaver constructs a dam\nthe object of which is unknown to it; ants, marmots, and bees lay in\nprovision for the winter they have never experienced; the spider and the\nant-lion make snares, as if with deliberate cunning, for future unknown\nprey; insects deposit their eggs where the coming brood finds future\nnourishment. In the spring-time the female flower of the di\u0153cian\nvalisneria unwinds the spirals of its stalk, by which till now it was held\nat the bottom of the water, and thus rises to the surface. Just then the\nmale flower, which grows on a short stalk from the bottom, breaks away,\nand so, at the sacrifice of its life, reaches the surface, where it swims\nabout in search of the female. The latter is fructified, and then draws\nitself down again to the bottom by contracting its spirals, and there the\nfruit grows.(41) I must again refer here to the larva of the male\nstag-beetle, which makes the hole in the wood for its metamorphosis as big\nagain as the female does, in order to have room for its future horns. The\ninstinct of animals in general gives us the best illustration of what\nremains of teleology in nature. For as instinct is an action, like that\nwhich is guided by the conception of an end, and yet is entirely without\nthis; so all construction of nature resembles that which is guided by the\nconception of an end, and yet is entirely without it. For in the outer as\nin the inner teleology of nature, what we are obliged to think as means\nand end is, in every case, _the manifestation of the unity of the one will\nso thoroughly agreeing with itself_, which has assumed multiplicity in\nspace and time for our manner of knowing.\n\nThe reciprocal adaptation and self-accommodation of phenomena that springs\nfrom this unity cannot, however, annul the inner contradiction which\nappears in the universal conflict of nature described above, and which is\nessential to the will. That harmony goes only so far as to render possible\nthe duration of the world and the different kinds of existences in it,\nwhich without it would long since have perished. Therefore it only extends\nto the continuance of the species, and the general conditions of life, but\nnot to that of the individual. If, then, by reason of that harmony and\naccommodation, the _species_ in organised nature and the _universal\nforces_ in unorganised nature continue to exist beside each other, and\nindeed support each other reciprocally, on the other hand, the inner\ncontradiction of the will which objectifies itself in all these ideas\nshows itself in the ceaseless internecine war of the _individuals_ of\nthese species, and in the constant struggle of the _manifestations_ of\nthese natural forces with each other, as we pointed out above. The scene\nand the object of this conflict is matter, which they try to wrest from\neach other, and also space and time, the combination of which through the\nform of causality is, in fact, matter, as was explained in the First\nBook.(42)\n\n\u00a7 29. I here conclude the second principal division of my exposition, in\nthe hope that, so far as is possible in the case of an entirely new\nthought, which cannot be quite free from traces of the individuality in\nwhich it originated, I have succeeded in conveying to the reader the\ncomplete certainty that this world in which we live and have our being is\nin its whole nature through and through _will_, and at the same time\nthrough and through _idea_: that this idea, as such, already presupposes a\nform, object and subject, is therefore relative; and if we ask what\nremains if we take away this form, and all those forms which are\nsubordinate to it, and which express the principle of sufficient reason,\nthe answer must be that as something _toto genere_ different from idea,\nthis can be nothing but _will_, which is thus properly the\n_thing-in-itself_. Every one finds that he himself is this will, in which\nthe real nature of the world consists, and he also finds that he is the\nknowing subject, whose idea the whole world is, the world which exists\nonly in relation to his consciousness, as its necessary supporter. Every\none is thus himself in a double aspect the whole world, the microcosm;\nfinds both sides whole and complete in himself. And what he thus\nrecognises as his own real being also exhausts the being of the whole\nworld\u2014the macrocosm; thus the world, like man, is through and through\n_will_, and through and through _idea_, and nothing more than this. So we\nsee the philosophy of Thales, which concerned the macrocosm, unite at this\npoint with that of Socrates, which dealt with the microcosm, for the\nobject of both is found to be the same. But all the knowledge that has\nbeen communicated in the two first books will gain greater completeness,\nand consequently greater certainty, from the two following books, in which\nI hope that several questions that have more or less distinctly arisen in\nthe course of our work will also be sufficiently answered.\n\nIn the meantime _one_ such question may be more particularly considered,\nfor it can only properly arise so long as one has not fully penetrated the\nmeaning of the foregoing exposition, and may so far serve as an\nillustration of it. It is this: Every will is a will towards something,\nhas an object, an end of its willing; what then is the final end, or\ntowards what is that will striving that is exhibited to us as the\nbeing-in-itself of the world? This question rests, like so many others,\nupon the confusion of the thing-in-itself with the manifestation. The\nprinciple of sufficient reason, of which the law of motivation is also a\nform, extends only to the latter, not to the former. It is only of\nphenomena, of individual things, that a ground can be given, never of the\nwill itself, nor of the Idea in which it adequately objectifies itself. So\nthen of every particular movement or change of any kind in nature, a cause\nis to be sought, that is, a condition that of necessity produced it, but\nnever of the natural force itself which is revealed in this and\ninnumerable similar phenomena; and it is therefore simple\nmisunderstanding, arising from want of consideration, to ask for a cause\nof gravity, electricity, and so on. Only if one had somehow shown that\ngravity and electricity were not original special forces of nature, but\nonly the manifestations of a more general force already known, would it be\nallowable to ask for the cause which made this force produce the phenomena\nof gravity or of electricity here. All this has been explained at length\nabove. In the same way every particular act of will of a knowing\nindividual (which is itself only a manifestation of will as the\nthing-in-itself) has necessarily a motive without which that act would\nnever have occurred; but just as material causes contain merely the\ndetermination that at this time, in this place, and in this matter, a\nmanifestation of this or that natural force must take place, so the motive\ndetermines only the act of will of a knowing being, at this time, in this\nplace, and under these circumstances, as a particular act, but by no means\ndetermines that that being wills in general or wills in this manner; this\nis the expression of his intelligible character, which, as will itself,\nthe thing-in-itself, is without ground, for it lies outside the province\nof the principle of sufficient reason. Therefore every man has permanent\naims and motives by which he guides his conduct, and he can always give an\naccount of his particular actions; but if he were asked why he wills at\nall, or why in general he wills to exist, he would have no answer, and the\nquestion would indeed seem to him meaningless; and this would be just the\nexpression of his consciousness that he himself is nothing but will, whose\nwilling stands by itself and requires more particular determination by\nmotives only in its individual acts at each point of time.\n\nIn fact, freedom from all aim, from all limits, belongs to the nature of\nthe will, which is an endless striving. This was already touched on above\nin the reference to centrifugal force. It also discloses itself in its\nsimplest form in the lowest grade of the objectification of will, in\ngravitation, which we see constantly exerting itself, though a final goal\nis obviously impossible for it. For if, according to its will, all\nexisting matter were collected in one mass, yet within this mass gravity,\never striving towards the centre, would still wage war with\nimpenetrability as rigidity or elasticity. The tendency of matter can\ntherefore only be confined, never completed or appeased. But this is\nprecisely the case with all tendencies of all phenomena of will. Every\nattained end is also the beginning of a new course, and so on _ad\ninfinitum_. The plant raises its manifestation from the seed through the\nstem and the leaf to the blossom and the fruit, which again is the\nbeginning of a new seed, a new individual, that runs through the old\ncourse, and so on through endless time. Such also is the life of the\nanimal; procreation is its highest point, and after attaining to it, the\nlife of the first individual quickly or slowly sinks, while a new life\nensures to nature the endurance of the species and repeats the same\nphenomena. Indeed, the constant renewal of the matter of every organism is\nalso to be regarded as merely the manifestation of this continual pressure\nand change, and physiologists are now ceasing to hold that it is the\nnecessary reparation of the matter wasted in motion, for the possible\nwearing out of the machine can by no means be equivalent to the support it\nis constantly receiving through nourishment. Eternal becoming, endless\nflux, characterises the revelation of the inner nature of will. Finally,\nthe same thing shows itself in human endeavours and desires, which always\ndelude us by presenting their satisfaction as the final end of will. As\nsoon as we attain to them they no longer appear the same, and therefore\nthey soon grow stale, are forgotten, and though not openly disowned, are\nyet always thrown aside as vanished illusions. We are fortunate enough if\nthere still remains something to wish for and to strive after, that the\ngame may be kept up of constant transition from desire to satisfaction,\nand from satisfaction to a new desire, the rapid course of which is called\nhappiness, and the slow course sorrow, and does not sink into that\nstagnation that shows itself in fearful ennui that paralyses life, vain\nyearning without a definite object, deadening languor. According to all\nthis, when the will is enlightened by knowledge, it always knows what it\nwills now and here, never what it wills in general; every particular act\nof will has its end, the whole will has none; just as every particular\nphenomenon of nature is determined by a sufficient cause so far as\nconcerns its appearance in this place at this time, but the force which\nmanifests itself in it has no general cause, for it belongs to the\nthing-in-itself, to the groundless will. The single example of\nself-knowledge of the will as a whole is the idea as a whole, the whole\nworld of perception. It is the objectification, the revelation, the mirror\nof the will. What the will expresses in it will be the subject of our\nfurther consideration.(43)\n\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD BOOK. THE WORLD AS IDEA.\n\n\n\n\nSecond Aspect. The Idea Independent Of The Principle Of Sufficient Reason:\nThe Platonic Idea: The Object Of Art.\n\n\n    \u03a4\u03af \u03c4\u1f78 \u1f44\u03bd \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u1f00\u03b5\u03af, \u03b3\u03ad\u03bd\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03bf\u1f50\u03ba \u1f14\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd; \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03af \u03c4\u03cc \u03b3\u03b9\u03b3\u03bd\u03cc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd\n    \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03cd\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd, \u1f44\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u03ad\u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5 \u1f44\u03bd.\u2014\u2014\u03a0\u039b\u0391\u03a4\u03a9\u039d.\n\n\n\u00a7 30. In the First Book the world was explained as mere _idea_, object for\na subject. In the Second Book we considered it from its other side, and\nfound that in this aspect it is _will_, which proved to be simply that\nwhich this world is besides being idea. In accordance with this knowledge\nwe called the world as idea, both as a whole and in its parts, the\n_objectification of will_, which therefore means the will become object,\n_i.e._, idea. Further, we remember that this objectification of will was\nfound to have many definite grades, in which, with gradually increasing\ndistinctness and completeness, the nature of will appears in the idea,\nthat is to say, presents itself as object. In these grades we already\nrecognised the Platonic Ideas, for the grades are just the determined\nspecies, or the original unchanging forms and qualities of all natural\nbodies, both organised and unorganised, and also the general forces which\nreveal themselves according to natural laws. These Ideas, then, as a whole\nexpress themselves in innumerable individuals and particulars, and are\nrelated to these as archetypes to their copies. The multiplicity of such\nindividuals is only conceivable through time and space, their appearing\nand passing away through causality, and in all these forms we recognise\nmerely the different modes of the principle of sufficient reason, which is\nthe ultimate principle of all that is finite, of all individual existence,\nand the universal form of the idea as it appears in the knowledge of the\nindividual as such. The Platonic Idea, on the other hand, does not come\nunder this principle, and has therefore neither multiplicity nor change.\nWhile the individuals in which it expresses itself are innumerable, and\nunceasingly come into being and pass away, it remains unchanged as one and\nthe same, and the principle of sufficient reason has for it no meaning.\nAs, however, this is the form under which all knowledge of the subject\ncomes, so far as the subject knows as an _individual_, the Ideas lie quite\noutside the sphere of its knowledge. If, therefore, the Ideas are to\nbecome objects of knowledge, this can only happen by transcending the\nindividuality of the knowing subject. The more exact and detailed\nexplanation of this is what will now occupy our attention.\n\n\u00a7 31. First, however, the following very essential remark. I hope that in\nthe preceding book I have succeeded in producing the conviction that what\nis called in the Kantian philosophy the _thing-in-itself_, and appears\nthere as so significant, and yet so obscure and paradoxical a doctrine,\nand especially on account of the manner in which Kant introduced it as an\ninference from the caused to the cause, was considered a stumbling-stone,\nand, in fact, the weak side of his philosophy,\u2014that this, I say, if it is\nreached by the entirely different way by which we have arrived at it, is\nnothing but the _will_ when the sphere of that conception is extended and\ndefined in the way I have shown. I hope, further, that after what has been\nsaid there will be no hesitation in recognising the definite grades of the\nobjectification of the will, which is the inner reality of the world, to\nbe what Plato called the _eternal Ideas_ or unchangeable forms (\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u1fc6); a\ndoctrine which is regarded as the principal, but at the same time the most\nobscure and paradoxical dogma of his system, and has been the subject of\nreflection and controversy of ridicule and of reverence to so many and\nsuch differently endowed minds in the course of many centuries.\n\nIf now the will is for us the _thing-in-itself_, and the Idea is the\nimmediate objectivity of that will at a definite grade, we find that\nKant\u2019s thing-in-itself, and Plato\u2019s Idea, which to him is the only \u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2\n\u03bf\u03bd, these two great obscure paradoxes of the two greatest philosophers of\nthe West are not indeed identical, but yet very closely related, and only\ndistinguished by a single circumstance. The purport of these two great\nparadoxes, with all inner harmony and relationship, is yet so very\ndifferent on account of the remarkable diversity of the individuality of\ntheir authors, that they are the best commentary on each other, for they\nare like two entirely different roads that conduct us to the same goal.\nThis is easily made clear. What Kant says is in substance this:\u2014\u201cTime,\nspace, and causality are not determinations of the thing-in-itself, but\nbelong only to its phenomenal existence, for they are nothing but the\nforms of our knowledge. Since, however, all multiplicity, and all coming\ninto being and passing away, are only possible through time, space, and\ncausality, it follows that they also belong only to the phenomenon, not to\nthe thing-in-itself. But as our knowledge is conditioned by these forms,\nthe whole of experience is only knowledge of the phenomenon, not of the\nthing-in-itself; therefore its laws cannot be made valid for the\nthing-in-itself. This extends even to our own _ego_, and we know it only\nas phenomenon, and not according to what it may be in itself.\u201d This is the\nmeaning and content of the doctrine of Kant in the important respect we\nare considering. What Plato says is this:\u2014\u201cThe things of this world which\nour senses perceive have no true being; _they always become, they never\nare:_ they have only a relative being; they all exist merely in and\nthrough their relations to each other; their whole being may, therefore,\nquite as well be called a non-being. They are consequently not objects of\na true knowledge (\u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03bc\u03b7), for such a knowledge can only be of what\nexists for itself, and always in the same way; they, on the contrary, are\nonly the objects of an opinion based on sensation (\u03b4\u03bf\u03be\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b1\u03b9\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03c9\u03c2\n\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03c5). So long as we are confined to the perception of these, we are\nlike men who sit in a dark cave, bound so fast that they cannot turn their\nheads, and who see nothing but the shadows of real things which pass\nbetween them and a fire burning behind them, the light of which casts the\nshadows on the wall opposite them; and even of themselves and of each\nother they see only the shadows on the wall. Their wisdom would thus\nconsist in predicting the order of the shadows learned from experience.\nThe real archetypes, on the other hand, to which these shadows correspond,\nthe eternal Ideas, the original forms of all things, can alone be said to\nhave true being (\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u03bf\u03bd), because they _always are, but never become nor\npass away_. To them belongs _no multiplicity_; for each of them is\naccording to its nature only one, for it is the archetype itself, of which\nall particular transitory things of the same kind which are named after it\nare copies or shadows. They have also _no coming into being nor passing\naway_, for they are truly being, never becoming nor vanishing, like their\nfleeting shadows. (It is necessarily presupposed, however, in these two\nnegative definitions, that time, space, and causality have no significance\nor validity for these Ideas, and that they do not exist in them.) Of these\nonly can there be true knowledge, for the object of such knowledge can\nonly be that which always and in every respect (thus in-itself) is; not\nthat which is and again is not, according as we look at it.\u201d This is\nPlato\u2019s doctrine. It is clear, and requires no further proof that the\ninner meaning of both doctrines is entirely the same; that both explain\nthe visible world as a manifestation, which in itself is nothing, and\nwhich only has meaning and a borrowed reality through that which expresses\nitself in it (in the one case the thing-in-itself, in the other the Idea).\nTo this last, which has true being, all the forms of that phenomenal\nexistence, even the most universal and essential, are, according to both\ndoctrines, entirely foreign. In order to disown these forms Kant has\ndirectly expressed them even in abstract terms, and distinctly refused\ntime, space, and causality as mere forms of the phenomenon to the\nthing-in-itself. Plato, on the other hand, did not attain to the fullest\nexpression, and has only distinctly refused these forms to his Ideas in\nthat he denies of the Ideas what is only possible through these forms,\nmultiplicity of similar things, coming into being and passing away. Though\nit is perhaps superfluous, I should like to illustrate this remarkable and\nimportant agreement by an example. There stands before us, let us suppose,\nan animal in the full activity of life. Plato would say, \u201cThis animal has\nno true existence, but merely an apparent existence, a constant becoming,\na relative existence which may just as well be called non-being as being.\nOnly the Idea which expresses itself in that animal is truly \u2018being,\u2019 or\nthe animal in-itself (\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf \u03c4\u03bf \u03b8\u03b7\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd), which is dependent upon nothing,\nbut is in and for itself (\u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u1fbd \u1f11\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf, \u03b1\u03b5\u03b9 \u1f61\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2); it has not become, it\nwill not end, but always is in the same way (\u03b1\u03b5\u03b9 \u03bf\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b7\u03b4\u03b5\u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5 \u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5\n\u03b3\u03c5\u03b3\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5 \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd). If now we recognise its Idea in this animal,\nit is all one and of no importance whether we have this animal now before\nus or its progenitor of a thousand years ago, whether it is here or in a\ndistant land, whether it presents itself in this or that manner, position,\nor action; whether, lastly, it is this or any other individual of the same\nspecies; all this is nothing, and only concerns the phenomenon; the Idea\nof the animal alone has true being, and is the object of real knowledge.\u201d\nSo Plato; Kant would say something of this kind, \u201cThis animal is a\nphenomenon in time, space, and causality, which are collectively the\nconditions _a priori_ of the possibility of experience, lying in our\nfaculty of knowledge, not determinations of the thing-in-itself. Therefore\nthis animal as we perceive it at this definite point of time, in this\nparticular place, as an individual in the connection of experience\n(_i.e._, in the chain of causes and effects), which has come into being,\nand will just as necessarily pass away, is not a thing-in-itself, but a\nphenomenon which only exists in relation to our knowledge. To know it as\nwhat it may be in itself, that is to say, independent of all the\ndeterminations which lie in time, space, and causality, would demand\nanother kind of knowledge than that which is possible for us through the\nsenses and the understanding.\u201d\n\nIn order to bring Kant\u2019s mode of expression nearer the Platonic, we might\nsay: Time, space, and causality are that arrangement of our intellect by\nvirtue of which the _one_ being of each kind which alone really is,\nmanifests itself to us as a multiplicity of similar beings, constantly\nappearing and disappearing in endless succession. The apprehension of\nthings by means of and in accordance with this arrangement is _immanent_\nknowledge; that, on the other hand, which is conscious of the true state\nof the case, is _transcendental_ knowledge. The latter is obtained _in\nabstracto_ through the criticism of pure reason, but in exceptional cases\nit may also appear intuitively. This last is an addition of my own, which\nI am endeavouring in this Third Book to explain.\n\nIf the doctrine of Kant had ever been properly understood and grasped, and\nsince Kant\u2019s time that of Plato, if men had truly and earnestly reflected\non the inner meaning and content of the teaching of these two great\nmasters, instead of involving themselves in the technicalities of the one\nand writing parodies of the style of the other, they could not have failed\nto discern long ago to what an extent these two great philosophers agree,\nand that the true meaning, the aim of both systems, is the same. Not only\nwould they have refrained from constantly comparing Plato to Leibnitz, on\nwhom his spirit certainly did not rest, or indeed to a well-known\ngentleman who is still alive,(44) as if they wanted to mock the manes of\nthe great thinker of the past; but they would have advanced much farther\nin general, or rather they would not have fallen so disgracefully far\nbehind as they have in the last forty years. They would not have let\nthemselves be led by the nose, to-day by one vain boaster and to-morrow by\nanother, nor would they have opened the nineteenth century, which promised\nso much in Germany, with the philosophical farces that were performed over\nthe grave of Kant (as the ancients sometimes did at the funeral obsequies\nof their dead), and which deservedly called forth the derision of other\nnations, for such things least become the earnest and strait-laced German.\nBut so small is the chosen public of true philosophers, that even students\nwho understand are but scantily brought them by the centuries\u2014\u0395\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b7\n\u03bd\u03b1\u03c1\u03b8\u03b7\u03ba\u03bf\u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9, \u03b2\u03b1\u03ba\u03c7\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03b3\u03b5 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c5\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9 (_Thyrsigeri quidem multi,\nBaachi vero pauci_). \u1f29 \u03b1\u03c4\u03b9\u03bc\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03b9\u1fb3 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03c0\u03b5\u03c0\u03c4\u03c9\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd, \u1f41\u03c4\u03b9 \u03bf\u03c5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\n\u03b1\u03be\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u1f01\u03c0\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9; \u03bf\u03c5 \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03bd\u03bf\u03b8\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b5\u03b4\u03b5\u03b9 \u1f01\u03c0\u03c4\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9, \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03b3\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 (_Eam ob\nrem philosophia in infamiam incidit, quad non pro dignitate ipsam\nattingunt: neque enim a spuriis, sad a legitimis erat\nattrectanda_).\u2014Plato.\n\nMen followed the words,\u2014such words as \u201c_a priori_ ideas,\u201d \u201cforms of\nperception and thought existing in consciousness independently of\nexperience,\u201d \u201cfundamental conceptions of the pure understanding,\u201d &c.,\n&c.,\u2014and asked whether Plato\u2019s Ideas, which were also original\nconceptions, and besides this were supposed to be reminiscences of a\nperception before life of the truly real things, were in some way the same\nas Kant\u2019s forms of perception and thought, which lie _a priori_ in our\nconsciousness. On account of some slight resemblance in the expression of\nthese two entirely different doctrines, the Kantian doctrine of the forms\nwhich limit the knowledge of the individual to the phenomenon, and the\nPlatonic doctrine of Ideas, the knowledge of which these very forms\nexpressly deny, these so far diametrically opposed doctrines were\ncarefully compared, and men deliberated and disputed as to whether they\nwere identical, found at last that they were not the same, and concluded\nthat Plato\u2019s doctrine of Ideas and Kant\u2019s \u201cCritique of Reason\u201d had nothing\nin common. But enough of this.(45)\n\n\u00a7 32. It follows from our consideration of the subject, that, for us, Idea\nand thing-in-itself are not entirely one and the same, in spite of the\ninner agreement between Kant and Plato, and the identity of the aim they\nhad before them, or the conception of the world which roused them and led\nthem to philosophise. The Idea is for us rather the direct, and therefore\nadequate, objectivity of the thing-in-itself, which is, however, itself\nthe _will_\u2014the will as not yet objectified, not yet become idea. For the\nthing-in-itself must, even according to Kant, be free from all the forms\nconnected with knowing as such; and it is merely an error on his part (as\nis shown in the Appendix) that he did not count among these forms, before\nall others, that of being object for a subject, for it is the first and\nmost universal form of all phenomena, _i.e._, of all idea; he should\ntherefore have distinctly denied objective existence to his\nthing-in-itself, which would have saved him from a great inconsistency\nthat was soon discovered. The Platonic Idea, on the other hand, is\nnecessarily object, something known, an idea, and in that respect is\ndifferent from the thing-in-itself, but in that respect only. It has\nmerely laid aside the subordinate forms of the phenomenon, all of which we\ninclude in the principle of sufficient reason, or rather it has not yet\nassumed them; but it has retained the first and most universal form, that\nof the idea in general, the form of being object for a subject. It is the\nforms which are subordinate to this (whose general expression is the\nprinciple of sufficient reason) that multiply the Idea in particular\ntransitory individuals, whose number is a matter of complete indifference\nto the Idea. The principle of sufficient reason is thus again the form\ninto which the Idea enters when it appears in the knowledge of the subject\nas individual. The particular thing that manifests itself in accordance\nwith the principle of sufficient reason is thus only an indirect\nobjectification of the thing-in-itself (which is the will), for between it\nand the thing-in-itself stands the Idea as the only direct objectivity of\nthe will, because it has assumed none of the special forms of knowledge as\nsuch, except that of the idea in general, _i.e._, the form of being object\nfor a subject. Therefore it alone is the most _adequate objectivity_ of\nthe will or thing-in-itself which is possible; indeed it is the whole\nthing-in-itself, only under the form of the idea; and here lies the ground\nof the great agreement between Plato and Kant, although, in strict\naccuracy, that of which they speak is not the same. But the particular\nthings are no really adequate objectivity of the will, for in them it is\nobscured by those forms whose general expression is the principle of\nsufficient reason, but which are conditions of the knowledge which belongs\nto the individual as such. If it is allowable to draw conclusions from an\nimpossible presupposition, we would, in fact, no longer know particular\nthings, nor events, nor change, nor multiplicity, but would comprehend\nonly Ideas,\u2014only the grades of the objectification of that one will, of\nthe thing-in-itself, in pure unclouded knowledge. Consequently our world\nwould be a _nunc stans_, if it were not that, as knowing subjects, we are\nalso individuals, _i.e._, our perceptions come to us through the medium of\na body, from the affections of which they proceed, and which is itself\nonly concrete willing, objectivity of the will, and thus is an object\namong objects, and as such comes into the knowing consciousness in the\nonly way in which an object can, through the forms of the principle of\nsufficient reason, and consequently already presupposes, and therefore\nbrings in, time, and all other forms which that principle expresses. Time\nis only the broken and piecemeal view which the individual being has of\nthe Ideas, which are outside time, and consequently _eternal_. Therefore\nPlato says time is the moving picture of eternity: \u03b1\u03b9\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b5\u03b9\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b9\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03b7 \u1f41\n\u03c7\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2.(46)\n\n\u00a7 33. Since now, as individuals, we have no other knowledge than that\nwhich is subject to the principle of sufficient reason, and this form of\nknowledge excludes the Ideas, it is certain that if it is possible for us\nto raise ourselves from the knowledge of particular things to that of the\nIdeas, this can only happen by an alteration taking place in the subject\nwhich is analogous and corresponds to the great change of the whole nature\nof the object, and by virtue of which the subject, so far as it knows an\nIdea, is no more individual.\n\nIt will be remembered from the preceding book that knowledge in general\nbelongs to the objectification of will at its higher grades, and\nsensibility, nerves, and brain, just like the other parts of the organised\nbeing, are the expression of the will at this stage of its objectivity,\nand therefore the idea which appears through them is also in the same way\nbound to the service of will as a means (\u03bc\u03b7\u03c7\u03b1\u03bd\u03b7) for the attainment of its\nnow complicated (\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1) aims for sustaining a being of manifold\nrequirements. Thus originally and according to its nature, knowledge is\ncompletely subject to the will, and, like the immediate object, which, by\nmeans of the application of the law of causality, is its starting-point,\nall knowledge which proceeds in accordance with the principle of\nsufficient reason remains in a closer or more distant relation to the\nwill. For the individual finds his body as an object among objects, to all\nof which it is related and connected according to the principle of\nsufficient reason. Thus all investigations of these relations and\nconnections lead back to his body, and consequently to his will. Since it\nis the principle of sufficient reason which places the objects in this\nrelation to the body, and, through it, to the will, the one endeavour of\nthe knowledge which is subject to this principle will be to find out the\nrelations in which objects are placed to each other through this\nprinciple, and thus to trace their innumerable connections in space, time,\nand causality. For only through these is the object _interesting_ to the\nindividual, _i.e._, related to the will. Therefore the knowledge which is\nsubject to the will knows nothing further of objects than their relations,\nknows the objects only so far as they exist at this time, in this place,\nunder these circumstances, from these causes, and with these effects\u2014in a\nword, as particular things; and if all these relations were to be taken\naway, the objects would also have disappeared for it, because it knew\nnothing more about them. We must not disguise the fact that what the\nsciences consider in things is also in reality nothing more than this;\ntheir relations, the connections of time and space, the causes of natural\nchanges, the resemblance of forms, the motives of actions,\u2014thus merely\nrelations. What distinguishes science from ordinary knowledge is merely\nits systematic form, the facilitating of knowledge by the comprehension of\nall particulars in the universal, by means of the subordination of\nconcepts, and the completeness of knowledge which is thereby attained. All\nrelation has itself only a relative existence; for example, all being in\ntime is also non-being; for time is only that by means of which opposite\ndeterminations can belong to the same thing; therefore every phenomenon\nwhich is in time again is not, for what separates its beginning from its\nend is only time, which is essentially a fleeting, inconstant, and\nrelative thing, here called duration. But time is the most universal form\nof all objects of the knowledge which is subject to the will, and the\nprototype of its other forms.\n\nKnowledge now, as a rule, remains always subordinate to the service of the\nwill, as indeed it originated for this service, and grew, so to speak, to\nthe will, as the head to the body. In the case of the brutes this\nsubjection of knowledge to the will can never be abolished. In the case of\nmen it can be abolished only in exceptional cases, which we shall\npresently consider more closely. This distinction between man and brute is\noutwardly expressed by the difference of the relation of the head to the\nbody. In the case of the lower brutes both are deformed: in all brutes the\nhead is directed towards the earth, where the objects of its will lie;\neven in the higher species the head and the body are still far more one\nthan in the case of man, whose head seems freely set upon his body, as if\nonly carried by and not serving it. This human excellence is exhibited in\nthe highest degree by the Apollo of Belvedere; the head of the god of the\nMuses, with eyes fixed on the far distance, stands so freely on his\nshoulders that it seems wholly delivered from the body, and no more\nsubject to its cares.\n\n\u00a7 34. The transition which we have referred to as possible, but yet to be\nregarded as only exceptional, from the common knowledge of particular\nthings to the knowledge of the Idea, takes place suddenly; for knowledge\nbreaks free from the service of the will, by the subject ceasing to be\nmerely individual, and thus becoming the pure will-less subject of\nknowledge, which no longer traces relations in accordance with the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, but rests in fixed contemplation of the\nobject presented to it, out of its connection with all others, and rises\ninto it.\n\nA full explanation is necessary to make this clear, and the reader must\nsuspend his surprise for a while, till he has grasped the whole thought\nexpressed in this work, and then it will vanish of itself.\n\nIf, raised by the power of the mind, a man relinquishes the common way of\nlooking at things, gives up tracing, under the guidance of the forms of\nthe principle of sufficient reason, their relations to each other, the\nfinal goal of which is always a relation to his own will; if he thus\nceases to consider the where, the when, the why, and the whither of\nthings, and looks simply and solely at the _what_; if, further, he does\nnot allow abstract thought, the concepts of the reason, to take possession\nof his consciousness, but, instead of all this, gives the whole power of\nhis mind to perception, sinks himself entirely in this, and lets his whole\nconsciousness be filled with the quiet contemplation of the natural object\nactually present, whether a landscape, a tree, a mountain, a building, or\nwhatever it may be; inasmuch as he _loses_ himself in this object (to use\na pregnant German idiom), _i.e._, forgets even his individuality, his\nwill, and only continues to exist as the pure subject, the clear mirror of\nthe object, so that it is as if the object alone were there, without any\none to perceive it, and he can no longer separate the perceiver from the\nperception, but both have become one, because the whole consciousness is\nfilled and occupied with one single sensuous picture; if thus the object\nhas to such an extent passed out of all relation to something outside it,\nand the subject out of all relation to the will, then that which is so\nknown is no longer the particular thing as such; but it is the _Idea_, the\neternal form, the immediate objectivity of the will at this grade; and,\ntherefore, he who is sunk in this perception is no longer individual, for\nin such perception the individual has lost himself; but he is _pure_,\nwill-less, painless, timeless _subject of knowledge_. This, which in\nitself is so remarkable (which I well know confirms the saying that\noriginated with Thomas Paine, _Du sublime au ridicule il n\u2019y a qu\u2019un\npas_), will by degrees become clearer and less surprising from what\nfollows. It was this that was running in Spinoza\u2019s mind when he wrote:\n_Meus \u00e6terna est, quatenus res sub \u00e6ternitatis specie __ concipit_ (Eth.\nV. pr. 31, Schol.)(47) In such contemplation the particular thing becomes\nat once the _Idea_ of its species, and the perceiving individual becomes\n_pure subject of knowledge_. The individual, as such, knows only\nparticular things; the pure subject of knowledge knows only Ideas. For the\nindividual is the subject of knowledge in its relation to a definite\nparticular manifestation of will, and in subjection to this. This\nparticular manifestation of will is, as such, subordinated to the\nprinciple of sufficient reason in all its forms; therefore, all knowledge\nwhich relates itself to it also follows the principle of sufficient\nreason, and no other kind of knowledge is fitted to be of use to the will\nbut this, which always consists merely of relations to the object. The\nknowing individual as such, and the particular things known by him, are\nalways in some place, at some time, and are links in the chain of causes\nand effects. The pure subject of knowledge and his correlative, the Idea,\nhave passed out of all these forms of the principle of sufficient reason:\ntime, place, the individual that knows, and the individual that is known,\nhave for them no meaning. When an individual knower has raised himself in\nthe manner described to be pure subject of knowledge, and at the same time\nhas raised the observed object to the Platonic Idea, the _world as idea_\nappears complete and pure, and the full objectification of the will takes\nplace, for the Platonic Idea alone is its _adequate objectivity_. The Idea\nincludes object and subject in like manner in itself, for they are its one\nform; but in it they are absolutely of equal importance; for as the object\nis here, as elsewhere, simply the idea of the subject, the subject, which\npasses entirely into the perceived object has thus become this object\nitself, for the whole consciousness is nothing but its perfectly distinct\npicture. Now this consciousness constitutes the whole _world as idea_, for\none imagines the whole of the Platonic Ideas, or grades of the objectivity\nof will, in their series passing through it. The particular things of all\ntime and space are nothing but Ideas multiplied through the principle of\nsufficient reason (the form of the knowledge of the individual as such),\nand thus obscured as regards their pure objectivity. When the Platonic\nIdea appears, in it subject and object are no longer to be distinguished,\nfor the Platonic Idea, the adequate objectivity of will, the true world as\nidea, arises only when the subject and object reciprocally fill and\npenetrate each other completely; and in the same way the knowing and the\nknown individuals, as things in themselves, are not to be distinguished.\nFor if we look entirely away from the true _world as idea_, there remains\nnothing but the _world as will_. The will is the \u201cin-itself\u201d of the\nPlatonic Idea, which fully objectifies it; it is also the \u201cin-itself\u201d of\nthe particular thing and of the individual that knows it, which objectify\nit incompletely. As will, outside the idea and all its forms, it is one\nand the same in the object contemplated and in the individual, who soars\naloft in this contemplation, and becomes conscious of himself as pure\nsubject. These two are, therefore, in themselves not different, for in\nthemselves they are will, which here knows itself; and multiplicity and\ndifference exist only as the way in which this knowledge comes to the\nwill, _i.e._, only in the phenomenon, on account of its form, the\nprinciple of sufficient reason.\n\nNow the known thing, without me as the subject of knowledge, is just as\nlittle an object, and not mere will, blind effort, as without the object,\nwithout the idea, I am a knowing subject and not mere blind will. This\nwill is in itself, _i.e._, outside the idea, one and the same with mine:\nonly in the world as idea, whose form is always at least that of subject\nand object, we are separated as the known and the knowing individual. As\nsoon as knowledge, the world as idea, is abolished, there remains nothing\nbut mere will, blind effort. That it should receive objectivity, become\nidea, supposes at once both subject and object; but that this should be\npure, complete, and adequate objectivity of the will, supposes the object\nas Platonic Idea, free from the forms of the principle of sufficient\nreason, and the subject as the pure subject of knowledge, free from\nindividuality and subjection to the will.\n\nWhoever now, has, after the manner referred to, become so absorbed and\nlost in the perception of nature that he only continues to exist as the\npure knowing subject, becomes in this way directly conscious that, as\nsuch, he is the condition, that is, the supporter, of the world and all\nobjective existence; for this now shows itself as dependent upon his\nexistence. Thus he draws nature into himself, so that he sees it to be\nmerely an accident of his own being. In this sense Byron says\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cAre not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part\n      Of me and of my soul, as I of them?\u201d\n\n\nBut how shall he who feels this, regard himself as absolutely transitory,\nin contrast to imperishable nature? Such a man will rather be filled with\nthe consciousness, which the Upanishad of the Veda expresses: _H\u00e6 omnes\ncreatur\u00e6 in totum ego sum, et pr\u00e6ter me aliud ens non est_ (Oupnek\u2019hat, i.\n122).(48)\n\n\u00a7 35. In order to gain a deeper insight into the nature of the world, it\nis absolutely necessary that we should learn to distinguish the will as\nthing-in-itself from its adequate objectivity, and also the different\ngrades in which this appears more and more distinctly and fully, _i.e._,\nthe Ideas themselves, from the merely phenomenal existence of these Ideas\nin the forms of the principle of sufficient reason, the restricted method\nof knowledge of the individual. We shall then agree with Plato when he\nattributes actual being only to the Ideas, and allows only an illusive,\ndream-like existence to things in space and time, the real world for the\nindividual. Then we shall understand how one and the same Idea reveals\nitself in so many phenomena, and presents its nature only bit by bit to\nthe individual, one side after another. Then we shall also distinguish the\nIdea itself from the way in which its manifestation appears in the\nobservation of the individual, and recognise the former as essential and\nthe latter as unessential. Let us consider this with the help of examples\ntaken from the most insignificant things, and also from the greatest. When\nthe clouds move, the figures which they form are not essential, but\nindifferent to them; but that as elastic vapour they are pressed together,\ndrifted along, spread out, or torn asunder by the force of the wind: this\nis their nature, the essence of the forces which objectify themselves in\nthem, the Idea; their actual forms are only for the individual observer.\nTo the brook that flows over stones, the eddies, the waves, the\nfoam-flakes which it forms are indifferent and unessential; but that it\nfollows the attraction of gravity, and behaves as inelastic, perfectly\nmobile, formless, transparent fluid: this is its nature; this, _if known\nthrough perception_, is its Idea; these accidental forms are only for us\nso long as we know as individuals. The ice on the window-pane forms itself\ninto crystals according to the laws of crystallisation, which reveal the\nessence of the force of nature that appears here, exhibit the Idea; but\nthe trees and flowers which it traces on the pane are unessential, and are\nonly there for us. What appears in the clouds, the brook, and the crystal\nis the weakest echo of that will which appears more fully in the plant,\nmore fully still in the beast, and most fully in man. But only the\nessential in all these grades of its objectification constitutes the Idea;\non the other hand, its unfolding or development, because broken up in the\nforms of the principle of sufficient reason into a multiplicity of\nmany-sided phenomena, is unessential to the Idea, lies merely in the kind\nof knowledge that belongs to the individual and has reality only for this.\nThe same thing necessarily holds good of the unfolding of that Idea which\nis the completest objectivity of will. Therefore, the history of the human\nrace, the throng of events, the change of times, the multifarious forms of\nhuman life in different lands and countries, all this is only the\naccidental form of the manifestation of the Idea, does not belong to the\nIdea itself, in which alone lies the adequate objectivity of the will, but\nonly to the phenomenon which appears in the knowledge of the individual,\nand is just as foreign, unessential, and indifferent to the Idea itself as\nthe figures which they assume are to the clouds, the form of its eddies\nand foam-flakes to the brook, or its trees and flowers to the ice.\n\nTo him who has thoroughly grasped this, and can distinguish between the\nwill and the Idea, and between the Idea and its manifestation, the events\nof the world will have significance only so far as they are the letters\nout of which we may read the Idea of man, but not in and for themselves.\nHe will not believe with the vulgar that time may produce something\nactually new and significant; that through it, or in it, something\nabsolutely real may attain to existence, or indeed that it itself as a\nwhole has beginning and end, plan and development, and in some way has for\nits final aim the highest perfection (according to their conception) of\nthe last generation of man, whose life is a brief thirty years. Therefore\nhe will just as little, with Homer, people a whole Olympus with gods to\nguide the events of time, as, with Ossian, he will take the forms of the\nclouds for individual beings; for, as we have said, both have just as much\nmeaning as regards the Idea which appears in them. In the manifold forms\nof human life and in the unceasing change of events, he will regard the\nIdea only as the abiding and essential, in which the will to live has its\nfullest objectivity, and which shows its different sides in the\ncapacities, the passions, the errors and the excellences of the human\nrace; in self-interest, hatred, love, fear, boldness, frivolity,\nstupidity, slyness, wit, genius, and so forth, all of which crowding\ntogether and combining in thousands of forms (individuals), continually\ncreate the history of the great and the little world, in which it is all\nthe same whether they are set in motion by nuts or by crowns. Finally, he\nwill find that in the world it is the same as in the dramas of Gozzi, in\nall of which the same persons appear, with like intention, and with a like\nfate; the motives and incidents are certainly different in each piece, but\nthe spirit of the incidents is the same; the actors in one piece know\nnothing of the incidents of another, although they performed in it\nthemselves; therefore, after all experience of former pieces, Pantaloon\nhas become no more agile or generous, Tartaglia no more conscientious,\nBrighella no more courageous, and Columbine no more modest.\n\nSuppose we were allowed for once a clearer glance into the kingdom of the\npossible, and over the whole chain of causes and effects; if the\nearth-spirit appeared and showed us in a picture all the greatest men,\nenlighteners of the world, and heroes, that chance destroyed before they\nwere ripe for their work; then the great events that would have changed\nthe history of the world and brought in periods of the highest culture and\nenlightenment, but which the blindest chance, the most insignificant\naccident, hindered at the outset; lastly, the splendid powers of great\nmen, that would have enriched whole ages of the world, but which, either\nmisled by error or passion, or compelled by necessity, they squandered\nuselessly on unworthy or unfruitful objects, or even wasted in play. If we\nsaw all this, we would shudder and lament at the thought of the lost\ntreasures of whole periods of the world. But the earth-spirit would smile\nand say, \u201cThe source from which the individuals and their powers proceed\nis inexhaustible and unending as time and space; for, like these forms of\nall phenomena, they also are only phenomena, visibility of the will. No\nfinite measure can exhaust that infinite source; therefore an undiminished\neternity is always open for the return of any event or work that was\nnipped in the bud. In this world of phenomena true loss is just as little\npossible as true gain. The will alone is; it is the thing in-itself, and\nthe source of all these phenomena. Its self-knowledge and its assertion or\ndenial, which is then decided upon, is the only event in-itself.\u201d(49)\n\n\u00a7 36. History follows the thread of events; it is pragmatic so far as it\ndeduces them in accordance with the law of motivation, a law that\ndetermines the self-manifesting will wherever it is enlightened by\nknowledge. At the lowest grades of its objectivity, where it still acts\nwithout knowledge, natural science, in the form of etiology, treats of the\nlaws of the changes of its phenomena, and, in the form of morphology, of\nwhat is permanent in them. This almost endless task is lightened by the\naid of concepts, which comprehend what is general in order that we may\ndeduce what is particular from it. Lastly, mathematics treats of the mere\nforms, time and space, in which the Ideas, broken up into multiplicity,\nappear for the knowledge of the subject as individual. All these, of which\nthe common name is science, proceed according to the principle of\nsufficient reason in its different forms, and their theme is always the\nphenomenon, its laws, connections, and the relations which result from\nthem. But what kind of knowledge is concerned with that which is outside\nand independent of all relations, that which alone is really essential to\nthe world, the true content of its phenomena, that which is subject to no\nchange, and therefore is known with equal truth for all time, in a word,\nthe _Ideas_, which are the direct and adequate objectivity of the thing\nin-itself, the will? We answer, _Art_, the work of genius. It repeats or\nreproduces the eternal Ideas grasped through pure contemplation, the\nessential and abiding in all the phenomena of the world; and according to\nwhat the material is in which it reproduces, it is sculpture or painting,\npoetry or music. Its one source is the knowledge of Ideas; its one aim the\ncommunication of this knowledge. While science, following the unresting\nand inconstant stream of the fourfold forms of reason and consequent, with\neach end attained sees further, and can never reach a final goal nor\nattain full satisfaction, any more than by running we can reach the place\nwhere the clouds touch the horizon; art, on the contrary, is everywhere at\nits goal. For it plucks the object of its contemplation out of the stream\nof the world\u2019s course, and has it isolated before it. And this particular\nthing, which in that stream was a small perishing part, becomes to art the\nrepresentative of the whole, an equivalent of the endless multitude in\nspace and time. It therefore pauses at this particular thing; the course\nof time stops; the relations vanish for it; only the essential, the Idea,\nis its object. We may, therefore, accurately define it as the _way of\nviewing things independent of the principle of sufficient reason_, in\nopposition to the way of viewing them which proceeds in accordance with\nthat principle, and which is the method of experience and of science. This\nlast method of considering things may be compared to a line infinitely\nextended in a horizontal direction, and the former to a vertical line\nwhich cuts it at any point. The method of viewing things which proceeds in\naccordance with the principle of sufficient reason is the rational method,\nand it alone is valid and of use in practical life and in science. The\nmethod which looks away from the content of this principle is the method\nof genius, which is only valid and of use in art. The first is the method\nof Aristotle; the second is, on the whole, that of Plato. The first is\nlike the mighty storm, that rushes along without beginning and without\naim, bending, agitating, and carrying away everything before it; the\nsecond is like the silent sunbeam, that pierces through the storm quite\nunaffected by it. The first is like the innumerable showering drops of the\nwaterfall, which, constantly changing, never rest for an instant; the\nsecond is like the rainbow, quietly resting on this raging torrent. Only\nthrough the pure contemplation described above, which ends entirely in the\nobject, can Ideas be comprehended; and the nature of _genius_ consists in\npre-eminent capacity for such contemplation. Now, as this requires that a\nman should entirely forget himself and the relations in which he stands,\n_genius_ is simply the completest _objectivity_, _i.e._, the objective\ntendency of the mind, as opposed to the subjective, which is directed to\none\u2019s own self\u2014in other words, to the will. Thus genius is the faculty of\ncontinuing in the state of pure perception, of losing oneself in\nperception, and of enlisting in this service the knowledge which\noriginally existed only for the service of the will; that is to say,\ngenius is the power of leaving one\u2019s own interests, wishes, and aims\nentirely out of sight, thus of entirely renouncing one\u2019s own personality\nfor a time, so as to remain _pure knowing subject_, clear vision of the\nworld; and this not merely at moments, but for a sufficient length of\ntime, and with sufficient consciousness, to enable one to reproduce by\ndeliberate art what has thus been apprehended, and \u201cto fix in lasting\nthoughts the wavering images that float before the mind.\u201d It is as if,\nwhen genius appears in an individual, a far larger measure of the power of\nknowledge falls to his lot than is necessary for the service of an\nindividual will; and this superfluity of knowledge, being free, now\nbecomes subject purified from will, a clear mirror of the inner nature of\nthe world. This explains the activity, amounting even to disquietude, of\nmen of genius, for the present can seldom satisfy them, because it does\nnot fill their consciousness. This gives them that restless aspiration,\nthat unceasing desire for new things, and for the contemplation of lofty\nthings, and also that longing that is hardly ever satisfied, for men of\nsimilar nature and of like stature, to whom they might communicate\nthemselves; whilst the common mortal, entirely filled and satisfied by the\ncommon present, ends in it, and finding everywhere his like, enjoys that\npeculiar satisfaction in daily life that is denied to genius.\n\nImagination has rightly been recognised as an essential element of genius;\nit has sometimes even been regarded as identical with it; but this is a\nmistake. As the objects of genius are the eternal Ideas, the permanent,\nessential forms of the world and all its phenomena, and as the knowledge\nof the Idea is necessarily knowledge through perception, is not abstract,\nthe knowledge of the genius would be limited to the Ideas of the objects\nactually present to his person, and dependent upon the chain of\ncircumstances that brought these objects to him, if his imagination did\nnot extend his horizon far beyond the limits of his actual personal\nexistence, and thus enable him to construct the whole out of the little\nthat comes into his own actual apperception, and so to let almost all\npossible scenes of life pass before him in his own consciousness. Further,\nthe actual objects are almost always very imperfect copies of the Ideas\nexpressed in them; therefore the man of genius requires imagination in\norder to see in things, not that which Nature has actually made, but that\nwhich she endeavoured to make, yet could not because of that conflict of\nher forms among themselves which we referred to in the last book. We shall\nreturn to this farther on in treating of sculpture. The imagination then\nextends the intellectual horizon of the man of genius beyond the objects\nwhich actually present themselves to him, both as regards quality and\nquantity. Therefore extraordinary strength of imagination accompanies, and\nis indeed a necessary condition of genius. But the converse does not hold,\nfor strength of imagination does not indicate genius; on the contrary, men\nwho have no touch of genius may have much imagination. For as it is\npossible to consider a real object in two opposite ways, purely\nobjectively, the way of genius grasping its Idea, or in the common way,\nmerely in the relations in which it stands to other objects and to one\u2019s\nown will, in accordance with the principle of sufficient reason, it is\nalso possible to perceive an imaginary object in both of these ways.\nRegarded in the first way, it is a means to the knowledge of the Idea, the\ncommunication of which is the work of art; in the second case, the\nimaginary object is used to build castles in the air congenial to egotism\nand the individual humour, and which for the moment delude and gratify;\nthus only the relations of the phantasies so linked together are known.\nThe man who indulges in such an amusement is a dreamer; he will easily\nmingle those fancies that delight his solitude with reality, and so unfit\nhimself for real life: perhaps he will write them down, and then we shall\nhave the ordinary novel of every description, which entertains those who\nare like him and the public at large, for the readers imagine themselves\nin the place of the hero, and then find the story very agreeable.\n\nThe common mortal, that manufacture of Nature which she produces by the\nthousand every day, is, as we have said, not capable, at least not\ncontinuously so, of observation that in every sense is wholly\ndisinterested, as sensuous contemplation, strictly so called, is. He can\nturn his attention to things only so far as they have some relation to his\nwill, however indirect it may be. Since in this respect, which never\ndemands anything but the knowledge of relations, the abstract conception\nof the thing is sufficient, and for the most part even better adapted for\nuse; the ordinary man does not linger long over the mere perception, does\nnot fix his attention long on one object, but in all that is presented to\nhim hastily seeks merely the concept under which it is to be brought, as\nthe lazy man seeks a chair, and then it interests him no further. This is\nwhy he is so soon done with everything, with works of art, objects of\nnatural beauty, and indeed everywhere with the truly significant\ncontemplation of all the scenes of life. He does not linger; only seeks to\nknow his own way in life, together with all that might at any time become\nhis way. Thus he makes topographical notes in the widest sense; over the\nconsideration of life itself as such he wastes no time. The man of genius,\non the other hand, whose excessive power of knowledge frees it at times\nfrom the service of will, dwells on the consideration of life itself,\nstrives to comprehend the Idea of each thing, not its relations to other\nthings; and in doing this he often forgets to consider his own path in\nlife, and therefore for the most part pursues it awkwardly enough. While\nto the ordinary man his faculty of knowledge is a lamp to lighten his\npath, to the man of genius it is the sun which reveals the world. This\ngreat diversity in their way of looking at life soon becomes visible in\nthe outward appearance both of the man of genius and of the ordinary\nmortal. The man in whom genius lives and works is easily distinguished by\nhis glance, which is both keen and steady, and bears the stamp of\nperception, of contemplation. This is easily seen from the likenesses of\nthe few men of genius whom Nature has produced here and there among\ncountless millions. On the other hand, in the case of an ordinary man, the\ntrue object of his contemplation, what he is prying into, can be easily\nseen from his glance, if indeed it is not quite stupid and vacant, as is\ngenerally the case. Therefore the expression of genius in a face consists\nin this, that in it a decided predominance of knowledge over will is\nvisible, and consequently there also shows itself in it a knowledge that\nis entirely devoid of relation to will, _i.e._, _pure knowing_. On the\ncontrary, in ordinary countenances there is a predominant expression of\nwill; and we see that knowledge only comes into activity under the impulse\nof will, and thus is directed merely by motives.\n\nSince the knowledge that pertains to genius, or the knowledge of Ideas, is\nthat knowledge which does not follow the principle of sufficient reason,\nso, on the other hand, the knowledge which does follow that principle is\nthat which gives us prudence and rationality in life, and which creates\nthe sciences. Thus men of genius are affected with the deficiencies\nentailed in the neglect of this latter kind of knowledge. Yet what I say\nin this regard is subject to the limitation that it only concerns them in\nso far as and while they are actually engaged in that kind of knowledge\nwhich is peculiar to genius; and this is by no means at every moment of\ntheir lives, for the great though spontaneous exertion which is demanded\nfor the comprehension of Ideas free from will must necessarily relax, and\nthere are long intervals during which men of genius are placed in very\nmuch the same position as ordinary mortals, both as regards advantages and\ndeficiencies. On this account the action of genius has always been\nregarded as an inspiration, as indeed the name indicates, as the action of\na superhuman being distinct from the individual himself, and which takes\npossession of him only periodically. The disinclination of men of genius\nto direct their attention to the content of the principle of sufficient\nreason will first show itself, with regard to the ground of being, as\ndislike of mathematics; for its procedure is based upon the most universal\nforms of the phenomenon space and time, which are themselves merely modes\nof the principle of sufficient reason, and is consequently precisely the\nopposite of that method of thought which seeks merely the content of the\nphenomenon, the Idea which expresses itself in it apart from all\nrelations. The logical method of mathematics is also antagonistic to\ngenius, for it does not satisfy but obstructs true insight, and presents\nmerely a chain of conclusions in accordance with the principle of the\nground of knowing. The mental faculty upon which it makes the greatest\nclaim is memory, for it is necessary to recollect all the earlier\npropositions which are referred to. Experience has also proved that men of\ngreat artistic genius have no faculty for mathematics; no man was ever\nvery distinguished for both. Alfieri relates that he was never able to\nunderstand the fourth proposition of Euclid. Goethe was constantly\nreproached with his want of mathematical knowledge by the ignorant\nopponents of his theory of colours. Here certainly, where it was not a\nquestion of calculation and measurement upon hypothetical data, but of\ndirect knowledge by the understanding of causes and effects, this reproach\nwas so utterly absurd and inappropriate, that by making it they have\nexposed their entire want of judgment, just as much as by the rest of\ntheir ridiculous arguments. The fact that up to the present day, nearly\nhalf a century after the appearance of Goethe\u2019s theory of colours, even in\nGermany the Newtonian fallacies still have undisturbed possession of the\nprofessorial chair, and men continue to speak quite seriously of the seven\nhomogeneous rays of light and their different refrangibility, will some\nday be numbered among the great intellectual peculiarities of men\ngenerally, and especially of Germans. From the same cause as we have\nreferred to above, may be explained the equally well-known fact that,\nconversely, admirable mathematicians have very little susceptibility for\nworks of fine art. This is very na\u00efvely expressed in the well-known\nanecdote of the French mathematician, who, after having read Racine\u2019s\n\u201cIphigenia,\u201d shrugged his shoulders and asked, \u201c_Qu\u2019est ce que cela\nprouve?_\u201d Further, as quick comprehension of relations in accordance with\nthe laws of causality and motivation is what specially constitutes\nprudence or sagacity, a prudent man, so far as and while he is so, will\nnot be a genius, and a man of genius, so far as and while he is so, will\nnot be a prudent man. Lastly, perceptive knowledge generally, in the\nprovince of which the Idea always lies, is directly opposed to rational or\nabstract knowledge, which is guided by the principle of the ground of\nknowing. It is also well known that we seldom find great genius united\nwith pre-eminent reasonableness; on the contrary, persons of genius are\noften subject to violent emotions and irrational passions. But the ground\nof this is not weakness of reason, but partly unwonted energy of that\nwhole phenomenon of will\u2014the man of genius\u2014which expresses itself through\nthe violence of all his acts of will, and partly preponderance of the\nknowledge of perception through the senses and understanding over abstract\nknowledge, producing a decided tendency to the perceptible, the\nexceedingly lively impressions of which so far outshine colourless\nconcepts, that they take their place in the guidance of action, which\nconsequently becomes irrational. Accordingly the impression of the present\nmoment is very strong with such persons, and carries them away into\nunconsidered action, violent emotions and passions. Moreover, since, in\ngeneral, the knowledge of persons of genius has to some extent freed\nitself from the service of will, they will not in conversation think so\nmuch of the person they are addressing as of the thing they are speaking\nabout, which is vividly present to them; and therefore they are likely to\njudge or narrate things too objectively for their own interests; they will\nnot pass over in silence what would more prudently be concealed, and so\nforth. Finally, they are given to soliloquising, and in general may\nexhibit certain weaknesses which are actually akin to madness. It has\noften been remarked that there is a side at which genius and madness\ntouch, and even pass over into each other, and indeed poetical inspiration\nhas been called a kind of madness: _amabilis insania_, Horace calls it\n(Od. iii. 4), and Wieland in the introduction to \u201cOberon\u201d speaks of it as\n\u201camiable madness.\u201d Even Aristotle, as quoted by Seneca (De Tranq. Animi,\n15, 16), is reported to have said: _Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura\ndementi\u00e6 fuit_. Plato expresses it in the figure of the dark cave,\nreferred to above (De Rep. 7), when he says: \u201cThose who, outside the cave,\nhave seen the true sunlight and the things that have true being (Ideas),\ncannot afterwards see properly down in the cave, because their eyes are\nnot accustomed to the darkness; they cannot distinguish the shadows, and\nare jeered at for their mistakes by those who have never left the cave and\nits shadows.\u201d In the \u201cPh\u00e6drus\u201d also (p. 317), he distinctly says that\nthere can be no true poet without a certain madness; in fact, (p. 327),\nthat every one appears mad who recognises the eternal Ideas in fleeting\nthings. Cicero also quotes: _Negat enim sine furore, Democritus, quemquam\npoetam magnum esse posse; quod idem dicit Plato_ (De Divin., i. 37). And,\nlastly, Pope says\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cGreat wits to madness sure are near allied,\n    And thin partitions do their bounds divide.\u201d\n\n\nEspecially instructive in this respect is Goethe\u2019s \u201cTorquato Tasso,\u201d in\nwhich he shows us not only the suffering, the martyrdom of genius as such,\nbut also how it constantly passes into madness. Finally, the fact of the\ndirect connection of genius and madness is established by the biographies\nof great men of genius, such as Rousseau, Byron, and Alfieri, and by\nanecdotes from the lives of others. On the other hand, I must mention\nthat, by a diligent search in lunatic asylums, I have found individual\ncases of patients who were unquestionably endowed with great talents, and\nwhose genius distinctly appeared through their madness, which, however,\nhad completely gained the upper hand. Now this cannot be ascribed to\nchance, for on the one hand the number of mad persons is relatively very\nsmall, and on the other hand a person of genius is a phenomenon which is\nrare beyond all ordinary estimation, and only appears in nature as the\ngreatest exception. It will be sufficient to convince us of this if we\ncompare the number of really great men of genius that the whole of\ncivilised Europe has produced, both in ancient and modern times, with the\ntwo hundred and fifty millions who are always living in Europe, and who\nchange entirely every thirty years. In estimating the number of men of\noutstanding genius, we must of course only count those who have produced\nworks which have retained through all time an enduring value for mankind.\nI shall not refrain from mentioning, that I have known some persons of\ndecided, though not remarkable, mental superiority, who also showed a\nslight trace of insanity. It might seem from this that every advance of\nintellect beyond the ordinary measure, as an abnormal development,\ndisposes to madness. In the meantime, however, I will explain as briefly\nas possible my view of the purely intellectual ground of the relation\nbetween genius and madness, for this will certainly assist the explanation\nof the real nature of genius, that is to say, of that mental endowment\nwhich alone can produce genuine works of art. But this necessitates a\nbrief explanation of madness itself.(50)\n\nA clear and complete insight into the nature of madness, a correct and\ndistinct conception of what constitutes the difference between the sane\nand the insane, has, as far as I know, not as yet been found. Neither\nreason nor understanding can be denied to madmen, for they talk and\nunderstand, and often draw very accurate conclusions; they also, as a\nrule, perceive what is present quite correctly, and apprehend the\nconnection between cause and effect. Visions, like the phantasies of\ndelirium, are no ordinary symptom of madness: delirium falsifies\nperception, madness the thoughts. For the most part, madmen do not err in\nthe knowledge of what is immediately _present_; their raving always\nrelates to what is _absent_ and _past_, and only through these to their\nconnection with what is present. Therefore it seems to me that their\nmalady specially concerns the memory; not indeed that memory fails them\nentirely, for many of them know a great deal by heart, and sometimes\nrecognise persons whom they have not seen for a long time; but rather that\nthe thread of memory is broken, the continuity of its connection\ndestroyed, and no uniformly connected recollection of the past is\npossible. Particular scenes of the past are known correctly, just like the\nparticular present; but there are gaps in their recollection which they\nfill up with fictions, and these are either always the same, in which case\nthey become fixed ideas, and the madness that results is called monomania\nor melancholy; or they are always different, momentary fancies, and then\nit is called folly, _fatuitas_. This is why it is so difficult to find out\ntheir former life from lunatics when they enter an asylum. The true and\nthe false are always mixed up in their memory. Although the immediate\npresent is correctly known, it becomes falsified through its fictitious\nconnection with an imaginary past; they therefore regard themselves and\nothers as identical with persons who exist only in their imaginary past;\nthey do not recognise some of their acquaintances at all, and thus while\nthey perceive correctly what is actually present, they have only false\nconceptions of its relations to what is absent. If the madness reaches a\nhigh degree, there is complete absence of memory, so that the madman is\nquite incapable of any reference to what is absent or past, and is only\ndetermined by the caprice of the moment in connection with the fictions\nwhich, in his mind, fill the past. In such a case, we are never for a\nmoment safe from violence or murder, unless we constantly make the madman\naware of the presence of superior force. The knowledge of the madman has\nthis in common with that of the brute, both are confined to the present.\nWhat distinguishes them is that the brute has really no idea of the past\nas such, though the past acts upon it through the medium of custom, so\nthat, for example, the dog recognises its former master even after years,\nthat is to say, it receives the wonted impression at the sight of him; but\nof the time that has passed since it saw him it has no recollection. The\nmadman, on the other hand, always carries about in his reason an abstract\npast, but it is a false past, which exists only for him, and that either\nconstantly, or only for the moment. The influence of this false past\nprevents the use of the true knowledge of the present which the brute is\nable to make. The fact that violent mental suffering or unexpected and\nterrible calamities should often produce madness, I explain in the\nfollowing manner. All such suffering is as an actual event confined to the\npresent. It is thus merely transitory, and is consequently never\nexcessively heavy; it only becomes unendurably great when it is lasting\npain; but as such it exists only in thought, and therefore lies in the\n_memory_. If now such a sorrow, such painful knowledge or reflection, is\nso bitter that it becomes altogether unbearable, and the individual is\nprostrated under it, then, terrified Nature seizes upon _madness_ as the\nlast resource of life; the mind so fearfully tortured at once destroys the\nthread of its memory, fills up the gaps with fictions, and thus seeks\nrefuge in madness from the mental suffering that exceeds its strength,\njust as we cut off a mortified limb and replace it with a wooden one. The\ndistracted Ajax, King Lear, and Ophelia may be taken as examples; for the\ncreations of true genius, to which alone we can refer here, as universally\nknown, are equal in truth to real persons; besides, in this case, frequent\nactual experience shows the same thing. A faint analogy of this kind of\ntransition from pain to madness is to be found in the way in which all of\nus often seek, as it were mechanically, to drive away a painful thought\nthat suddenly occurs to us by some loud exclamation or quick movement\u2014to\nturn ourselves from it, to distract our minds by force.\n\nWe see, from what has been said, that the madman has a true knowledge of\nwhat is actually present, and also of certain particulars of the past, but\nthat he mistakes the connection, the relations, and therefore falls into\nerror and talks nonsense. Now this is exactly the point at which he comes\ninto contact with the man of genius; for he also leaves out of sight the\nknowledge of the connection of things, since he neglects that knowledge of\nrelations which conforms to the principle of sufficient reason, in order\nto see in things only their Ideas, and to seek to comprehend their true\nnature, which manifests itself to perception, and in regard to which _one\nthing_ represents its whole species, in which way, as Goethe says, one\ncase is valid for a thousand. The particular object of his contemplation,\nor the present which is perceived by him with extraordinary vividness,\nappear in so strong a light that the other links of the chain to which\nthey belong are at once thrown into the shade, and this gives rise to\nphenomena which have long been recognised as resembling those of madness.\nThat which in particular given things exists only incompletely and\nweakened by modifications, is raised by the man of genius, through his way\nof contemplating it, to the Idea of the thing, to completeness: he\ntherefore sees everywhere extremes, and therefore his own action tends to\nextremes; he cannot hit the mean, he lacks soberness, and the result is\nwhat we have said. He knows the Ideas completely but not the individuals.\nTherefore it has been said that a poet may know mankind deeply and\nthoroughly, and may yet have a very imperfect knowledge of men. He is\neasily deceived, and is a tool in the hands of the crafty.\n\n\u00a7 37. Genius, then, consists, according to our explanation, in the\ncapacity for knowing, independently of the principle of sufficient reason,\nnot individual things, which have their existence only in their relations,\nbut the Ideas of such things, and of being oneself the correlative of the\nIdea, and thus no longer an individual, but the pure subject of knowledge.\nYet this faculty must exist in all men in a smaller and different degree;\nfor if not, they would be just as incapable of enjoying works of art as of\nproducing them; they would have no susceptibility for the beautiful or the\nsublime; indeed, these words could have no meaning for them. We must\ntherefore assume that there exists in all men this power of knowing the\nIdeas in things, and consequently of transcending their personality for\nthe moment, unless indeed there are some men who are capable of no\n\u00e6sthetic pleasure at all. The man of genius excels ordinary men only by\npossessing this kind of knowledge in a far higher degree and more\ncontinuously. Thus, while under its influence he retains the presence of\nmind which is necessary to enable him to repeat in a voluntary and\nintentional work what he has learned in this manner; and this repetition\nis the work of art. Through this he communicates to others the Idea he has\ngrasped. This Idea remains unchanged and the same, so that \u00e6sthetic\npleasure is one and the same whether it is called forth by a work of art\nor directly by the contemplation of nature and life. The work of art is\nonly a means of facilitating the knowledge in which this pleasure\nconsists. That the Idea comes to us more easily from the work of art than\ndirectly from nature and the real world, arises from the fact that the\nartist, who knew only the Idea, no longer the actual, has reproduced in\nhis work the pure Idea, has abstracted it from the actual, omitting all\ndisturbing accidents. The artist lets us see the world through his eyes.\nThat he has these eyes, that he knows the inner nature of things apart\nfrom all their relations, is the gift of genius, is inborn; but that he is\nable to lend us this gift, to let us see with his eyes, is acquired, and\nis the technical side of art. Therefore, after the account which I have\ngiven in the preceding pages of the inner nature of \u00e6sthetical knowledge\nin its most general outlines, the following more exact philosophical\ntreatment of the beautiful and the sublime will explain them both, in\nnature and in art, without separating them further. First of all we shall\nconsider what takes place in a man when he is affected by the beautiful\nand the sublime; whether he derives this emotion directly from nature,\nfrom life, or partakes of it only through the medium of art, does not make\nany essential, but merely an external, difference.\n\n\u00a7 38. In the \u00e6sthetical mode of contemplation we have found _two\ninseparable constituent parts_\u2014the knowledge of the object, not as\nindividual thing but as Platonic Idea, that is, as the enduring form of\nthis whole species of things; and the self-consciousness of the knowing\nperson, not as individual, but as _pure will-less subject of knowledge_.\nThe condition under which both these constituent parts appear always\nunited was found to be the abandonment of the method of knowing which is\nbound to the principle of sufficient reason, and which, on the other hand,\nis the only kind of knowledge that is of value for the service of the will\nand also for science. Moreover, we shall see that the pleasure which is\nproduced by the contemplation of the beautiful arises from these two\nconstituent parts, sometimes more from the one, sometimes more from the\nother, according to what the object of the \u00e6sthetical contemplation may\nbe.\n\nAll _willing_ arises from want, therefore from deficiency, and therefore\nfrom suffering. The satisfaction of a wish ends it; yet for one wish that\nis satisfied there remain at least ten which are denied. Further, the\ndesire lasts long, the demands are infinite; the satisfaction is short and\nscantily measured out. But even the final satisfaction is itself only\napparent; every satisfied wish at once makes room for a new one; both are\nillusions; the one is known to be so, the other not yet. No attained\nobject of desire can give lasting satisfaction, but merely a fleeting\ngratification; it is like the alms thrown to the beggar, that keeps him\nalive to-day that his misery may be prolonged till the morrow. Therefore,\nso long as our consciousness is filled by our will, so long as we are\ngiven up to the throng of desires with their constant hopes and fears, so\nlong as we are the subject of willing, we can never have lasting happiness\nnor peace. It is essentially all the same whether we pursue or flee, fear\ninjury or seek enjoyment; the care for the constant demands of the will,\nin whatever form it may be, continually occupies and sways the\nconsciousness; but without peace no true well-being is possible. The\nsubject of willing is thus constantly stretched on the revolving wheel of\nIxion, pours water into the sieve of the Danaids, is the ever-longing\nTantalus.\n\nBut when some external cause or inward disposition lifts us suddenly out\nof the endless stream of willing, delivers knowledge from the slavery of\nthe will, the attention is no longer directed to the motives of willing,\nbut comprehends things free from their relation to the will, and thus\nobserves them without personal interest, without subjectivity, purely\nobjectively, gives itself entirely up to them so far as they are ideas,\nbut not in so far as they are motives. Then all at once the peace which we\nwere always seeking, but which always fled from us on the former path of\nthe desires, comes to us of its own accord, and it is well with us. It is\nthe painless state which Epicurus prized as the highest good and as the\nstate of the gods; for we are for the moment set free from the miserable\nstriving of the will; we keep the Sabbath of the penal servitude of\nwilling; the wheel of Ixion stands still.\n\nBut this is just the state which I described above as necessary for the\nknowledge of the Idea, as pure contemplation, as sinking oneself in\nperception, losing oneself in the object, forgetting all individuality,\nsurrendering that kind of knowledge which follows the principle of\nsufficient reason, and comprehends only relations; the state by means of\nwhich at once and inseparably the perceived particular thing is raised to\nthe Idea of its whole species, and the knowing individual to the pure\nsubject of will-less knowledge, and as such they are both taken out of the\nstream of time and all other relations. It is then all one whether we see\nthe sun set from the prison or from the palace.\n\nInward disposition, the predominance of knowing over willing, can produce\nthis state under any circumstances. This is shown by those admirable Dutch\nartists who directed this purely objective perception to the most\ninsignificant objects, and established a lasting monument of their\nobjectivity and spiritual peace in their pictures of _still life_, which\nthe \u00e6sthetic beholder does not look on without emotion; for they present\nto him the peaceful, still, frame of mind of the artist, free from will,\nwhich was needed to contemplate such insignificant things so objectively,\nto observe them so attentively, and to repeat this perception so\nintelligently; and as the picture enables the onlooker to participate in\nthis state, his emotion is often increased by the contrast between it and\nthe unquiet frame of mind, disturbed by vehement willing, in which he\nfinds himself. In the same spirit, landscape-painters, and particularly\nRuisdael, have often painted very insignificant country scenes, which\nproduce the same effect even more agreeably.\n\nAll this is accomplished by the inner power of an artistic nature alone;\nbut that purely objective disposition is facilitated and assisted from\nwithout by suitable objects, by the abundance of natural beauty which\ninvites contemplation, and even presses itself upon us. Whenever it\ndiscloses itself suddenly to our view, it almost always succeeds in\ndelivering us, though it may be only for a moment, from subjectivity, from\nthe slavery of the will, and in raising us to the state of pure knowing.\nThis is why the man who is tormented by passion, or want, or care, is so\nsuddenly revived, cheered, and restored by a single free glance into\nnature: the storm of passion, the pressure of desire and fear, and all the\nmiseries of willing are then at once, and in a marvellous manner, calmed\nand appeased. For at the moment at which, freed from the will, we give\nourselves up to pure will-less knowing, we pass into a world from which\neverything is absent that influenced our will and moved us so violently\nthrough it. This freeing of knowledge lifts us as wholly and entirely away\nfrom all that, as do sleep and dreams; happiness and unhappiness have\ndisappeared; we are no longer individual; the individual is forgotten; we\nare only pure subject of knowledge; we are only that _one_ eye of the\nworld which looks out from all knowing creatures, but which can become\nperfectly free from the service of will in man alone. Thus all difference\nof individuality so entirely disappears, that it is all the same whether\nthe perceiving eye belongs to a mighty king or to a wretched beggar; for\nneither joy nor complaining can pass that boundary with us. So near us\nalways lies a sphere in which we escape from all our misery; but who has\nthe strength to continue long in it? As soon as any single relation to our\nwill, to our person, even of these objects of our pure contemplation,\ncomes again into consciousness, the magic is at an end; we fall back into\nthe knowledge which is governed by the principle of sufficient reason; we\nknow no longer the Idea, but the particular thing, the link of a chain to\nwhich we also belong, and we are again abandoned to all our woe. Most men\nremain almost always at this standpoint because they entirely lack\nobjectivity, _i.e._, genius. Therefore they have no pleasure in being\nalone with nature; they need company, or at least a book. For their\nknowledge remains subject to their will; they seek, therefore, in objects,\nonly some relation to their will, and whenever they see anything that has\nno such relation, there sounds within them, like a ground bass in music,\nthe constant inconsolable cry, \u201cIt is of no use to me;\u201d thus in solitude\nthe most beautiful surroundings have for them a desolate, dark, strange,\nand hostile appearance.\n\nLastly, it is this blessedness of will-less perception which casts an\nenchanting glamour over the past and distant, and presents them to us in\nso fair a light by means of self-deception. For as we think of days long\ngone by, days in which we lived in a distant place, it is only the objects\nwhich our fancy recalls, not the subject of will, which bore about with it\nthen its incurable sorrows just as it bears them now; but they are\nforgotten, because since then they have often given place to others. Now,\nobjective perception acts with regard to what is remembered just as it\nwould in what is present, if we let it have influence over us, if we\nsurrendered ourselves to it free from will. Hence it arises that,\nespecially when we are more than ordinarily disturbed by some want, the\nremembrance of past and distant scenes suddenly flits across our minds\nlike a lost paradise. The fancy recalls only what was objective, not what\nwas individually subjective, and we imagine that that objective stood\nbefore us then just as pure and undisturbed by any relation to the will as\nits image stands in our fancy now; while in reality the relation of the\nobjects to our will gave us pain then just as it does now. We can deliver\nourselves from all suffering just as well through present objects as\nthrough distant ones whenever we raise ourselves to a purely objective\ncontemplation of them, and so are able to bring about the illusion that\nonly the objects are present and not we ourselves. Then, as the pure\nsubject of knowledge, freed from the miserable self, we become entirely\none with these objects, and, for the moment, our wants are as foreign to\nus as they are to them. The world as idea alone remains, and the world as\nwill has disappeared.\n\nIn all these reflections it has been my object to bring out clearly the\nnature and the scope of the subjective element in \u00e6sthetic pleasure; the\ndeliverance of knowledge from the service of the will, the forgetting of\nself as an individual, and the raising of the consciousness to the pure\nwill-less, timeless, subject of knowledge, independent of all relations.\nWith this subjective side of \u00e6sthetic contemplation, there must always\nappear as its necessary correlative the objective side, the intuitive\ncomprehension of the Platonic Idea. But before we turn to the closer\nconsideration of this, and to the achievements of art in relation to it,\nit is better that we should pause for a little at the subjective side of\n\u00e6sthetic pleasure, in order to complete our treatment of this by\nexplaining the impression of the _sublime_ which depends altogether upon\nit, and arises from a modification of it. After that we shall complete our\ninvestigation of \u00e6sthetic pleasure by considering its objective side.\n\nBut we must first add the following remarks to what has been said. Light\nis the pleasantest and most gladdening of things; it has become the symbol\nof all that is good and salutary. In all religions it symbolises\nsalvation, while darkness symbolises damnation. Ormuzd dwells in the\npurest light, Ahrimines in eternal night. Dante\u2019s Paradise would look very\nmuch like Vauxhall in London, for all the blessed spirits appear as points\nof light and arrange themselves in regular figures. The very absence of\nlight makes us sad; its return cheers us. Colours excite directly a keen\ndelight, which reaches its highest degree when they are transparent. All\nthis depends entirely upon the fact that light is the correlative and\ncondition of the most perfect kind of knowledge of perception, the only\nknowledge which does not in any way affect the will. For sight, unlike the\naffections of the other senses, cannot, in itself, directly and through\nits sensuous effect, make the _sensation_ of the special organ agreeable\nor disagreeable; that is, it has no immediate connection with the will.\nSuch a quality can only belong to the perception which arises in the\nunderstanding, and then it lies in the relation of the object to the will.\nIn the case of hearing this is to some extent otherwise; sounds can give\npain directly, and they may also be sensuously agreeable, directly and\nwithout regard to harmony or melody. Touch, as one with the feeling of the\nwhole body, is still more subordinated to this direct influence upon the\nwill; and yet there is such a thing as a sensation of touch which is\nneither painful nor pleasant. But smells are always either agreeable or\ndisagreeable, and tastes still more so. Thus the last two senses are most\nclosely related to the will, and therefore they are always the most\nignoble, and have been called by Kant the subjective senses. The pleasure\nwhich we experience from light is in fact only the pleasure which arises\nfrom the objective possibility of the purest and fullest perceptive\nknowledge, and as such it may be traced to the fact that pure knowledge,\nfreed and delivered from all will, is in the highest degree pleasant, and\nof itself constitutes a large part of \u00e6sthetic enjoyment. Again, we must\nrefer to this view of light the incredible beauty which we associate with\nthe reflection of objects in water. That lightest, quickest, finest\nspecies of the action of bodies upon each other, that to which we owe by\nfar the completest and purest of our perceptions, the action of reflected\nrays of light, is here brought clearly before our eyes, distinct and\nperfect, in cause and in effect, and indeed in its entirety, hence the\n\u00e6sthetic delight it gives us, which, in the most important aspect, is\nentirely based on the subjective ground of \u00e6sthetic pleasure, and is\ndelight in pure knowing and its method.\n\n\u00a7 39. All these reflections are intended to bring out the subjective part\nof \u00e6sthetic pleasure; that is to say, that pleasure so far as it consists\nsimply of delight in perceptive knowledge as such, in opposition to will.\nAnd as directly connected with this, there naturally follows the\nexplanation of that disposition or frame of mind which has been called the\nsense of the _sublime_.\n\nWe have already remarked above that the transition to the state of pure\nperception takes place most easily when the objects bend themselves to it,\nthat is, when by their manifold and yet definite and distinct form they\neasily become representatives of their Ideas, in which beauty, in the\nobjective sense, consists. This quality belongs pre-eminently to natural\nbeauty, which thus affords even to the most insensible at least a fleeting\n\u00e6sthetic satisfaction: indeed it is so remarkable how especially the\nvegetable world invites \u00e6sthetic observation, and, as it were, presses\nitself upon it, that one might say, that these advances are connected with\nthe fact that these organisms, unlike the bodies of animals, are not\nthemselves immediate objects of knowledge, and therefore require the\nassistance of a foreign intelligent individual in order to rise out of the\nworld of blind will and enter the world of idea, and that thus they long,\nas it were, for this entrance, that they may attain at least indirectly\nwhat is denied them directly. But I leave this suggestion which I have\nhazarded, and which borders perhaps upon extravagance, entirely undecided,\nfor only a very intimate and devoted consideration of nature can raise or\njustify it.(51) As long as that which raises us from the knowledge of mere\nrelations subject to the will, to \u00e6sthetic contemplation, and thereby\nexalts us to the position of the subject of knowledge free from will, is\nthis fittingness of nature, this significance and distinctness of its\nforms, on account of which the Ideas individualised in them readily\npresent themselves to us; so long is it merely _beauty_ that affects us\nand the sense of the _beautiful_ that is excited. But if these very\nobjects whose significant forms invite us to pure contemplation, have a\nhostile relation to the human will in general, as it exhibits itself in\nits objectivity, the human body, if they are opposed to it, so that it is\nmenaced by the irresistible predominance of their power, or sinks into\ninsignificance before their immeasurable greatness; if, nevertheless, the\nbeholder does not direct his attention to this eminently hostile relation\nto his will, but, although perceiving and recognising it, turns\nconsciously away from it, forcibly detaches himself from his will and its\nrelations, and, giving himself up entirely to knowledge, quietly\ncontemplates those very objects that are so terrible to the will,\ncomprehends only their Idea, which is foreign to all relation, so that he\nlingers gladly over its contemplation, and is thereby raised above\nhimself, his person, his will, and all will:\u2014in that case he is filled\nwith the sense of the _sublime_, he is in the state of spiritual\nexaltation, and therefore the object producing such a state is called\n_sublime_. Thus what distinguishes the sense of the sublime from that of\nthe beautiful is this: in the case of the beautiful, pure knowledge has\ngained the upper hand without a struggle, for the beauty of the object,\n_i.e._, that property which facilitates the knowledge of its Idea, has\nremoved from consciousness without resistance, and therefore\nimperceptibly, the will and the knowledge of relations which is subject to\nit, so that what is left is the pure subject of knowledge without even a\nremembrance of will. On the other hand, in the case of the sublime that\nstate of pure knowledge is only attained by a conscious and forcible\nbreaking away from the relations of the same object to the will, which are\nrecognised as unfavourable, by a free and conscious transcending of the\nwill and the knowledge related to it.\n\nThis exaltation must not only be consciously won, but also consciously\nretained, and it is therefore accompanied by a constant remembrance of\nwill; yet not of a single particular volition, such as fear or desire, but\nof human volition in general, so far as it is universally expressed in its\nobjectivity the human body. If a single real act of will were to come into\nconsciousness, through actual personal pressure and danger from the\nobject, then the individual will thus actually influenced would at once\ngain the upper hand, the peace of contemplation would become impossible,\nthe impression of the sublime would be lost, because it yields to the\nanxiety, in which the effort of the individual to right itself has sunk\nevery other thought. A few examples will help very much to elucidate this\ntheory of the \u00e6sthetic sublime and remove all doubt with regard to it; at\nthe same time they will bring out the different degrees of this sense of\nthe sublime. It is in the main identical with that of the beautiful, with\npure will-less knowing, and the knowledge, that necessarily accompanies it\nof Ideas out of all relation determined by the principle of sufficient\nreason, and it is distinguished from the sense of the beautiful only by\nthe additional quality that it rises above the known hostile relation of\nthe object contemplated to the will in general. Thus there come to be\nvarious degrees of the sublime, and transitions from the beautiful to the\nsublime, according as this additional quality is strong, bold, urgent,\nnear, or weak, distant, and merely indicated. I think it is more in\nkeeping with the plan of my treatise, first to give examples of these\ntransitions, and of the weaker degrees of the impression of the sublime,\nalthough persons whose \u00e6sthetical susceptibility in general is not very\ngreat, and whose imagination is not very lively, will only understand the\nexamples given later of the higher and more distinct grades of that\nimpression; and they should therefore confine themselves to these, and\npass over the examples of the very weak degrees of the sublime that are to\nbe given first.\n\nAs man is at once impetuous and blind striving of will (whose pole or\nfocus lies in the genital organs), and eternal, free, serene subject of\npure knowing (whose pole is the brain); so, corresponding to this\nantithesis, the sun is both the source of _light_, the condition of the\nmost perfect kind of knowledge, and therefore of the most delightful of\nthings\u2014and the source of _warmth_, the first condition of life, _i.e._, of\nall phenomena of will in its higher grades. Therefore, what warmth is for\nthe will, light is for knowledge. Light is the largest gem in the crown of\nbeauty, and has the most marked influence on the knowledge of every\nbeautiful object. Its presence is an indispensable condition of beauty;\nits favourable disposition increases the beauty of the most beautiful.\nArchitectural beauty more than any other object is enhanced by favourable\nlight, though even the most insignificant things become through its\ninfluence most beautiful. If, in the dead of winter, when all nature is\nfrozen and stiff, we see the rays of the setting sun reflected by masses\nof stone, illuminating without warming, and thus favourable only to the\npurest kind of knowledge, not to the will; the contemplation of the\nbeautiful effect of the light upon these masses lifts us, as does all\nbeauty, into a state of pure knowing. But, in this case, a certain\ntranscending of the interests of the will is needed to enable us to rise\ninto the state of pure knowing, because there is a faint recollection of\nthe lack of warmth from these rays, that is, an absence of the principle\nof life; there is a slight challenge to persist in pure knowing, and to\nrefrain from all willing, and therefore it is an example of a transition\nfrom the sense of the beautiful to that of the sublime. It is the faintest\ntrace of the sublime in the beautiful; and beauty itself is indeed present\nonly in a slight degree. The following is almost as weak an example.\n\nLet us imagine ourselves transported to a very lonely place, with unbroken\nhorizon, under a cloudless sky, trees and plants in the perfectly\nmotionless air, no animals, no men, no running water, the deepest silence.\nSuch surroundings are, as it were, a call to seriousness and\ncontemplation, apart from all will and its cravings; but this is just what\nimparts to such a scene of desolate stillness a touch of the sublime. For,\nbecause it affords no object, either favourable or unfavourable, for the\nwill which is constantly in need of striving and attaining, there only\nremains the state of pure contemplation, and whoever is incapable of this,\nis ignominiously abandoned to the vacancy of unoccupied will, and the\nmisery of ennui. So far it is a test of our intellectual worth, of which,\ngenerally speaking, the degree of our power of enduring solitude, or our\nlove of it, is a good criterion. The scene we have sketched affords us,\nthen, an example of the sublime in a low degree, for in it, with the state\nof pure knowing in its peace and all-sufficiency, there is mingled, by way\nof contrast, the recollection of the dependence and poverty of the will\nwhich stands in need of constant action. This is the species of the\nsublime for which the sight of the boundless prairies of the interior of\nNorth America is celebrated.\n\nBut let us suppose such a scene, stripped also of vegetation, and showing\nonly naked rocks; then from the entire absence of that organic life which\nis necessary for existence, the will at once becomes uneasy, the desert\nassumes a terrible aspect, our mood becomes more tragic; the elevation to\nthe sphere of pure knowing takes place with a more decided tearing of\nourselves away from the interests of the will; and because we persist in\ncontinuing in the state of pure knowing, the sense of the sublime\ndistinctly appears.\n\nThe following situation may occasion this feeling in a still higher\ndegree: Nature convulsed by a storm; the sky darkened by black threatening\nthunder-clouds; stupendous, naked, overhanging cliffs, completely shutting\nout the view; rushing, foaming torrents; absolute desert; the wail of the\nwind sweeping through the clefts of the rocks. Our dependence, our strife\nwith hostile nature, our will broken in the conflict, now appears visibly\nbefore our eyes. Yet, so long as the personal pressure does not gain the\nupper hand, but we continue in \u00e6sthetic contemplation, the pure subject of\nknowing gazes unshaken and unconcerned through that strife of nature,\nthrough that picture of the broken will, and quietly comprehends the Ideas\neven of those objects which are threatening and terrible to the will. In\nthis contrast lies the sense of the sublime.\n\nBut the impression becomes still stronger, if, when we have before our\neyes, on a large scale, the battle of the raging elements, in such a scene\nwe are prevented from hearing the sound of our own voice by the noise of a\nfalling stream; or, if we are abroad in the storm of tempestuous seas,\nwhere the mountainous waves rise and fall, dash themselves furiously\nagainst steep cliffs, and toss their spray high into the air; the storm\nhowls, the sea boils, the lightning flashes from black clouds, and the\npeals of thunder drown the voice of storm and sea. Then, in the undismayed\nbeholder, the two-fold nature of his consciousness reaches the highest\ndegree of distinctness. He perceives himself, on the one hand, as an\nindividual, as the frail phenomenon of will, which the slightest touch of\nthese forces can utterly destroy, helpless against powerful nature,\ndependent, the victim of chance, a vanishing nothing in the presence of\nstupendous might; and, on the other hand, as the eternal, peaceful,\nknowing subject, the condition of the object, and, therefore, the\nsupporter of this whole world; the terrific strife of nature only his\nidea; the subject itself free and apart from all desires and necessities,\nin the quiet comprehension of the Ideas. This is the complete impression\nof the sublime. Here he obtains a glimpse of a power beyond all comparison\nsuperior to the individual, threatening it with annihilation.\n\nThe impression of the sublime may be produced in quite another way, by\npresenting a mere immensity in space and time; its immeasurable greatness\ndwindles the individual to nothing. Adhering to Kant\u2019s nomenclature and\nhis accurate division, we may call the first kind the dynamical, and the\nsecond the mathematical sublime, although we entirely dissent from his\nexplanation of the inner nature of the impression, and can allow no share\nin it either to moral reflections, or to hypostases from scholastic\nphilosophy.\n\nIf we lose ourselves in the contemplation of the infinite greatness of the\nuniverse in space and time, meditate on the thousands of years that are\npast or to come, or if the heavens at night actually bring before our eyes\ninnumerable worlds and so force upon our consciousness the immensity of\nthe universe, we feel ourselves dwindle to nothing; as individuals, as\nliving bodies, as transient phenomena of will, we feel ourselves pass away\nand vanish into nothing like drops in the ocean. But at once there rises\nagainst this ghost of our own nothingness, against such lying\nimpossibility, the immediate consciousness that all these worlds exist\nonly as our idea, only as modifications of the eternal subject of pure\nknowing, which we find ourselves to be as soon as we forget our\nindividuality, and which is the necessary supporter of all worlds and all\ntimes the condition of their possibility. The vastness of the world which\ndisquieted us before, rests now in us; our dependence upon it is annulled\nby its dependence upon us. All this, however, does not come at once into\nreflection, but shows itself merely as the felt consciousness that in some\nsense or other (which philosophy alone can explain) we are one with the\nworld, and therefore not oppressed, but exalted by its immensity. It is\nthe felt consciousness of this that the Upanishads of the Vedas repeatedly\nexpress in such a multitude of different ways; very admirably in the\nsaying already quoted: _H\u00e6 omnes creatur\u00e6 in totum ego sum, et pr\u00e6ter me\naliud ens non est_ (Oupnek\u2019hat, vol. i. p. 122.) It is the transcending of\nour own individuality, the sense of the sublime.\n\nWe receive this impression of the mathematical-sublime, quite directly, by\nmeans of a space which is small indeed as compared with the world, but\nwhich has become directly perceptible to us, and affects us with its whole\nextent in all its three dimensions, so as to make our own body seem almost\ninfinitely small. An empty space can never be thus perceived, and\ntherefore never an open space, but only space that is directly perceptible\nin all its dimensions by means of the limits which enclose it; thus for\nexample a very high, vast dome, like that of St. Peter\u2019s at Rome, or St.\nPaul\u2019s in London. The sense of the sublime here arises through the\nconsciousness of the vanishing nothingness of our own body in the presence\nof a vastness which, from another point of view, itself exists only in our\nidea, and of which we are as knowing subject, the supporter. Thus here as\neverywhere it arises from the contrast between the insignificance and\ndependence of ourselves as individuals, as phenomena of will, and the\nconsciousness of ourselves as pure subject of knowing. Even the vault of\nthe starry heaven produces this if it is contemplated without reflection;\nbut just in the same way as the vault of stone, and only by its apparent,\nnot its real extent. Some objects of our perception excite in us the\nfeeling of the sublime because, not only on account of their spatial\nvastness, but also of their great age, that is, their temporal duration,\nwe feel ourselves dwarfed to insignificance in their presence, and yet\nrevel in the pleasure of contemplating them: of this kind are very high\nmountains, the Egyptian pyramids, and colossal ruins of great antiquity.\n\nOur explanation of the sublime applies also to the ethical, to what is\ncalled the sublime character. Such a character arises from this, that the\nwill is not excited by objects which are well calculated to excite it, but\nthat knowledge retains the upper hand in their presence. A man of sublime\ncharacter will accordingly consider men in a purely objective way, and not\nwith reference to the relations which they might have to his will; he\nwill, for example, observe their faults, even their hatred and injustice\nto himself, without being himself excited to hatred; he will behold their\nhappiness without envy; he will recognise their good qualities without\ndesiring any closer relations with them; he will perceive the beauty of\nwomen, but he will not desire them. His personal happiness or unhappiness\nwill not greatly affect him, he will rather be as Hamlet describes\nHoratio:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201c... for thou hast been,\n    As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;\n    A man that fortune\u2019s buffets and rewards\n    Hast ta\u2019en with equal thanks,\u201d &c. (A. 3. Sc. 2.)\n\n\nFor in the course of his own life and its misfortunes, he will consider\nless his individual lot than that of humanity in general, and will\ntherefore conduct himself in its regard, rather as knowing than as\nsuffering.\n\n\u00a7 40. Opposites throw light upon each other, and therefore the remark may\nbe in place here, that the proper opposite of the sublime is something\nwhich would not at the first glance be recognised, as such: _the charming_\nor _attractive_. By this, however, I understand, that which excites the\nwill by presenting to it directly its fulfilment, its satisfaction. We saw\nthat the feeling of the sublime arises from the fact, that something\nentirely unfavourable to the will, becomes the object of pure\ncontemplation, so that such contemplation can only be maintained by\npersistently turning away from the will, and transcending its interests;\nthis constitutes the sublimity of the character. The charming or\nattractive, on the contrary, draws the beholder away from the pure\ncontemplation which is demanded by all apprehension of the beautiful,\nbecause it necessarily excites this will, by objects which directly appeal\nto it, and thus he no longer remains pure subject of knowing, but becomes\nthe needy and dependent subject of will. That every beautiful thing which\nis bright or cheering should be called charming, is the result of a too\ngeneral concept, which arises from a want of accurate discrimination, and\nwhich I must entirely set aside, and indeed condemn. But in the sense of\nthe word which has been given and explained, I find only two species of\nthe charming or attractive in the province of art, and both of them are\nunworthy of it. The one species, a very low one, is found in Dutch\npaintings of still life, when they err by representing articles of food,\nwhich by their deceptive likeness necessarily excite the appetite for the\nthings they represent, and this is just an excitement of the will, which\nputs an end to all \u00e6sthetic contemplation of the object. Painted fruit is\nyet admissible, because we may regard it as the further development of the\nflower, and as a beautiful product of nature in form and colour, without\nbeing obliged to think of it as eatable; but unfortunately we often find,\nrepresented with deceptive naturalness, prepared and served dishes,\noysters, herrings, crabs, bread and butter, beer, wine, and so forth,\nwhich is altogether to be condemned. In historical painting and in\nsculpture the charming consists in naked figures, whose position, drapery,\nand general treatment are calculated to excite the passions of the\nbeholder, and thus pure \u00e6sthetical contemplation is at once annihilated,\nand the aim of art is defeated. This mistake corresponds exactly to that\nwhich we have just censured in the Dutch paintings. The ancients are\nalmost always free from this fault in their representations of beauty and\ncomplete nakedness of form, because the artist himself created them in a\npurely objective spirit, filled with ideal beauty, not in the spirit of\nsubjective, and base sensuality. The charming is thus everywhere to be\navoided in art.\n\nThere is also a negative species of the charming or exciting which is even\nmore reprehensible than the positive form which has been discussed; this\nis the disgusting or the loathsome. It arouses the will of the beholder,\njust as what is properly speaking charming, and therefore disturbs pure\n\u00e6sthetic contemplation. But it is an active aversion and opposition which\nis excited by it; it arouses the will by presenting to it objects which it\nabhors. Therefore it has always been recognised that it is altogether\ninadmissible in art, where even what is ugly, when it is not disgusting,\nis allowable in its proper place, as we shall see later.\n\n\u00a7 41. The course of the discussion has made it necessary to insert at this\npoint the treatment of the sublime, though we have only half done with the\nbeautiful, as we have considered its subjective side only. For it was\nmerely a special modification of this subjective side that distinguished\nthe beautiful from the sublime. This difference was found to depend upon\nwhether the state of pure will-less knowing, which is presupposed and\ndemanded by all \u00e6sthetic contemplation, was reached without opposition, by\nthe mere disappearance of the will from consciousness, because the object\ninvited and drew us towards it; or whether it was only attained through\nthe free, conscious transcending of the will, to which the object\ncontemplated had an unfavourable and even hostile relation, which would\ndestroy contemplation altogether, if we were to give ourselves up to it.\nThis is the distinction between the beautiful and the sublime. In the\nobject they are not essentially different, for in every case the object of\n\u00e6sthetical contemplation is not the individual thing, but the Idea in it\nwhich is striving to reveal itself; that is to say, adequate objectivity\nof will at a particular grade. Its necessary correlative, independent,\nlike itself of the principle of sufficient reason, is the pure subject of\nknowing; just as the correlative of the particular thing is the knowing\nindividual, both of which lie within the province of the principle of\nsufficient reason.\n\nWhen we say that a thing is _beautiful_, we thereby assert that it is an\nobject of our \u00e6sthetic contemplation, and this has a double meaning; on\nthe one hand it means that the sight of the thing makes us _objective_,\nthat is to say, that in contemplating it we are no longer conscious of\nourselves as individuals, but as pure will-less subjects of knowledge; and\non the other hand it means that we recognise in the object, not the\nparticular thing, but an Idea; and this can only happen, so far as our\ncontemplation of it is not subordinated to the principle of sufficient\nreason, does not follow the relation of the object to anything outside it\n(which is always ultimately connected with relations to our own will), but\nrests in the object itself. For the Idea and the pure subject of knowledge\nalways appear at once in consciousness as necessary correlatives, and on\ntheir appearance all distinction of time vanishes, for they are both\nentirely foreign to the principle of sufficient reason in all its forms,\nand lie outside the relations which are imposed by it; they may be\ncompared to the rainbow and the sun, which have no part in the constant\nmovement and succession of the falling drops. Therefore, if, for example,\nI contemplate a tree \u00e6sthetically, _i.e._, with artistic eyes, and thus\nrecognise, not it, but its Idea, it becomes at once of no consequence\nwhether it is this tree or its predecessor which flourished a thousand\nyears ago, and whether the observer is this individual or any other that\nlived anywhere and at any time; the particular thing and the knowing\nindividual are abolished with the principle of sufficient reason, and\nthere remains nothing but the Idea and the pure subject of knowing, which\ntogether constitute the adequate objectivity of will at this grade. And\nthe Idea dispenses not only with time, but also with space, for the Idea\nproper is not this special form which appears before me but its\nexpression, its pure significance, its inner being, which discloses itself\nto me and appeals to me, and which may be quite the same though the\nspatial relations of its form be very different.\n\nSince, on the one hand, every given thing may be observed in a. purely\nobjective manner and apart from all relations; and since, on the other\nhand, the will manifests itself in everything at some grade of its\nobjectivity, so that everything is the expression of an Idea; it follows\nthat everything is also _beautiful_. That even the most insignificant\nthings admit of pure objective and will-less contemplation, and thus prove\nthat they are beautiful, is shown by what was said above in this reference\nabout the Dutch pictures of still-life (\u00a7 38). But one thing is more\nbeautiful than another, because it makes this pure objective contemplation\neasier, it lends itself to it, and, so to speak, even compels it, and then\nwe call it very beautiful. This is the case sometimes because, as an\nindividual thing, it expresses in its purity the Idea of its species by\nthe very distinct, clearly defined, and significant relation of its parts,\nand also fully reveals that Idea through the completeness of all the\npossible expressions of its species united in it, so that it makes the\ntransition from the individual thing to the Idea, and therefore also the\ncondition of pure contemplation, very easy for the beholder. Sometimes\nthis possession of special beauty in an object lies in the fact that the\nIdea itself which appeals to us in it is a high grade of the objectivity\nof will, and therefore very significant and expressive. Therefore it is\nthat man is more beautiful than all other objects, and the revelation of\nhis nature is the highest aim of art. Human form and expression are the\nmost important objects of plastic art, and human action the most important\nobject of poetry. Yet each thing has its own peculiar beauty, not only\nevery organism which expresses itself in the unity of an individual being,\nbut also everything unorganised and formless, and even every manufactured\narticle. For all these reveal the Ideas through which the will objectifies\nitself at its lowest grades, they give, as it were, the deepest resounding\nbass-notes of nature. Gravity, rigidity, fluidity, light, and so forth,\nare the Ideas which express themselves in rocks, in buildings, in waters.\nLandscape-gardening or architecture can do no more than assist them to\nunfold their qualities distinctly, fully, and variously; they can only\ngive them the opportunity of expressing themselves purely, so that they\nlend themselves to \u00e6sthetic contemplation and make it easier. Inferior\nbuildings or ill-favoured localities, on the contrary, which nature has\nneglected or art has spoiled, perform this task in a very slight degree or\nnot at all; yet even from them these universal, fundamental Ideas of\nnature cannot altogether disappear. To the careful observer they present\nthemselves here also, and even bad buildings and the like are capable of\nbeing \u00e6sthetically considered; the Ideas of the most universal properties\nof their materials are still recognisable in them, only the artificial\nform which has been given them does not assist but hinders \u00e6sthetic\ncontemplation. Manufactured articles also serve to express Ideas, only it\nis not the Idea of the manufactured article which speaks in them, but the\nIdea of the material to which this artificial form has been given. This\nmay be very conveniently expressed in two words, in the language of the\nschoolmen, thus,\u2014the manufactured article expresses the Idea of its _forma\nsubstantialis_, but not that of its _forma accidentalis_; the latter leads\nto no Idea, but only to a human conception of which it is the result. It\nis needless to say that by manufactured article no work of plastic art is\nmeant. The schoolmen understand, in fact, by _forma substantialis_ that\nwhich I call the grade of the objectification of will in a thing. We shall\nreturn immediately, when we treat of architecture, to the Idea of the\nmaterial. Our view, then, cannot be reconciled with that of Plato if he is\nof opinion that a table or a chair express the Idea of a table or a chair\n(De Rep., x., pp. 284, 285, et Parmen., p. 79, ed. Bip.), but we say that\nthey express the Ideas which are already expressed in their mere material\nas such. According to Aristotle (Metap. xi., chap. 3), however, Plato\nhimself only maintained Ideas of natural objects: \u1f41 \u03a0\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b5\u03c6\u03b7, \u1f41\u03c4\u03b9 \u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u03b7\n\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd \u1f41\u03c0\u03bf\u03c3\u03b1 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 (_Plato dixit, quod ide\u00e6 eorum sunt, qu\u00e6 natura sunt_),\nand in chap. 5 he says that, according to the Platonists, there are no\nIdeas of house and ring. In any case, Plato\u2019s earliest disciples, as\nAlcinous informs us (_Introductio __ in Platonicam Philosophiam_, chap.\n9), denied that there were any ideas of manufactured articles. He says:\n\u1f49\u03c1\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03b1\u03bd, \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03b1\u03b9\u03c9\u03bd\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd. \u039f\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5 \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2\n\u03c0\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf \u03a0\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9, \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03b9\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03b1\u03c2, \u03bf\u1f31\u03bf\u03bd \u03b1\u03c3\u03c0\u03b9\u03b4\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03b7 \u03bb\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c2, \u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03b7\u03bd \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd, \u03bf\u1f31\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03c5\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c7\u03bf\u03bb\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c2, \u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\n\u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, \u03bf\u1f31\u03bf\u03bd \u03a3\u03c9\u03ba\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03a0\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u1fbd \u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b5\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, \u03bf\u1f31\u03bf\u03bd\n\u03c1\u03c5\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c1\u03c6\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, \u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b9, \u03bf\u1f31\u03bf\u03bd \u03bc\u03b5\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f51\u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b5\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2; \u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9\n\u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03b1\u03c2 \u03bd\u03bf\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b1\u03b9\u03c9\u03bd\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 (_Definiunt autem_\nIDEAM _exemplar \u00e6ternum eorum, qu\u00e6 secundum naturam existunt. Nam plurimis\nex iis, qui Platonem secuti sunt, minime placuit, arte factorum ideas\nesse, ut clypei atque lyr\u00e6; neque rursus eorum, qu\u00e6 pr\u00e6tor naturam, ut\nfebris et choler\u00e6, neque particularium, ceu Socratis et Platonis; neque\netiam rerum vilium, veluti sordium et festuc\u00e6; neque relationum, ut\nmajoris et excedentis: esse namque ideas intellectiones dei \u00e6ternas, ac\nseipsis perfectas_). We may take this opportunity of mentioning another\npoint in which our doctrine of Ideas differs very much from that of Plato.\nHe teaches (De Rep., x., p. 288) that the object which art tries to\nexpress, the ideal of painting and poetry, is not the Idea but the\nparticular thing. Our whole exposition hitherto has maintained exactly the\nopposite, and Plato\u2019s opinion is the less likely to lead us astray,\ninasmuch as it is the source of one of the greatest and best known errors\nof this great man, his depreciation and rejection of art, and especially\npoetry; he directly connects his false judgment in reference to this with\nthe passage quoted.\n\n\u00a7 42. I return to the exposition of the \u00e6sthetic impression. The knowledge\nof the beautiful always supposes at once and inseparably the pure knowing\nsubject and the known Idea as object. Yet the source of \u00e6sthetic\nsatisfaction will sometimes lie more in the comprehension of the known\nIdea, sometimes more in the blessedness and spiritual peace of the pure\nknowing subject freed from all willing, and therefore from all\nindividuality, and the pain that proceeds from it. And, indeed, this\npredominance of one or the other constituent part of \u00e6sthetic feeling will\ndepend upon whether the intuitively grasped Idea is a higher or a lower\ngrade of the objectivity of will. Thus in \u00e6sthetic contemplation (in the\nreal, or through the medium of art) of the beauty of nature in the\ninorganic and vegetable worlds, or in works of architecture, the pleasure\nof pure will-less knowing will predominate, because the Ideas which are\nhere apprehended are only low grades of the objectivity of will, and are\ntherefore not manifestations of deep significance and rich content. On the\nother hand, if animals and man are the objects of \u00e6sthetic contemplation\nor representation, the pleasure will consist rather in the comprehension\nof these Ideas, which are the most distinct revelation of will; for they\nexhibit the greatest multiplicity of forms, the greatest richness and deep\nsignificance of phenomena, and reveal to us most completely the nature of\nwill, whether in its violence, its terribleness, its satisfaction or its\naberration (the latter in tragic situations), or finally in its change and\nself-surrender, which is the peculiar theme of christian painting; as the\nIdea of the will enlightened by full knowledge is the object of historical\npainting in general, and of the drama. We shall now go through the fine\narts one by one, and this will give completeness and distinctness to the\ntheory of the beautiful which we have advanced.\n\n\u00a7 43. Matter as such cannot be the expression of an Idea. For, as we found\nin the first book, it is throughout nothing but causality: its being\nconsists in its casual action. But causality is a form of the principle of\nsufficient reason; knowledge of the Idea, on the other hand, absolutely\nexcludes the content of that principle. We also found, in the second book,\nthat matter is the common substratum of all particular phenomena of the\nIdeas, and consequently is the connecting link between the Idea and the\nphenomenon, or the particular thing. Accordingly for both of these reasons\nit is impossible that matter can for itself express any Idea. This is\nconfirmed _a posteriori_ by the fact that it is impossible to have a\nperceptible idea of matter as such, but only an abstract conception; in\nthe former, _i.e._, in perceptible ideas are exhibited only the forms and\nqualities of which matter is the supporter, and in all of which Ideas\nreveal themselves. This corresponds also with the fact, that causality\n(the whole essence of matter) cannot for itself be presented perceptibly,\nbut is merely a definite casual connection. On the other hand, _every\nphenomenon_ of an Idea, because as such it has entered the form of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, or the _principium individuationis_, must\nexhibit itself in matter, as one of its qualities. So far then matter is,\nas we have said, the connecting link between the Idea and the _principium\nindividuationis_, which is the form of knowledge of the individual, or the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. Plato is therefore perfectly right in his\nenumeration, for after the Idea and the phenomenon, which include all\nother things in the world, he gives matter only, as a third thing which is\ndifferent from both (Timaus, p. 345). The individual, as a phenomenon of\nthe Idea, is always matter. Every quality of matter is also the phenomenon\nof an Idea, and as such it may always be an object of \u00e6sthetic\ncontemplation, _i.e._, the Idea expressed in it may always be recognised.\nThis holds good of even the most universal qualities of matter, without\nwhich it never appears, and which are the weakest objectivity of will.\nSuch are gravity, cohesion, rigidity, fluidity, sensitiveness to light,\nand so forth.\n\nIf now we consider _architecture_ simply as a fine art and apart from its\napplication to useful ends, in which it serves the will and not pure\nknowledge, and therefore ceases to be art in our sense; we can assign to\nit no other aim than that of bringing to greater distinctness some of\nthose ideas, which are the lowest grades of the objectivity of will; such\nas gravity, cohesion, rigidity, hardness, those universal qualities of\nstone, those first, simplest, most inarticulate manifestations of will;\nthe bass notes of nature; and after these light, which in many respects is\ntheir opposite. Even at these low grades of the objectivity of will we see\nits nature revealing itself in discord; for properly speaking the conflict\nbetween gravity and rigidity is the sole \u00e6sthetic material of\narchitecture; its problem is to make this conflict appear with perfect\ndistinctness in a multitude of different ways. It solves it by depriving\nthese indestructible forces of the shortest way to their satisfaction, and\nconducting them to it by a circuitous route, so that the conflict is\nlengthened and the inexhaustible efforts of both forces become visible in\nmany different ways. The whole mass of the building, if left to its\noriginal tendency, would exhibit a mere heap or clump, bound as closely as\npossible to the earth, to which gravity, the form in which the will\nappears here, continually presses, while rigidity, also objectivity of\nwill, resists. But this very tendency, this effort, is hindered by\narchitecture from obtaining direct satisfaction, and only allowed to reach\nit indirectly and by roundabout ways. The roof, for example, can only\npress the earth through columns, the arch must support itself, and can\nonly satisfy its tendency towards the earth through the medium of the\npillars, and so forth. But just by these enforced digressions, just by\nthese restrictions, the forces which reside in the crude mass of stone\nunfold themselves in the most distinct and multifarious ways; and the\npurely \u00e6sthetic aim of architecture can go no further than this. Therefore\nthe beauty, at any rate, of a building lies in the obvious adaptation of\nevery part, not to the outward arbitrary end of man (so far the work\nbelongs to practical architecture), but directly to the stability of the\nwhole, to which the position, dimensions, and form of every part must have\nso necessary a relation that, where it is possible, if any one part were\ntaken away, the whole would fall to pieces. For just because each part\nbears just as much as it conveniently can, and each is supported just\nwhere it requires to be and just to the necessary extent, this opposition\nunfolds itself, this conflict between rigidity and gravity, which\nconstitutes the life, the manifestation of will, in the stone, becomes\ncompletely visible, and these lowest grades of the objectivity of will\nreveal themselves distinctly. In the same way the form of each part must\nnot be determined arbitrarily, but by its end, and its relation to the\nwhole. The column is the simplest form of support, determined simply by\nits end: the twisted column is tasteless; the four-cornered pillar is in\nfact not so simple as the round column, though it happens that it is\neasier to make it. The forms also of frieze, rafter, roof, and dome are\nentirely determined by their immediate end, and explain themselves from\nit. The decoration of capitals, &c., belongs to sculpture, not to\narchitecture, which admits it merely as extraneous ornament, and could\ndispense with it. According to what has been said, it is absolutely\nnecessary, in order to understand the \u00e6sthetic satisfaction afforded by a\nwork of architecture, to have immediate knowledge through perception of\nits matter as regards its weight, rigidity, and cohesion, and our pleasure\nin such a work would suddenly be very much diminished by the discovery\nthat the material used was pumice-stone; for then it would appear to us as\na kind of sham building. We would be affected in almost the same way if we\nwere told that it was made of wood, when we had supposed it to be of\nstone, just because this alters and destroys the relation between rigidity\nand gravity, and consequently the significance and necessity of all the\nparts, for these natural forces reveal themselves in a far weaker degree\nin a wooden building. Therefore no real work of architecture as a fine art\ncan be made of wood, although it assumes all forms so easily; this can\nonly be explained by our theory. If we were distinctly told that a\nbuilding, the sight of which gave us pleasure, was made of different kinds\nof material of very unequal weight and consistency, but not\ndistinguishable to the eye, the whole building would become as utterly\nincapable of affording us pleasure as a poem in an unknown language. All\nthis proves that architecture does not affect us mathematically, but also\ndynamically, and that what speaks to us through it, is not mere form and\nsymmetry, but rather those fundamental forces of nature, those first\nIdeas, those lowest grades of the objectivity of will. The regularity of\nthe building and its parts is partly produced by the direct adaptation of\neach member to the stability of the whole, partly it serves to facilitate\nthe survey and comprehension of the whole, and finally, regular figures to\nsome extent enhance the beauty because they reveal the constitution of\nspace as such. But all this is of subordinate value and necessity, and by\nno means the chief concern; indeed, symmetry is not invariably demanded,\nas ruins are still beautiful.\n\nWorks of architecture have further quite a special relation to light; they\ngain a double beauty in the full sunshine, with the blue sky as a\nbackground, and again they have quite a different effect by moonlight.\nTherefore, when a beautiful work of architecture is to be erected, special\nattention is always paid to the effects of the light and to the climate.\nThe reason of all this is, indeed, principally that all the parts and\ntheir relations are only made clearly visible by a bright, strong light;\nbut besides this I am of opinion that it is the function of architecture\nto reveal the nature of light just as it reveals that of things so\nopposite to it as gravity and rigidity. For the light is intercepted,\nconfined, and reflected by the great opaque, sharply outlined, and\nvariously formed masses of stone, and thus it unfolds its nature and\nqualities in the purest and clearest way, to the great pleasure of the\nbeholders, for light is the most joy-giving of things, as the condition\nand the objective correlative of the most perfect kind of knowledge of\nperception.\n\nNow, because the Ideas which architecture brings to clear perception, are\nthe lowest grades of the objectivity of will, and consequently their\nobjective significance, which architecture reveals to us, is comparatively\nsmall; the \u00e6sthetic pleasure of looking at a beautiful building in a good\nlight will lie, not so much in the comprehension of the Idea, as in the\nsubjective correlative which accompanies this comprehension; it will\nconsist pre-eminently in the fact that the beholder, set free from the\nkind of knowledge that belongs to the individual, and which serves the\nwill and follows the principle of sufficient reason, is raised to that of\nthe pure subject of knowing free from will. It will consist then\nprincipally in pure contemplation itself, free from all the suffering of\nwill and of individuality. In this respect the opposite of architecture,\nand the other extreme of the series of the fine arts, is the drama, which\nbrings to knowledge the most significant Ideas. Therefore in the \u00e6sthetic\npleasure afforded by the drama the objective side is throughout\npredominant.\n\nArchitecture has this distinction from plastic art and poetry: it does not\ngive us a copy but the thing itself. It does not repeat, as they do, the\nknown Idea, so that the artist lends his eyes to the beholder, but in it\nthe artist merely presents the object to the beholder, and facilitates for\nhim the comprehension of the Idea by bringing the actual, individual\nobject to a distinct and complete expression of its nature.\n\nUnlike the works of the other arts, those of architecture are very seldom\nexecuted for purely \u00e6sthetic ends. These are generally subordinated to\nother useful ends which are foreign to art itself. Thus the great merit of\nthe architect consists in achieving and attaining the pure \u00e6sthetic ends,\nin spite of their subordination to other ends which are foreign to them.\nThis he does by cleverly adapting them in a variety of ways to the\narbitrary ends in view, and by rightly judging which form of \u00e6sthetical\narchitectonic beauty is compatible and may be associated with a temple,\nwhich with a palace, which with a prison, and so forth. The more a harsh\nclimate increases these demands of necessity and utility, determines them\ndefinitely, and prescribes them more inevitably, the less free play has\nbeauty in architecture. In the mild climate of India, Egypt, Greece, and\nRome, where the demands of necessity were fewer and less definite,\narchitecture could follow its \u00e6sthetic ends with the greatest freedom. But\nunder a northern sky this was sorely hindered. Here, when caissons,\npointed roofs and towers were what was demanded, architecture could only\nunfold its own beauty within very narrow limits, and therefore it was\nobliged to make amends by resorting all the more to the borrowed ornaments\nof sculpture, as is seen in Gothic architecture.\n\nWe thus see that architecture is greatly restricted by the demands of\nnecessity and utility; but on the other hand it has in them a very\npowerful support, for, on account of the magnitude and costliness of its\nworks, and the narrow sphere of its \u00e6sthetic effect, it could not continue\nto exist merely as a fine art, if it had not also, as a useful and\nnecessary profession, a firm and honourable place among the occupations of\nmen. It is the want of this that prevents another art from taking its\nplace beside architecture as a sister art, although in an \u00e6sthetical point\nof view it is quite properly to be classed along with it as its\ncounterpart; I mean artistic arrangements of water. For what architecture\naccomplishes for the Idea of gravity when it appears in connection with\nthat of rigidity, hydraulics accomplishes for the same Idea, when it is\nconnected with fluidity, _i.e._, formlessness, the greatest mobility and\ntransparency. Leaping waterfalls foaming and tumbling over rocks,\ncataracts dispersed into floating spray, springs gushing up as high\ncolumns of water, and clear reflecting lakes, reveal the Ideas of fluid\nand heavy matter, in precisely the same way as the works of architecture\nunfold the Ideas of rigid matter. Artistic hydraulics, however, obtains no\nsupport from practical hydraulics, for, as a rule, their ends cannot be\ncombined; yet, in exceptional cases, this happens; for example, in the\nCascata di Trevi at Rome.(52)\n\n\u00a7 44. What the two arts we have spoken of accomplish for these lowest\ngrades of the objectivity of will, is performed for the higher grades of\nvegetable nature by artistic horticulture. The landscape beauty of a scene\nconsists, for the most part, in the multiplicity of natural objects which\nare present in it, and then in the fact that they are clearly separated,\nappear distinctly, and yet exhibit a fitting connection and alternation.\nThese two conditions are assisted and promoted by landscape-gardening, but\nit has by no means such a mastery over its material as architecture, and\ntherefore its effect is limited. The beauty with which it is concerned\nbelongs almost exclusively to nature; it has done little for it; and, on\nthe other hand, it can do little against unfavourable nature, and when\nnature works, not for it, but against it, its achievements are small.\n\nThe vegetable world offers itself everywhere for \u00e6sthetic enjoyment\nwithout the medium of art; but so far as it is an object of art, it\nbelongs principally to landscape-painting; to the province of which all\nthe rest of unconscious nature also belongs. In paintings of still life,\nand of mere architecture, ruins, interiors of churches, &c., the\nsubjective side of \u00e6sthetic pleasure is predominant, _i.e._, our\nsatisfaction does not lie principally in the direct comprehension of the\nrepresented Ideas, but rather in the subjective correlative of this\ncomprehension, pure, will-less knowing. For, because the painter lets us\nsee these things through his eyes, we at once receive a sympathetic and\nreflected sense of the deep spiritual peace and absolute silence of the\nwill, which were necessary in order to enter with knowledge so entirely\ninto these lifeless objects, and comprehend them with such love, _i.e._,\nin this case with such a degree of objectivity. The effect of\nlandscape-painting proper is indeed, as a whole, of this kind; but because\nthe Ideas expressed are more distinct and significant, as higher grades of\nthe objectivity of will, the objective side of \u00e6sthetic pleasure already\ncomes more to the front and assumes as much importance as the subjective\nside. Pure knowing as such is no longer the paramount consideration, for\nwe are equally affected by the known Platonic Idea, the world as idea at\nan important grade of the objectification of will.\n\nBut a far higher grade is revealed by animal painting and sculpture. Of\nthe latter we have some important antique remains; for example, horses at\nVenice, on Monte Cavallo, and on the Elgin Marbles, also at Florence in\nbronze and marble; the ancient boar, howling wolves, the lions in the\narsenal at Venice, also in the Vatican a whole room almost filled with\nancient animals, &c. In these representations the objective side of\n\u00e6sthetic pleasure obtains a marked predominance over the subjective. The\npeace of the subject which knows these Ideas, which has silenced its own\nwill, is indeed present, as it is in all \u00e6sthetic contemplation; but its\neffect is not felt, for we are occupied with the restlessness and\nimpetuosity of the will represented. It is that very will, which\nconstitutes our own nature, that here appears to us in forms, in which its\nmanifestation is not, as in us, controlled and tempered by intellect, but\nexhibits itself in stronger traits, and with a distinctness that borders\non the grotesque and monstrous. For this very reason there is no\nconcealment; it is free, na\u00efve, open as the day, and this is the cause of\nour interest in animals. The characteristics of species appeared already\nin the representation of plants, but showed itself only in the forms; here\nit becomes much more distinct, and expresses itself not only in the form,\nbut in the action, position, and mien, yet always merely as the character\nof the species, not of the individual. This knowledge of the Ideas of\nhigher grades, which in painting we receive through extraneous means, we\nmay gain directly by the pure contemplative perception of plants, and\nobservation of beasts, and indeed of the latter in their free, natural,\nand unrestrained state. The objective contemplation of their manifold and\nmarvellous forms, and of their actions and behaviour, is an instructive\nlesson from the great book of nature, it is a deciphering of the true\n_signatura rerum_.(53) We see in them the manifold grades and modes of the\nmanifestation of will, which in all beings of one and the same grade,\nwills always in the same way, which objectifies itself as life, as\nexistence in such endless variety, and such different forms, which are all\nadaptations to the different external circumstances, and may be compared\nto many variations on the same theme. But if we had to communicate to the\nobserver, for reflection, and in a word, the explanation of their inner\nnature, it would be best to make use of that Sanscrit formula which occurs\nso often in the sacred books of the Hindoos, and is called Mahavakya,\ni.e., the great word: \u201c_Tat twam asi_,\u201d which means, \u201cthis living thing\nart thou.\u201d\n\n\u00a7 45. The great problem of historical painting and sculpture is to express\ndirectly and for perception the Idea in which the will reaches the highest\ngrade of its objectification. The objective side of the pleasure afforded\nby the beautiful is here always predominant, and the subjective side has\nretired into the background. It is further to be observed that at the next\ngrade below this, animal painting, the characteristic is entirely one with\nthe beautiful; the most characteristic lion, wolf, horse, sheep, or ox,\nwas always the most beautiful also. The reason of this is that animals\nhave only the character of their species, no individual character. In the\nrepresentation of men the character of the species is separated from that\nof the individual; the former is now called beauty (entirely in the\nobjective sense), but the latter retains the name, character, or\nexpression, and the new difficulty arises of representing both, at once\nand completely, in the same individual.\n\n_Human beauty_ is an objective expression, which means the fullest\nobjectification of will at the highest grade at which it is knowable, the\nIdea of man in general, completely expressed in the sensible form. But\nhowever much the objective side of the beautiful appears here, the\nsubjective side still always accompanies it. And just because no object\ntransports us so quickly into pure \u00e6sthetic contemplation, as the most\nbeautiful human countenance and form, at the sight of which we are\ninstantly filled with unspeakable satisfaction, and raised above ourselves\nand all that troubles us; this is only possible because this most distinct\nand purest knowledge of will raises us most easily and quickly to the\nstate of pure knowing, in which our personality, our will with its\nconstant pain, disappears, so long as the pure \u00e6sthetic pleasure lasts.\nTherefore it is that Goethe says: \u201cNo evil can touch him who looks on\nhuman beauty; he feels himself at one with himself and with the world.\u201d\nThat a beautiful human form is produced by nature must be explained in\nthis way. At this its highest grade the will objectifies itself in an\nindividual; and therefore through circumstances and its own power it\ncompletely overcomes all the hindrances and opposition which the phenomena\nof the lower grades present to it. Such are the forces of nature, from\nwhich the will must always first extort and win back the matter that\nbelongs to all its manifestations. Further, the phenomenon of will at its\nhigher grades always has multiplicity in its form. Even the tree is only a\nsystematic aggregate of innumerably repeated sprouting fibres. This\ncombination assumes greater complexity in higher forms, and the human body\nis an exceedingly complex system of different parts, each of which has a\npeculiar life of its own, _vita propria_, subordinate to the whole. Now\nthat all these parts are in the proper fashion subordinate to the whole,\nand co-ordinate to each other, that they all work together harmoniously\nfor the expression of the whole, nothing superfluous, nothing restricted;\nall these are the rare conditions, whose result is beauty, the completely\nexpressed character of the species. So is it in nature. But how in art?\nOne would suppose that art achieved the beautiful by imitating nature. But\nhow is the artist to recognise the perfect work which is to be imitated,\nand distinguish it from the failures, if he does not anticipate the\nbeautiful _before experience_? And besides this, has nature ever produced\na human being perfectly beautiful in all his parts? It has accordingly\nbeen thought that the artist must seek out the beautiful parts,\ndistributed among a number of different human beings, and out of them\nconstruct a beautiful whole; a perverse and foolish opinion. For it will\nbe asked, how is he to know that just these forms and not others are\nbeautiful? We also see what kind of success attended the efforts of the\nold German painters to achieve the beautiful by imitating nature. Observe\ntheir naked figures. No knowledge of the beautiful is possible purely _a\nposteriori_, and from mere experience; it is always, at least in part, _a\npriori_, although quite different in kind, from the forms of the principle\nof sufficient reason, of which we are conscious _a priori_. These concern\nthe universal form of phenomena as such, as it constitutes the possibility\nof knowledge in general, the universal _how_ of all phenomena, and from\nthis knowledge proceed mathematics and pure natural science. But this\nother kind of knowledge _a priori_, which makes it possible to express the\nbeautiful, concerns, not the form but the content of phenomena, not the\n_how_ but the _what_ of the phenomenon. That we all recognise human beauty\nwhen we see it, but that in the true artist this takes place with such\nclearness that he shows it as he has never seen it, and surpasses nature\nin his representation; this is only possible because _we ourselves are_\nthe will whose adequate objectification at its highest grade is here to be\njudged and discovered. Thus alone have we in fact an anticipation of that\nwhich nature (which is just the will that constitutes our own being)\nstrives to express. And in the true genius this anticipation is\naccompanied by so great a degree of intelligence that he recognises the\nIdea in the particular thing, and thus, as it were, _understands the\nhalf-uttered speech of nature_, and articulates clearly what she only\nstammered forth. He expresses in the hard marble that beauty of form which\nin a thousand attempts she failed to produce, he presents it to nature,\nsaying, as it were, to her, \u201cThat is what you wanted to say!\u201d And whoever\nis able to judge replies, \u201cYes, that is it.\u201d Only in this way was it\npossible for the genius of the Greeks to find the type of human beauty and\nestablish it as a canon for the school of sculpture; and only by virtue of\nsuch an anticipation is it possible for all of us to recognise beauty,\nwhen it has actually been achieved by nature in the particular case. This\nanticipation is the _Ideal_. It is the _Idea_ so far as it is known _a\npriori_, at least half, and it becomes practical for art, because it\ncorresponds to and completes what is given _a posteriori_ through nature.\nThe possibility of such an anticipation of the beautiful _a priori_ in the\nartist, and of its recognition _a posteriori_ by the critic, lies in the\nfact that the artist and the critic are themselves the \u201cin-itself\u201d of\nnature, the will which objectifies itself. For, as Empedocles said, like\ncan only be known by like: only nature can understand itself: only nature\ncan fathom itself: but only spirit also can understand spirit.(54)\n\nThe opinion, which is absurd, although expressed by the Socrates of\nXenophon (Stob\u00e6i Floril, vol. ii. p. 384) that the Greeks discovered the\nestablished ideal of human beauty empirically, by collecting particular\nbeautiful parts, uncovering and noting here a knee, there an arm, has an\nexact parallel in the art of poetry. The view is entertained, that\nShakespeare, for example, observed, and then gave forth from his own\nexperience of life, the innumerable variety of the characters in his\ndramas, so true, so sustained, so profoundly worked out. The impossibility\nand absurdity of such an assumption need not be dwelt upon. It is obvious\nthat the man of genius produces the works of poetic art by means of an\nanticipation of what is characteristic, just as he produces the works of\nplastic and pictorial art by means of a prophetic anticipation of the\nbeautiful; yet both require experience as a pattern or model, for thus\nalone can that which is dimly known _a priori_ be called into clear\nconsciousness, and an intelligent representation of it becomes possible.\n\nHuman beauty was explained above as the fullest objectification of will at\nthe highest grade at which it is knowable. It expresses itself through the\nform; and this lies in space alone, and has no necessary connection with\ntime, as, for example, motion has. Thus far then we may say: the adequate\nobjectification of will through a merely spatial phenomenon is beauty, in\nthe objective sense. A plant is nothing but such a merely spatial\nphenomenon of will; for no motion, and consequently no relation to time\n(regarded apart from its development), belongs to the expression of its\nnature; its mere form expresses its whole being and displays it openly.\nBut brutes and men require, further, for the full revelation of the will\nwhich is manifested in them, a series of actions, and thus the\nmanifestation in them takes on a direct relation to time. All this has\nalready been explained in the preceding book; it is related to what we are\nconsidering at present in the following way. As the merely spatial\nmanifestation of will can objectify it fully or defectively at each\ndefinite grade,\u2014and it is this which constitutes beauty or ugliness,\u2014so\nthe temporal objectification of will, _i.e._, the action, and indeed the\ndirect action, the movement, may correspond to the will, which objectifies\nitself in it, purely and fully without foreign admixture, without\nsuperfluity, without defect, only expressing exactly the act of will\ndetermined in each case;\u2014or the converse of all this may occur. In the\nfirst case the movement is made with _grace_, in the second case without\nit. Thus as beauty is the adequate representation of will generally,\nthrough its merely spatial manifestation; _grace_ is the adequate\nrepresentation of will through its temporal manifestation, that is to say,\nthe perfectly accurate and fitting expression of each act of will, through\nthe movement and position which objectify it. Since movement and position\npresuppose the body, Winckelmann\u2019s expression is very true and suitable,\nwhen he says, \u201cGrace is the proper relation of the acting person to the\naction\u201d (Works, vol. i. p. 258). It is thus evident that beauty may be\nattributed to a plant, but no grace, unless in a figurative sense; but to\nbrutes and men, both beauty and grace. Grace consists, according to what\nhas been said, in every movement being performed, and every position\nassumed, in the easiest, most appropriate and convenient way, and\ntherefore being the pure, adequate expression of its intention, or of the\nact of will, without any superfluity, which exhibits itself as aimless,\nmeaningless bustle, or as wooden stiffness. Grace presupposes as its\ncondition a true proportion of all the limbs, and a symmetrical,\nharmonious figure; for complete ease and evident appropriateness of all\npositions and movements are only possible by means of these. Grace is\ntherefore never without a certain degree of beauty of person. The two,\ncomplete and united, are the most distinct manifestation of will at the\nhighest grade of its objectification.\n\nIt was mentioned above that in order rightly to portray man, it is\nnecessary to separate the character of the species from that of the\nindividual, so that to a certain extent every man expresses an Idea\npeculiar to himself, as was said in the last book. Therefore the arts\nwhose aim is the representation of the Idea of man, have as their problem,\nnot only beauty, the character of the species, but also the character of\nthe individual, which is called, _par excellence_, _character_. But this\nis only the case in so far as this character is to be regarded, not as\nsomething accidental and quite peculiar to the man as a single individual,\nbut as a side of the Idea of humanity which is specially apparent in this\nindividual, and the representation of which is therefore of assistance in\nrevealing this Idea. Thus the character, although as such it is\nindividual, must yet be Ideal, that is, its significance in relation to\nthe Idea of humanity generally (the objectifying of which it assists in\nits own way) must be comprehended and expressed with special prominence.\nApart from this the representation is a portrait, a copy of the individual\nas such, with all his accidental qualities. And even the portrait ought to\nbe, as Winckelmann says, the ideal of the individual.\n\nThat _character_ which is to be ideally comprehended, as the prominence of\na special side of the Idea of humanity, expresses itself visibly, partly\nthrough permanent physiognomy and bodily form, partly through passing\nemotion and passion, the reciprocal modification of knowing and willing by\neach other, which is all exhibited in the mien and movements. Since the\nindividual always belongs to humanity, and, on the other hand, humanity\nalways reveals itself in the individual with what is indeed peculiar ideal\nsignificance, beauty must not be destroyed by character nor character by\nbeauty. For if the character of the species is annulled by that of the\nindividual, the result is caricature; and if the character of the\nindividual is annulled by that of the species, the result is an absence of\nmeaning. Therefore the representation which aims at beauty, as sculpture\nprincipally does, will yet always modify this (the character of the\nspecies), in some respect, by the individual character, and will always\nexpress the Idea of man in a definite individual manner, giving prominence\nto a special side of it. For the human individual as such has to a certain\nextent the dignity of a special Idea, and it is essential to the Idea of\nman that it should express itself in individuals of special significance.\nTherefore we find in the works of the ancients, that the beauty distinctly\ncomprehended by them, is not expressed in one form, but in many forms of\ndifferent character. It is always apprehended, as it were, from a\ndifferent side, and expressed in one way in Apollo, in another way in\nBacchus, in another in Hercules, in another in Antinous; indeed the\ncharacteristic may limit the beautiful, and finally extend even to\nhideousness, in the drunken Silenus, in the Faun, &c. If the\ncharacteristic goes so far as actually to annul the character of the\nspecies, if it extends to the unnatural, it becomes caricature. But we can\nfar less afford to allow grace to be interfered with by what is\ncharacteristic than even beauty, for graceful position and movement are\ndemanded for the expression of the character also; but yet it must be\nachieved in the way which is most fitting, appropriate, and easy for the\nperson. This will be observed, not only by the sculptor and the painter,\nbut also by every good actor; otherwise caricature will appear here also\nas grimace or distortion.\n\nIn sculpture, beauty and grace are the principal concern. The special\ncharacter of the mind, appearing in emotion, passion, alternations of\nknowing and willing, which can only be represented by the expression of\nthe countenance and the gestures, is the peculiar sphere of _painting_.\nFor although eyes and colour, which lie outside the province of sculpture,\ncontribute much to beauty, they are yet far more essential to character.\nFurther, beauty unfolds itself more completely when it is contemplated\nfrom various points of view; but the expression, the character, can only\nbe completely comprehended from _one_ point of view.\n\nBecause beauty is obviously the chief aim of sculpture, Lessing tried to\nexplain the fact that the _Laocoon does not cry out_, by saying that\ncrying out is incompatible with beauty. The Laocoon formed for Lessing the\ntheme, or at least the text of a work of his own, and both before and\nafter him a great deal has been written on the subject. I may therefore be\nallowed to express my views about it in passing, although so special a\ndiscussion does not properly belong to the scheme of this work, which is\nthroughout concerned with what is general.\n\n\u00a7 46. That Laocoon, in the celebrated group, does not cry out is obvious,\nand the universal and ever-renewed surprise at this must be occasioned by\nthe fact that any of us would cry out if we were in his place. And nature\ndemands that it should be so; for in the case of the acutest physical\npain, and the sudden seizure by the greatest bodily fear, all reflection,\nthat might have inculcated silent endurance, is entirely expelled from\nconsciousness, and nature relieves itself by crying out, thus expressing\nboth the pain and the fear, summoning the deliverer and terrifying the\nassailer. Thus Winckelmann missed the expression of crying out; but as he\nwished to justify the artist he turned Laocoon into a Stoic, who\nconsidered it beneath his dignity to cry out _secundum naturam_, but added\nto his pain the useless constraint of suppressing all utterance of it.\nWinckelmann therefore sees in him \u201cthe tried spirit of a great man, who\nwrithes in agony, and yet seeks to suppress the utterance of his feeling,\nand to lock it up in himself. He does not break forth into loud cries, as\nin Virgil, but only anxious sighs escape him,\u201d &c. (Works, vol. vii. p.\n98, and at greater length in vol. vi. p. 104). Now Lessing criticised this\nopinion of Winckelmann\u2019s in his Laocoon, and improved it in the way\nmentioned above. In place of the psychological he gave the purely \u00e6sthetic\nreason that beauty, the principle of ancient art, does not admit of the\nexpression of crying out. Another argument which he added to this, that a\nmerely passing state incapable of duration ought not to be represented in\nmotionless works of art, has a hundred examples of most excellent figures\nagainst it, which are fixed in merely transitory movements, dancing,\nwrestling, catching, &c. Indeed Goethe, in the essay on the Laocoon, which\nopens the Propylaen (p. 8), holds that the choice of such a merely\nfleeting movement is absolutely necessary. In our own day Hirt (Horen,\n1797, tenth St.) finally decided the point, deducing everything from the\nhighest truth of expression, that Laocoon does not cry out, because he can\nno longer do so, as he is at the point of death from choking. Lastly,\nFernow (\u201cR\u00f6mische Studien,\u201d vol. i. p. 246) expounded and weighed all\nthese opinions; he added, however, no new one of his own, but combined\nthese three eclectically.\n\nI cannot but wonder that such thoughtful and acute men should laboriously\nbring far-fetched and insufficient reasons, should resort to psychological\nand physiological arguments, to explain a matter the reason of which lies\nso near at hand, and is obvious at once to the unprejudiced; and\nespecially I wonder that Lessing, who came so near the true explanation,\nshould yet have entirely missed the real point.\n\nBefore all psychological and physiological inquiries as to whether Laocoon\nwould cry out in his position or not (and I certainly affirm that he\nwould), it must be decided as regards the group in question, that crying\nout ought not to be expressed in it, for the simple reason that its\nexpression lies quite outside the province of sculpture. A shrieking\nLaocoon could not be produced in marble, but only a figure with the mouth\nopen vainly endeavouring to shriek; a Laocoon whose voice has stuck in his\nthroat, _vox faucibus haesit_. The essence of shrieking, and consequently\nits effect upon the onlooker, lies entirely in sound; not in the\ndistortion of the mouth. This phenomenon, which necessarily accompanies\nshrieking, derives motive and justification only from the sound produced\nby means of it; then it is permissible and indeed necessary, as\ncharacteristic of the action, even though it interferes with beauty. But\nin plastic art, to which the representation of shrieking is quite foreign\nand impossible, it would be actual folly to represent the medium of\nviolent shrieking, the distorted mouth, which would disturb all the\nfeatures and the remainder of the expression; for thus at the sacrifice of\nmany other things the means would be represented, while its end, the\nshrieking itself, and its effect upon our feelings, would be left out. Nay\nmore, there would be produced the spectacle of a continuous effort without\neffect, which is always ridiculous, and may really be compared to what\nhappened when some one for a joke stopped the horn of a night watchman\nwith wax while he was asleep, and then awoke him with the cry of fire, and\namused himself by watching his vain endeavours to blow the horn. When, on\nthe other hand, the expression of shrieking lies in the province of poetic\nor histrionic art, it is quite admissible, because it helps to express the\ntruth, _i.e._, the complete expression of the Idea. Thus it is with\npoetry, which claims the assistance of the imagination of the reader, in\norder to enable it to represent things perceptibly. Therefore Virgil makes\nLaocoon cry out like the bellowing of an ox that has broken loose after\nbeing struck by the axe; and Homer (Il. xx. 48-53) makes Mars and Minerva\nshriek horribly, without derogating from their divine dignity or beauty.\nThe same with acting; Laocoon on the stage would certainly have to shriek.\nSophocles makes Philoctetus cry out, and, on the ancient stage at any\nrate, he must actually have done so. As a case in point, I remember having\nseen in London the great actor Kemble play in a piece called Pizarro,\ntranslated from the German. He took the part of the American, a\nhalf-savage, but of very noble character. When he was wounded he cried out\nloudly and wildly, which had a great and admirable effect, for it was\nexceedingly characteristic and therefore assisted the truth of the\nrepresentation very much. On the other hand, a painted or sculptured model\nof a man shrieking, would be much more absurd than the painted music which\nis censured in Goethe\u2019s Propylaen. For shrieking does far more injury to\nthe expression and beauty of the whole than music, which at the most only\noccupies the hands and arms, and is to be looked upon as an occupation\ncharacteristic of the person; indeed thus far it may quite rightly be\npainted, as long as it demands no violent movement of the body, or\ndistortion of the mouth: for example, St. Cecilia at the organ, Raphael\u2019s\nviolin-player in the Sciarra Gallery at Rome, and others. Since then, on\naccount of the limits of the art, the pain of Laocoon must not be\nexpressed by shrieking, the artist was obliged to employ every other\nexpression of pain; this he has done in the most perfect manner, as is\nably described by Winckelmann (Works, vol. vi. p. 104), whose admirable\naccount thus retains its full value and truth, as soon as we abstract from\nthe stoical view which underlies it.(55)\n\n\u00a7 47. Because beauty accompanied with grace is the principal object of\nsculpture, it loves nakedness, and allows clothing only so far as it does\nnot conceal the form. It makes use of drapery, not as a covering, but as a\nmeans of exhibiting the form, a method of exposition that gives much\nexercise to the understanding, for it can only arrive at a perception of\nthe cause, the form of the body, through the only directly given effect,\nthe drapery. Thus to a certain extent drapery is in sculpture what\nfore-shortening is in painting. Both are suggestions, yet not symbolical,\nbut such that, if they are successful, they force the understanding\ndirectly to perceive what is suggested, just as if it were actually given.\n\nI may be allowed, in passing, to insert here a comparison that is very\npertinent to the arts we are discussing. It is this: as the beautiful\nbodily form is seen to the greatest advantage when clothed in the lightest\nway, or indeed without any clothing at all, and therefore a very handsome\nman, if he had also taste and the courage to follow it, would go about\nalmost naked, clothed only after the manner of the ancients; so every one\nwho possesses a beautiful and rich mind will always express himself in the\nmost natural, direct, and simple way, concerned, if it be possible, to\ncommunicate his thoughts to others, and thus relieve the loneliness that\nhe must feel in such a world as this. And conversely, poverty of mind,\nconfusion, and perversity of thought, will clothe itself in the most\nfar-fetched expressions and the obscurest forms of speech, in order to\nwrap up in difficult and pompous phraseology small, trifling, insipid, or\ncommonplace thoughts; like a man who has lost the majesty of beauty, and\ntrying to make up for the deficiency by means of clothing, seeks to hide\nthe insignificance or ugliness of his person under barbaric finery,\ntinsel, feathers, ruffles, cuffs, and mantles. Many an author, if\ncompelled to translate his pompous and obscure book into its little clear\ncontent, would be as utterly spoilt as this man if he had to go naked.\n\n\u00a7 48. _Historical painting_ has for its principal object, besides beauty\nand grace, character. By character we mean generally, the representation\nof will at the highest grade of its objectification, when the individual,\nas giving prominence to a particular side of the Idea of humanity, has\nspecial significance, and shows this not merely by his form, but makes it\nvisible in his bearing and occupation, by action of every kind, and the\nmodifications of knowing and willing that occasion and accompany it. The\nIdea of man must be exhibited in these circumstances, and therefore the\nunfolding of its many-sidedness must be brought before our eyes by means\nof representative individuals, and these individuals can only be made\nvisible in their significance through various scenes, events, and actions.\nThis is the endless problem of the historical painter, and he solves it by\nplacing before us scenes of life of every kind, of greater or less\nsignificance. No individual and no action can be without significance; in\nall and through all the Idea of man unfolds itself more and more.\nTherefore no event of human life is excluded from the sphere of painting.\nIt is thus a great injustice to the excellent painters of the Dutch\nschool, to prize merely their technical skill, and to look down upon them\nin other respects, because, for the most part, they represent objects of\ncommon life, whereas it is assumed that only the events of the history of\nthe world, or the incidents of biblical story, have significance. We ought\nfirst to bethink ourselves that the inward significance of an action is\nquite different from its outward significance, and that these are often\nseparated from each other. The outward significance is the importance of\nan action in relation to its result for and in the actual world; thus\naccording to the principle of sufficient reason. The inward significance\nis the depth of the insight into the Idea of man which it reveals, in that\nit brings to light sides of that Idea which rarely appear, by making\nindividuals who assert themselves distinctly and decidedly, disclose their\npeculiar characteristics by means of appropriately arranged circumstances.\nOnly the inward significance concerns art; the outward belongs to history.\nThey are both completely independent of each other; they may appear\ntogether, but may each appear alone. An action which is of the highest\nsignificance for history may in inward significance be a very ordinary and\ncommon one; and conversely, a scene of ordinary daily life may be of great\ninward significance, if human individuals, and the inmost recesses of\nhuman action and will, appear in it in a clear and distinct light.\nFurther, the outward and the inward significance of a scene may be equal\nand yet very different. Thus, for example, it is all the same, as far as\ninward significance is concerned, whether ministers discuss the fate of\ncountries and nations over a map, or boors wrangle in a beer-house over\ncards and dice, just as it is all the same whether we play chess with\ngolden or wooden pieces. But apart from this, the scenes and events that\nmake up the life of so many millions of men, their actions, their sorrows,\ntheir joys, are on that account important enough to be the object of art,\nand by their rich variety they must afford material enough for unfolding\nthe many-sided Idea of man. Indeed the very transitoriness of the moment\nwhich art has fixed in such a picture (now called _genre_-painting)\nexcites a slight and peculiar sensation; for to fix the fleeting,\never-changing world in the enduring picture of a single event, which yet\nrepresents the whole, is an achievement of the art of painting by which it\nseems to bring time itself to a standstill, for it raises the individual\nto the Idea of its species. Finally, the historical and outwardly\nsignificant subjects of painting have often the disadvantage that just\nwhat is significant in them cannot be presented to perception, but must be\narrived at by thought. In this respect the nominal significance of the\npicture must be distinguished from its real significance. The former is\nthe outward significance, which, however, can only be reached as a\nconception; the latter is that side of the Idea of man which is made\nvisible to the onlooker in the picture. For example, Moses found by the\nEgyptian princess is the nominal significance of a painting; it represents\na moment of the greatest importance in history; the real significance, on\nthe other hand, that which is really given to the onlooker, is a foundling\nchild rescued from its floating cradle by a great lady, an incident which\nmay have happened more than once. The costume alone can here indicate the\nparticular historical case to the learned; but the costume is only of\nimportance to the nominal significance, and is a matter of indifference to\nthe real significance; for the latter knows only the human being as such,\nnot the arbitrary forms. Subjects taken from history have no advantage\nover those which are taken from mere possibility, and which are therefore\nto be called, not individual, but merely general. For what is peculiarly\nsignificant in the former is not the individual, not the particular event\nas such, but the universal in it, the side of the Idea of humanity which\nexpresses itself through it. But, on the other hand, definite historical\nsubjects are not on this account to be rejected, only the really artistic\nview of such subjects, both in the painter and in the beholder, is never\ndirected to the individual particulars in them, which properly constitute\nthe historical, but to the universal which expresses itself in them, to\nthe Idea. And only those historical subjects are to be chosen the chief\npoint of which can actually be represented, and not merely arrived at by\nthought, otherwise the nominal significance is too remote from the real;\nwhat is merely thought in connection with the picture becomes of most\nimportance, and interferes with what is perceived. If even on the stage it\nis not right that the chief incident of the plot should take place behind\nthe scenes (as in French tragedies), it is clearly a far greater fault in\na picture. Historical subjects are distinctly disadvantageous only when\nthey confine the painter to a field which has not been chosen for artistic\nbut for other reasons, and especially when this field is poor in\npicturesque and significant objects\u2014if, for example, it is the history of\na small, isolated, capricious, hierarchical (_i.e._, ruled by error),\nobscure people, like the Jews, despised by the great contemporary nations\nof the East and the West. Since the wandering of the tribes lies between\nus and all ancient nations, as the change of the bed of the ocean lies\nbetween the earth\u2019s surface as it is to-day and as it was when those\norganisations existed which we only know from fossil remains, it is to be\nregarded generally as a great misfortune that the people whose culture was\nto be the principal basis of our own were not the Indians or the Greeks,\nor even the Romans, but these very Jews. But it was especially a great\nmisfortune for the Italian painters of genius in the fifteenth and\nsixteenth centuries that, in the narrow sphere to which they were\narbitrarily driven for the choice of subjects, they were obliged to have\nrecourse to miserable beings of every kind. For the New Testament, as\nregards its historical part, is almost more unsuitable for painting than\nthe Old, and the subsequent history of martyrs and doctors of the church\nis a very unfortunate subject. Yet of the pictures, whose subject is the\nhistory or mythology of Judaism and Christianity, we must carefully\ndistinguish those in which the peculiar, _i.e._, the ethical spirit of\nChristianity is revealed for perception, by the representation of men who\nare full of this spirit. These representations are in fact the highest and\nmost admirable achievements of the art of painting; and only the greatest\nmasters of this art succeeded in this, particularly Raphael and Correggio,\nand especially in their earlier pictures. Pictures of this kind are not\nproperly to be classed as historical: for, as a rule, they represent no\nevent, no action; but are merely groups of saints, with the Saviour\nhimself, often still a child, with His mother, angels, &c. In their\ncountenances, and especially in the eyes, we see the expression, the\nreflection, of the completest knowledge, that which is not directed to\nparticular things, but has fully grasped the Ideas, and thus the whole\nnature of the world and life. And this knowledge in them, reacting upon\nthe will, does not, like other knowledge, convey _motives_ to it, but on\nthe contrary has become a _quieter_ of all will, from which proceeded the\ncomplete resignation, which is the innermost spirit of Christianity, as of\nthe Indian philosophy; the surrender of all volition, conversion, the\nsuppression of will, and with it of the whole inner being of this world,\nthat is to say, salvation. Thus these masters of art, worthy of eternal\npraise, expressed perceptibly in their works the highest wisdom. And this\nis the summit of all art. It has followed the will in its adequate\nobjectivity, the Ideas, through all its grades, in which it is affected\nand its nature unfolded in so many ways, first by causes, then by stimuli,\nand finally by motives. And now art ends with the representation of the\nfree self-suppression of will, by means of the great peace which it gains\nfrom the perfect knowledge of its own nature.(56)\n\n\u00a7 49. The truth which lies at the foundation of all that we have hitherto\nsaid about art, is that the object of art, the representation of which is\nthe aim of the artist, and the knowledge of which must therefore precede\nhis work as its germ and source, is an Idea in Plato\u2019s sense, and never\nanything else; not the particular thing, the object of common\napprehension, and not the concept, the object of rational thought and of\nscience. Although the Idea and the concept have something in common,\nbecause both represent as unity a multiplicity of real things; yet the\ngreat difference between them has no doubt been made clear and evident\nenough by what we have said about concepts in the first book, and about\nIdeas in this book. I by no means wish to assert, however, that Plato\nreally distinctly comprehended this difference; indeed many of his\nexamples of Ideas, and his discussions of them, are applicable only to\nconcepts. Meanwhile we leave this question alone and go on our own way,\nglad when we come upon traces of any great and noble mind, yet not\nfollowing his footsteps but our own aim. The _concept_ is abstract,\ndiscursive, undetermined within its own sphere, only determined by its\nlimits, attainable and comprehensible by him who has only reason,\ncommunicable by words without any other assistance, entirely exhausted by\nits definition. The _Idea_ on the contrary, although defined as the\nadequate representative of the concept, is always object of perception,\nand although representing an infinite number of particular things, is yet\nthoroughly determined. It is never known by the individual as such, but\nonly by him who has raised himself above all willing and all individuality\nto the pure subject of knowing. Thus it is only attainable by the man of\ngenius, and by him who, for the most part through the assistance of the\nworks of genius, has reached an exalted frame of mind, by increasing his\npower of pure knowing. It is therefore not absolutely but only\nconditionally communicable, because the Idea, comprehended and repeated in\nthe work of art, appeals to every one only according to the measure of his\nown intellectual worth. So that just the most excellent works of every\nart, the noblest productions of genius, must always remain sealed books to\nthe dull majority of men, inaccessible to them, separated from them by a\nwide gulf, just as the society of princes is inaccessible to the common\npeople. It is true that even the dullest of them accept on authority\nrecognisedly great works, lest otherwise they should argue their own\nincompetence; but they wait in silence, always ready to express their\ncondemnation, as soon as they are allowed to hope that they may do so\nwithout being left to stand alone; and then their long-restrained hatred\nagainst all that is great and beautiful, and against the authors of it,\ngladly relieves itself; for such things never appealed to them, and for\nthat very reason were humiliating to them. For as a rule a man must have\nworth in himself in order to recognise it and believe in it willingly and\nfreely in others. On this rests the necessity of modesty in all merit, and\nthe disproportionately loud praise of this virtue, which alone of all its\nsisters is always included in the eulogy of every one who ventures to\npraise any distinguished man, in order to appease and quiet the wrath of\nthe unworthy. What then is modesty but hypocritical humility, by means of\nwhich, in a world swelling with base envy, a man seeks to obtain pardon\nfor excellences and merits from those who have none? For whoever\nattributes to himself no merits, because he actually has none, is not\nmodest but merely honest.\n\nThe _Idea_ is the unity that falls into multiplicity on account of the\ntemporal and spatial form of our intuitive apprehension; the _concept_, on\nthe contrary, is the unity reconstructed out of multiplicity by the\nabstraction of our reason; the latter may be defined as _unitas post rem_,\nthe former as _unitas ante rem_. Finally, we may express the distinction\nbetween the Idea and the concept, by a comparison, thus: the _concept_ is\nlike a dead receptacle, in which, whatever has been put, actually lies\nside by side, but out of which no more can be taken (by analytical\njudgment) than was put in (by synthetical reflection); the (Platonic)\n_Idea_, on the other hand, develops, in him who has comprehended it, ideas\nwhich are new as regards the concept of the same name; it resembles a\nliving organism, developing itself and possessed of the power of\nreproduction, which brings forth what was not put into it.\n\nIt follows from all that has been said, that the concept, useful as it is\nin life, and serviceable, necessary and productive as it is in science, is\nyet always barren and unfruitful in art. The comprehended Idea, on the\ncontrary, is the true and only source of every work of art. In its\npowerful originality it is only derived from life itself, from nature,\nfrom the world, and that only by the true genius, or by him whose\nmomentary inspiration reaches the point of genius. Genuine and immortal\nworks of art spring only from such direct apprehension. Just because the\nIdea is and remains object of perception, the artist is not conscious in\nthe abstract of the intention and aim of his work; not a concept, but an\nIdea floats before his mind; therefore he can give no justification of\nwhat he does. He works, as people say, from pure feeling, and\nunconsciously, indeed instinctively. On the contrary, imitators,\nmannerists, _imitatores, servum pecus_, start, in art, from the concept;\nthey observe what pleases and affects us in true works of art; understand\nit clearly, fix it in a concept, and thus abstractly, and then imitate it,\nopenly or disguisedly, with dexterity and intentionally. They suck their\nnourishment, like parasite plants, from the works of others, and like\npolypi, they become the colour of their food. We might carry comparison\nfurther, and say that they are like machines which mince fine and mingle\ntogether whatever is put into them, but can never digest it, so that the\ndifferent constituent parts may always be found again if they are sought\nout and separated from the mixture; the man of genius alone resembles the\norganised, assimilating, transforming and reproducing body. For he is\nindeed educated and cultured by his predecessors and their works; but he\nis really fructified only by life and the world directly, through the\nimpression of what he perceives; therefore the highest culture never\ninterferes with his originality. All imitators, all mannerists, apprehend\nin concepts the nature of representative works of art; but concepts can\nnever impart inner life to a work. The age, _i.e._, the dull multitude of\nevery time, knows only concepts, and sticks to them, and therefore\nreceives mannered works of art with ready and loud applause: but after a\nfew years these works become insipid, because the spirit of the age,\n_i.e._, the prevailing concepts, in which alone they could take root, have\nchanged. Only true works of art, which are drawn directly from nature and\nlife, have eternal youth and enduring power, like nature and life\nthemselves. For they belong to no age, but to humanity, and as on that\naccount they are coldly received by their own age, to which they disdain\nto link themselves closely, and because indirectly and negatively they\nexpose the existing errors, they are slowly and unwillingly recognised; on\nthe other hand, they cannot grow old, but appear to us ever fresh and new\ndown to the latest ages. Then they are no longer exposed to neglect and\nignorance, for they are crowned and sanctioned by the praise of the few\nmen capable of judging, who appear singly and rarely in the course of\nages,(57) and give in their votes, whose slowly growing number constitutes\nthe authority, which alone is the judgment-seat we mean when we appeal to\nposterity. It is these successively appearing individuals, for the mass of\nposterity will always be and remain just as perverse and dull as the mass\nof contemporaries always was and always is. We read the complaints of\ngreat men in every century about the customs of their age. They always\nsound as if they referred to our own age, for the race is always the same.\nAt every time and in every art, mannerisms have taken the place of the\nspirit, which was always the possession of a few individuals, but\nmannerisms are just the old cast-off garments of the last manifestation of\nthe spirit that existed and was recognised. From all this it appears that,\nas a rule, the praise of posterity can only be gained at the cost of the\npraise of one\u2019s contemporaries, and _vice versa_.(58)\n\n\u00a7 50. If the aim of all art is the communication of the comprehended Idea,\nwhich through the mind of the artist appears in such a form that it is\npurged and isolated from all that is foreign to it, and may now be grasped\nby the man of weaker comprehension and no productive faculty; if further,\nit is forbidden in art to start from the concept, we shall not be able to\nconsent to the intentional and avowed employment of a work of art for the\nexpression of a concept; this is the case in the _Allegory_. An allegory\nis a work of art which means something different from what it represents.\nBut the object of perception, and consequently also the Idea, expresses\nitself directly and completely, and does not require the medium of\nsomething else which implies or indicates it. Thus, that which in this way\nis indicated and represented by something entirely different, because it\ncannot itself be made object of perception, is always a concept. Therefore\nthrough the allegory a conception has always to be signified, and\nconsequently the mind of the beholder has to be drawn away from the\nexpressed perceptible idea to one which is entirely different, abstract\nand not perceptible, and which lies quite outside the work of art. The\npicture or statue is intended to accomplish here what is accomplished far\nmore fully by a book. Now, what we hold is the end of art, representation\nof a perceivable, comprehensible Idea, is not here the end. No great\ncompleteness in the work of art is demanded for what is aimed at here. It\nis only necessary that we should see what the thing is meant to be, for,\nas soon as this has been discovered, the end is reached, and the mind is\nnow led away to quite a different kind of idea to an abstract conception,\nwhich is the end that was in view. Allegories in plastic and pictorial art\nare, therefore, nothing but hieroglyphics; the artistic value which they\nmay have as perceptible representations, belongs to them not as\nallegories, but otherwise. That the \u201cNight\u201d of Correggio, the \u201cGenius of\nFame\u201d of Hannibal Caracci, and the \u201cHours\u201d of Poussin, are very beautiful\npictures, is to be separated altogether from the fact that they are\nallegories. As allegories they do not accomplish more than a legend,\nindeed rather less. We are here again reminded of the distinction drawn\nabove between the real and the nominal significance of a picture. The\nnominal is here the allegorical as such, for example, the \u201cGenius of\nFame.\u201d The real is what is actually represented, in this case a beautiful\nwinged youth, surrounded by beautiful boys; this expresses an Idea. But\nthis real significance affects us only so long as we forget the nominal,\nallegorical significance; if we think of the latter, we forsake the\nperception, and the mind is occupied with an abstract conception; but the\ntransition from the Idea to the conception is always a fall. Indeed, that\nnominal significance, that allegorical intention, often injures the real\nsignificance, the perceptible truth. For example, the unnatural light in\nthe \u201cNight\u201d of Correggio, which, though beautifully executed, has yet a\nmerely allegorical motive, and is really impossible. If then an\nallegorical picture has artistic value, it is quite separate from and\nindependent of what it accomplishes as allegory. Such a work of art serves\ntwo ends at once, the expression of a conception and the expression of an\nIdea. Only the latter can be an end of art; the other is a foreign end,\nthe trifling amusement of making a picture also do service as a legend, as\na hieroglyphic, invented for the pleasure of those to whom the true nature\nof art can never appeal. It is the same thing as when a work of art is\nalso a useful implement of some kind, in which case it also serves two\nends; for example, a statue which is at the same time a candelabrum or a\ncaryatide; or a bas-relief, which is also the shield of Achilles. True\nlovers of art will allow neither the one nor the other. It is true that an\nallegorical picture may, because of this quality, produce a vivid\nimpression upon the feelings; but when this is the case, a legend would\nunder the same circumstances produce the same effect. For example, if the\ndesire of fame were firmly and lastingly rooted in the heart of a man,\nbecause he regarded it as his rightful possession, which is only withheld\nfrom him so long as he has not produced the charter of his ownership; and\nif the Genius of Fame, with his laurel crown, were to appear to such a\nman, his whole mind would be excited, and his powers called into activity;\nbut the same effect would be produced if he were suddenly to see the word\n\u201cfame,\u201d in large distinct letters on the wall. Or if a man has made known\na truth, which is of importance either as a maxim for practical life, or\nas insight for science, but it has not been believed; an allegorical\npicture representing time as it lifts the veil, and discloses the naked\nfigure of Truth, will affect him powerfully; but the same effect would be\nproduced by the legend: \u201c_Le temps d\u00e9couvre la v\u00e9rit\u00e9._\u201d For what really\nproduces the effect here is the abstract thought, not the object of\nperception.\n\nIf then, in accordance with what has been said, allegory in plastic and\npictorial art is a mistaken effort, serving an end which is entirely\nforeign to art, it becomes quite unbearable when it leads so far astray\nthat the representation of forced and violently introduced subtilties\ndegenerates into absurdity. Such, for example, is a tortoise, to represent\nfeminine seclusion; the downward glance of Nemesis into the drapery of her\nbosom, signifying that she can see into what is hidden; the explanation of\nBellori that Hannibal Carracci represents voluptuousness clothed in a\nyellow robe, because he wishes to indicate that her lovers soon fade and\nbecome yellow as straw. If there is absolutely no connection between the\nrepresentation and the conception signified by it, founded on subsumption\nunder the concept, or association of Ideas; but the signs and the things\nsignified are combined in a purely conventional manner, by positive,\naccidentally introduced laws; then I call this degenerate kind of allegory\n_Symbolism_. Thus the rose is the symbol of secrecy, the laurel is the\nsymbol of fame, the palm is the symbol of peace, the scallop-shell is the\nsymbol of pilgrimage, the cross is the symbol of the Christian religion.\nTo this class also belongs all significance of mere colour, as yellow is\nthe colour of falseness, and blue is the colour of fidelity. Such symbols\nmay often be of use in life, but their value is foreign to art. They are\nsimply to be regarded as hieroglyphics, or like Chinese word-writing, and\nreally belong to the same class as armorial bearings, the bush that\nindicates a public-house, the key of the chamberlain, or the leather of\nthe mountaineer. If, finally, certain historical or mythical persons, or\npersonified conceptions, are represented by certain fixed symbols, these\nare properly called _emblems_. Such are the beasts of the Evangelist, the\nowl of Minerva, the apple of Paris, the Anchor of Hope, &c. For the most\npart, however, we understand by emblems those simple allegorical\nrepresentations explained by a motto, which are meant to express a moral\ntruth, and of which large collections have been made by J. Camerarius,\nAlciatus, and others. They form the transition to poetical allegory, of\nwhich we shall have more to say later. Greek sculpture devotes itself to\nthe perception, and therefore it is _\u00e6sthetical_; Indian sculpture devotes\nitself to the conception, and therefore it is merely _symbolical_.\n\nThis conclusion in regard to allegory, which is founded on our\nconsideration of the nature of art and quite consistent with it, is\ndirectly opposed to the opinion of Winckelmann, who, far from explaining\nallegory, as we do, as something quite foreign to the end of art, and\noften interfering with it, always speaks in favour of it, and indeed\n(Works, vol. i. p. 55) places the highest aim of art in the\n\u201crepresentation of universal conceptions, and non-sensuous things.\u201d We\nleave it to every one to adhere to whichever view he pleases. Only the\ntruth became very clear to me from these and similar views of Winckelmann\nconnected with his peculiar metaphysic of the beautiful, that one may have\nthe greatest susceptibility for artistic beauty, and the soundest judgment\nin regard to it, without being able to give an abstract and strictly\nphilosophical justification of the nature of the beautiful; just as one\nmay be very noble and virtuous, and may have a tender conscience, which\ndecides with perfect accuracy in particular cases, without on that account\nbeing in a position to investigate and explain in the abstract the ethical\nsignificance of action.\n\nAllegory has an entirely different relation to poetry from that which it\nhas to plastic and pictorial art, and although it is to be rejected in the\nlatter, it is not only permissible, but very serviceable to the former.\nFor in plastic and pictorial art it leads away from what is perceptibly\ngiven, the proper object of all art, to abstract thoughts; but in poetry\nthe relation is reversed; for here what is directly given in words is the\nconcept, and the first aim is to lead from this to the object of\nperception, the representation of which must be undertaken by the\nimagination of the hearer. If in plastic and pictorial art we are led from\nwhat is immediately given to something else, this must always be a\nconception, because here only the abstract cannot be given directly; but a\nconception must never be the source, and its communication must never be\nthe end of a work of art. In poetry, on the contrary, the conception is\nthe material, the immediately given, and therefore we may very well leave\nit, in order to call up perceptions which are quite different, and in\nwhich the end is reached. Many a conception or abstract thought may be\nquite indispensable to the connection of a poem, which is yet, in itself\nand directly, quite incapable of being perceived; and then it is often\nmade perceptible by means of some example which is subsumed under it. This\ntakes place in every trope, every metaphor, simile, parable, and allegory,\nall of which differ only in the length and completeness of their\nexpression. Therefore, in the arts which employ language as their medium,\nsimiles and allegories are of striking effect. How beautifully Cervantes\nsays of sleep in order to express the fact that it frees us from all\nspiritual and bodily suffering, \u201cIt is a mantle that covers all mankind.\u201d\nHow beautifully Kleist expresses allegorically the thought that\nphilosophers and men of science enlighten mankind, in the line, \u201cThose\nwhose midnight lamp lights the world.\u201d How strongly and sensuously Homer\ndescribes the harmful Ate when he says: \u201cShe has tender feet, for she\nwalks not on the hard earth, but treads on the heads of men\u201d (Il. xix.\n91.) How forcibly we are struck by Menenius Agrippa\u2019s fable of the belly\nand the limbs, addressed to the people of Rome when they seceded. How\nbeautifully Plato\u2019s figure of the Cave, at the beginning of the seventh\nbook of the \u201cRepublic\u201d to which we have already referred, expresses a very\nabstract philosophical dogma. The fable of Persephone is also to be\nregarded as a deeply significant allegory of philosophical tendency, for\nshe became subject to the nether world by tasting a pomegranate. This\nbecomes peculiarly enlightening from Goethe\u2019s treatment of the fable, as\nan episode in the _Triumph der Empfindsamkeit_, which is beyond all\npraise. Three detailed allegorical works are known to me, one, open and\navowed, is the incomparable \u201cCriticon\u201d of Balthasar Gracian. It consists\nof a great rich web of connected and highly ingenious allegories, that\nserve here as the fair clothing of moral truths, to which he thus imparts\nthe most perceptible form, and astonishes us by the richness of his\ninvention. The two others are concealed allegories, \u201cDon Quixote\u201d and\n\u201cGulliver\u2019s Travels.\u201d The first is an allegory of the life of every man,\nwho will not, like others, be careful, merely for his own welfare, but\nfollows some objective, ideal end, which has taken possession of his\nthoughts and will; and certainly, in this world, he has then a strange\nappearance. In the case of Gulliver we have only to take everything\nphysical as spiritual or intellectual, in order to see what the \u201csatirical\nrogue,\u201d as Hamlet would call him, meant by it. Such, then, in the poetical\nallegory, the conception is always the given, which it tries to make\nperceptible by means of a picture; it may sometimes be expressed or\nassisted by a painted picture. Such a picture will not be regarded as a\nwork of art, but only as a significant symbol, and it makes no claim to\npictorial, but only to poetical worth. Such is that beautiful allegorical\nvignette of Lavater\u2019s, which must be so heartening to every defender of\ntruth: a hand holding a light is stung by a wasp, while gnats are burning\nthemselves in the flame above; underneath is the motto:\n\n\n    \u201cAnd although it singes the wings of the gnats,\n    Destroys their heads and all their little brains,\n                  Light is still light;\n    And although I am stung by the angriest wasp,\n                  I will not let it go.\u201d\n\n\nTo this class also belongs the gravestone with the burnt-out, smoking\ncandle, and the inscription\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cWhen it is out, it becomes clear\n    Whether the candle was tallow or wax.\u201d\n\n\nFinally, of this kind is an old German genealogical tree, in which the\nlast representative of a very ancient family thus expresses his\ndetermination to live his life to the end in abstinence and perfect\nchastity, and therefore to let his race die out; he represents himself at\nthe root of the high-branching tree cutting it over himself with shears.\nIn general all those symbols referred to above, commonly called emblems,\nwhich might also be defined as short painted fables with obvious morals,\nbelong to this class. Allegories of this kind are always to be regarded as\nbelonging to poetry, not to painting, and as justified thereby; moreover,\nthe pictorial execution is here always a matter of secondary importance,\nand no more is demanded of it than that it shall represent the thing so\nthat we can recognise it. But in poetry, as in plastic art, the allegory\npasses into the symbol if there is merely an arbitrary connection between\nwhat it presented to perception and the abstract significance of it. For\nas all symbolism rests, at bottom, on an agreement, the symbol has this\namong other disadvantages, that in time its meaning is forgotten, and then\nit is dumb. Who would guess why the fish is a symbol of Christianity if he\ndid not know? Only a Champollion; for it is entirely a phonetic\nhieroglyphic. Therefore, as a poetical allegory, the Revelation of John\nstands much in the same position as the reliefs with _Magnus Deus sol\nMithra_, which are still constantly being explained.\n\n\u00a7 51. If now, with the exposition which has been given of art in general,\nwe turn from plastic and pictorial art to poetry, we shall have no doubt\nthat its aim also is the revelation of the Ideas, the grades of the\nobjectification of will, and the communication of them to the hearer with\nthe distinctness and vividness with which the poetical sense comprehends\nthem. Ideas are essentially perceptible; if, therefore, in poetry only\nabstract conceptions are directly communicated through words, it is yet\nclearly the intention to make the hearer perceive the Ideas of life in the\nrepresentatives of these conceptions, and this can only take place through\nthe assistance of his own imagination. But in order to set the imagination\nto work for the accomplishment of this end, the abstract conceptions,\nwhich are the immediate material of poetry as of dry prose, must be so\narranged that their spheres intersect each other in such a way that none\nof them can remain in its abstract universality; but, instead of it, a\nperceptible representative appears to the imagination; and this is always\nfurther modified by the words of the poet according to what his intention\nmay be. As the chemist obtains solid precipitates by combining perfectly\nclear and transparent fluids; the poet understands how to precipitate, as\nit were, the concrete, the individual, the perceptible idea, out of the\nabstract and transparent universality of the concepts by the manner in\nwhich he combines them. For the Idea can only be known by perception; and\nknowledge of the Idea is the end of art. The skill of a master, in poetry\nas in chemistry, enables us always to obtain the precise precipitate we\nintended. This end is assisted by the numerous epithets in poetry, by\nmeans of which the universality of every concept is narrowed more and more\ntill we reach the perceptible. Homer attaches to almost every substantive\nan adjective, whose concept intersects and considerably diminishes the\nsphere of the concept of the substantive, which is thus brought so much\nthe nearer to perception: for example\u2014\n\n\n    \u201c\u0395\u03bd \u03b4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03c0\u03b5\u03c3\u1fbd \u03a9\u03ba\u03b5\u03b1\u03bd\u1ff3 \u03bb\u03b1\u03bc\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03c6\u03b1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f21\u03b5\u03bb\u03b9\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf,\n    \u1f19\u03bb\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd \u03bd\u03c5\u03ba\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1\u03bd \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9 \u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u03c9\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd.\u201d\n\n    (\u201cOccidit vero in Oceanum splendidum lumen solis,\n    Trahens noctem nigram super almam terram.\u201d)\n\n\nAnd\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cWhere gentle winds from the blue heavens sigh,\n    There stand the myrtles still, the laurel high,\u201d\u2014\n\n\ncalls up before the imagination by means of a few concepts the whole\ndelight of a southern clime.\n\nRhythm and rhyme are quite peculiar aids to poetry. I can give no other\nexplanation of their incredibly powerful effect than that our faculties of\nperception have received from time, to which they are essentially bound,\nsome quality on account of which we inwardly follow, and, as it were,\nconsent to each regularly recurring sound. In this way rhythm and rhyme\nare partly a means of holding our attention, because we willingly follow\nthe poem read, and partly they produce in us a blind consent to what is\nread prior to any judgment, and this gives the poem a certain emphatic\npower of convincing independent of all reasons.\n\nFrom the general nature of the material, that is, the concepts, which\npoetry uses to communicate the Ideas, the extent of its province is very\ngreat. The whole of nature, the Ideas of all grades, can be represented by\nmeans of it, for it proceeds according to the Idea it has to impart, so\nthat its representations are sometimes descriptive, sometimes narrative,\nand sometimes directly dramatic. If, in the representation of the lower\ngrades of the objectivity of will, plastic and pictorial art generally\nsurpass it, because lifeless nature, and even brute nature, reveals almost\nits whole being in a single well-chosen moment; man, on the contrary, so\nfar as he does not express himself by the mere form and expression of his\nperson, but through a series of actions and the accompanying thoughts and\nemotions, is the principal object of poetry, in which no other art can\ncompete with it, for here the progress or movement which cannot be\nrepresented in plastic or pictorial art just suits its purpose.\n\nThe revelation of the Idea, which is the highest grade of the objectivity\nof will, the representation of man in the connected series of his efforts\nand actions, is thus the great problem of poetry. It is true that both\nexperience and history teach us to know man; yet oftener men than man,\n_i.e._, they give us empirical notes of the behaviour of men to each\nother, from which we may frame rules for our own conduct, oftener than\nthey afford us deep glimpses of the inner nature of man. The latter\nfunction, however, is by no means entirely denied them; but as often as it\nis the nature of mankind itself that discloses itself to us in history or\nin our own experience, we have comprehended our experience, and the\nhistorian has comprehended history, with artistic eyes, poetically,\n_i.e._, according to the Idea, not the phenomenon, in its inner nature,\nnot in its relations. Our own experience is the indispensable condition of\nunderstanding poetry as of understanding history; for it is, so to speak,\nthe dictionary of the language that both speak. But history is related to\npoetry as portrait-painting is related to historical painting; the one\ngives us the true in the individual, the other the true in the universal;\nthe one has the truth of the phenomenon, and can therefore verify it from\nthe phenomenal, the other has the truth of the Idea, which can be found in\nno particular phenomenon, but yet speaks to us from them all. The poet\nfrom deliberate choice represents significant characters in significant\nsituations; the historian takes both as they come. Indeed, he must regard\nand select the circumstances and the persons, not with reference to their\ninward and true significance, which expresses the Idea, but according to\nthe outward, apparent, and relatively important significance with regard\nto the connection and the consequences. He must consider nothing in and\nfor itself in its essential character and expression, but must look at\neverything in its relations, in its connection, in its influence upon what\nfollows, and especially upon its own age. Therefore he will not overlook\nan action of a king, though of little significance, and in itself quite\ncommon, because it has results and influence. And, on the other hand,\nactions of the highest significance of particular and very eminent\nindividuals are not to be recorded by him if they have no consequences.\nFor his treatment follows the principle of sufficient reason, and\napprehends the phenomenon, of which this principle is the form. But the\npoet comprehends the Idea, the inner nature of man apart from all\nrelations, outside all time, the adequate objectivity of the\nthing-in-itself, at its highest grade. Even in that method of treatment\nwhich is necessary for the historian, the inner nature and significance of\nthe phenomena, the kernel of all these shells, can never be entirely lost.\nHe who seeks for it, at any rate, may find it and recognise it. Yet that\nwhich is significant in itself, not in its relations, the real unfolding\nof the Idea, will be found far more accurately and distinctly in poetry\nthan in history, and, therefore, however paradoxical it may sound, far\nmore really genuine inner truth is to be attributed to poetry than to\nhistory. For the historian must accurately follow the particular event\naccording to life, as it develops itself in time in the manifold tangled\nchains of causes and effects. It is, however, impossible that he can have\nall the data for this; he cannot have seen all and discovered all. He is\nforsaken at every moment by the original of his picture, or a false one\nsubstitutes itself for it, and this so constantly that I think I may\nassume that in all history the false outweighs the true. The poet, on the\ncontrary, has comprehended the Idea of man from some definite side which\nis to be represented; thus it is the nature of his own self that\nobjectifies itself in it for him. His knowledge, as we explained above\nwhen speaking of sculpture, is half _a priori_; his ideal stands before\nhis mind firm, distinct, brightly illuminated, and cannot forsake him;\ntherefore he shows us, in the mirror of his mind, the Idea pure and\ndistinct, and his delineation of it down to the minutest particular is\ntrue as life itself.(59) The great ancient historians are, therefore, in\nthose particulars in which their data fail them, for example, in the\nspeeches of their heroes\u2014poets; indeed their whole manner of handling\ntheir material approaches to the epic. But this gives their\nrepresentations unity, and enables them to retain inner truth, even when\noutward truth was not accessible, or indeed was falsified. And as we\ncompared history to portrait-painting, in contradistinction to poetry,\nwhich corresponds to historical painting, we find that Winckelmann\u2019s\nmaxim, that the portrait ought to be the ideal of the individual, was\nfollowed by the ancient historians, for they represent the individual in\nsuch a way as to bring out that side of the Idea of man which is expressed\nin it. Modern historians, on the contrary, with few exceptions, give us in\ngeneral only \u201ca dust-bin and a lumber-room, and at the most a chronicle of\nthe principal political events.\u201d Therefore, whoever desires to know man in\nhis inner nature, identical in all its phenomena and developments, to know\nhim according to the Idea, will find that the works of the great, immortal\npoet present a far truer, more distinct picture, than the historians can\never give. For even the best of the historians are, as poets, far from the\nfirst; and moreover their hands are tied. In this aspect the relation\nbetween the historian and the poet may be illustrated by the following\ncomparison. The mere, pure historian, who works only according to data, is\nlike a man, who without any knowledge of mathematics, has investigated the\nrelations of certain figures, which he has accidentally found, by\nmeasuring them; and the problem thus empirically solved is affected of\ncourse by all the errors of the drawn figure. The poet, on the other hand,\nis like the mathematician, who constructs these relations _a priori_ in\npure perception, and expresses them not as they actually are in the drawn\nfigure, but as they are in the Idea, which the drawing is intended to\nrender for the senses. Therefore Schiller says:\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cWhat has never anywhere come to pass,\n    That alone never grows old.\u201d\n\n\nIndeed I must attribute greater value to biographies, and especially to\nautobiographies, in relation to the knowledge of the nature of man, than\nto history proper, at least as it is commonly handled. Partly because in\nthe former the data can be collected more accurately and completely than\nin the latter; partly, because in history proper, it is not so much men as\nnations and heroes that act, and the individuals who do appear, seem so\nfar off, surrounded with such pomp and circumstance, clothed in the stiff\nrobes of state, or heavy, inflexible armour, that it is really hard\nthrough all this to recognise the human movements. On the other hand, the\nlife of the individual when described with truth, in a narrow sphere,\nshows the conduct of men in all its forms and subtilties, the excellence,\nthe virtue, and even holiness of a few, the perversity, meanness, and\nknavery of most, the dissolute profligacy of some. Besides, in the only\naspect we are considering here, that of the inner significance of the\nphenomenal, it is quite the same whether the objects with which the action\nis concerned, are, relatively considered, trifling or important,\nfarm-houses or kingdoms: for all these things in themselves are without\nsignificance, and obtain it only in so far as the will is moved by them.\nThe motive has significance only through its relation to the will, while\nthe relation which it has as a thing to other things like itself, does not\nconcern us here. As a circle of one inch in diameter, and a circle of\nforty million miles in diameter, have precisely the same geometrical\nproperties, so are the events and the history of a village and a kingdom\nessentially the same; and we may study and learn to know mankind as well\nin the one as in the other. It is also a mistake to suppose that\nautobiographies are full of deceit and dissimulation. On the contrary,\nlying (though always possible) is perhaps more difficult there than\nelsewhere. Dissimulation is easiest in mere conversation; indeed, though\nit may sound paradoxical, it is really more difficult even in a letter.\nFor in the case of a letter the writer is alone, and looks into himself,\nand not out on the world, so that what is strange and distant does not\neasily approach him; and he has not the test of the impression made upon\nanother before his eyes. But the receiver of the letter peruses it quietly\nin a mood unknown to the writer, reads it repeatedly and at different\ntimes, and thus easily finds out the concealed intention. We also get to\nknow an author as a man most easily from his books, because all these\ncircumstances act here still more strongly and permanently. And in an\nautobiography it is so difficult to dissimulate, that perhaps there does\nnot exist a single one that is not, as a whole, more true, than any\nhistory that ever was written. The man who writes his own life surveys it\nas a whole, the particular becomes small, the near becomes distant, the\ndistant becomes near again, the motives that influenced him shrink; he\nseats himself at the confessional, and has done so of his own free will;\nthe spirit of lying does not so easily take hold of him here, for there is\nalso in every man an inclination to truth which has first to be overcome\nwhenever he lies, and which here has taken up a specially strong position.\nThe relation between biography and the history of nations may be made\nclear for perception by means of the following comparison: History shows\nus mankind as a view from a high mountain shows us nature; we see much at\na time, wide stretches, great masses, but nothing is distinct nor\nrecognisable in all the details of its own peculiar nature. On the other\nhand, the representation of the life of the individual shows us the man,\nas we see nature if we go about among her trees, plants, rocks, and\nwaters. But in landscape-painting, in which the artist lets us look at\nnature with his eyes, the knowledge of the Ideas, and the condition of\npure will-less knowing, which is demanded by these, is made much easier\nfor us; and, in the same way, poetry is far superior both to history and\nbiography, in the representation of the Ideas which may be looked for in\nall three. For here also genius holds up to us the magic glass, in which\nall that is essential and significant appears before us collected and\nplaced in the clearest light, and what is accidental and foreign is left\nout.(60)\n\nThe representation of the Idea of man, which is the work of the poet, may\nbe performed, so that what is represented is also the representer. This is\nthe case in lyrical poetry, in songs, properly so called, in which the\npoet only perceives vividly his own state and describes it. Thus a certain\nsubjectivity is essential to this kind of poetry from the nature of its\nobject. Again, what is to be represented may be entirely different from\nhim who represents it, as is the case in all other kinds of poetry, in\nwhich the poet more or less conceals himself behind his representation,\nand at last disappears altogether. In the ballad the poet still expresses\nto some extent his own state through the tone and proportion of the whole;\ntherefore, though much more objective than the lyric, it has yet something\nsubjective. This becomes less in the idyll, still less in the romantic\npoem, almost entirely disappears in the true epic, and even to the last\nvestige in the drama, which is the most objective and, in more than one\nrespect, the completest and most difficult form of poetry. The lyrical\nform of poetry is consequently the easiest, and although art, as a whole,\nbelongs only to the true man of genius, who so rarely appears, even a man\nwho is not in general very remarkable may produce a beautiful song if, by\nactual strong excitement from without, some inspiration raises his mental\npowers; for all that is required for this is a lively perception of his\nown state at a moment of emotional excitement. This is proved by the\nexistence of many single songs by individuals who have otherwise remained\nunknown; especially the German national songs, of which we have an\nexquisite collection in the \u201cWunderhorn;\u201d and also by innumerable\nlove-songs and other songs of the people in all languages;\u2014for to seize\nthe mood of a moment and embody it in a song is the whole achievement of\nthis kind of poetry. Yet in the lyrics of true poets the inner nature of\nall mankind is reflected, and all that millions of past, present, and\nfuture men have found, or will find, in the same situations, which are\nconstantly recurring, finds its exact expression in them. And because\nthese situations, by constant recurrence, are permanent as man himself and\nalways call up the same sensations, the lyrical productions of genuine\npoets remain through thousands of years true, powerful, and fresh. But if\nthe poet is always the universal man, then all that has ever moved a human\nheart, all that human nature in any situation has ever produced from\nitself, all that dwells and broods in any human breast\u2014is his theme and\nhis material, and also all the rest of nature. Therefore the poet may just\nas well sing of voluptuousness as of mysticism, be Anacreon or Angelus\nSilesius, write tragedies or comedies, represent the sublime or the common\nmind\u2014according to humour or vocation. And no one has the right to\nprescribe to the poet what he ought to be\u2014noble and sublime, moral, pious,\nChristian, one thing or another, still less to reproach him because he is\none thing and not another. He is the mirror of mankind, and brings to its\nconsciousness what it feels and does.\n\nIf we now consider more closely the nature of the lyric proper, and select\nas examples exquisite and pure models, not those that approach in any way\nto some other form of poetry, such as the ballad, the elegy, the hymn, the\nepigram, &c., we shall find that the peculiar nature of the lyric, in the\nnarrowest sense, is this: It is the subject of will, _i.e._, his own\nvolition, which the consciousness of the singer feels; often as a released\nand satisfied desire (joy), but still oftener as a restricted desire\n(grief), always as an emotion, a passion, a moved frame of mind. Besides\nthis, however, and along with it, by the sight of surrounding nature, the\nsinger becomes conscious of himself as the subject of pure, will-less\nknowing, whose unbroken blissful peace now appears, in contrast to the\nstress of desire which is always restricted and always needy. The feeling\nof this contrast, this alternation, is really what the lyric as a whole\nexpresses, and what principally constitutes the lyrical state of mind. In\nit pure knowing comes to us, as it were, to deliver us from desire and its\nstain; we follow, but only for an instant; desire, the remembrance of our\nown personal ends, tears us anew from peaceful contemplation; yet ever\nagain the next beautiful surrounding in which the pure will-less knowledge\npresents itself to us, allures us away from desire. Therefore, in the\nlyric and the lyrical mood, desire (the personal interest of the ends),\nand pure perception of the surrounding presented, are wonderfully mingled\nwith each other; connections between them are sought for and imagined; the\nsubjective disposition, the affection of the will, imparts its own hue to\nthe perceived surrounding, and conversely, the surroundings communicate\nthe reflex of their colour to the will. The true lyric is the expression\nof the whole of this mingled and divided state of mind. In order to make\nclear by examples this abstract analysis of a frame of mind that is very\nfar from all abstraction, any of the immortal songs of Goethe may be\ntaken. As specially adapted for this end I shall recommend only a few:\n\u201cThe Shepherd\u2019s Lament,\u201d \u201cWelcome and Farewell,\u201d \u201cTo the Moon,\u201d \u201cOn the\nLake,\u201d \u201cAutumn;\u201d also the songs in the \u201cWunderhorn\u201d are excellent\nexamples; particularly the one which begins, \u201cO Bremen, I must now leave\nthee.\u201d As a comical and happy parody of the lyrical character a song of\nVoss strikes me as remarkable. It describes the feeling of a drunk plumber\nfalling from a tower, who observes in passing that the clock on the tower\nis at half-past eleven, a remark which is quite foreign to his condition,\nand thus belongs to knowledge free from will. Whoever accepts the view\nthat has been expressed of the lyrical frame of mind, will also allow,\nthat it is the sensuous and poetical knowledge of the principle which I\nestablished in my essay on the Principle of Sufficient Reason, and have\nalso referred to in this work, that the identity of the subject of knowing\nwith that of willing may be called the miracle \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03be\u03bf\u03c7\u03b7\u03bd; so that the\npoetical effect of the lyric rests finally on the truth of that principle.\nIn the course of life these two subjects, or, in popular language, head\nand heart, are ever becoming further apart; men are always separating more\nbetween their subjective feeling and their objective knowledge. In the\nchild the two are still entirely blended together; it scarcely knows how\nto distinguish itself from its surroundings, it is at one with them. In\nthe young man all perception chiefly affects feeling and mood, and even\nmingles with it, as Byron very beautifully expresses\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cI live not in myself, but I become\n    Portion of that around me; and to me\n    High mountains are a feeling.\u201d\n\n\nThis is why the youth clings so closely to the perceptible and outward\nside of things; this is why he is only fit for lyrical poetry, and only\nthe full-grown man is capable of the drama. The old man we can think of as\nat the most an epic poet, like Ossian, and Homer, for narration is\ncharacteristic of old age.\n\nIn the more objective kinds of poetry, especially in the romance, the\nepic, and the drama, the end, the revelation of the Idea of man, is\nprincipally attained by two means, by true and profound representation of\nsignificant characters, and by the invention of pregnant situations in\nwhich they disclose themselves. For as it is incumbent upon the chemist\nnot only to exhibit the simple elements, pure and genuine, and their\nprincipal compounds, but also to expose them to the influence of such\nreagents as will clearly and strikingly bring out their peculiar\nqualities, so is it incumbent on the poet not only to present to us\nsignificant characters truly and faithfully as nature itself; but, in\norder that we may get to know them, he must place them in those situations\nin which their peculiar qualities will fully unfold themselves, and appear\ndistinctly in sharp outline; situations which are therefore called\nsignificant. In real life, and in history, situations of this kind are\nrarely brought about by chance, and they stand alone, lost and concealed\nin the multitude of those which are insignificant. The complete\nsignificance of the situations ought to distinguish the romance, the epic,\nand the drama from real life as completely as the arrangement and\nselection of significant characters. In both, however, absolute truth is a\nnecessary condition of their effect, and want of unity in the characters,\ncontradiction either of themselves or of the nature of humanity in\ngeneral, as well as impossibility, or very great improbability in the\nevents, even in mere accessories, offend just as much in poetry as badly\ndrawn figures, false perspective, or wrong lighting in painting. For both\nin poetry and painting we demand the faithful mirror of life, of man, of\nthe world, only made more clear by the representation, and more\nsignificant by the arrangement. For there is only one end of all the arts,\nthe representation of the Ideas; and their essential difference lies\nsimply in the different grades of the objectification of will to which the\nIdeas that are to be represented belong. This also determines the material\nof the representation. Thus the arts which are most widely separated may\nyet throw light on each other. For example, in order to comprehend fully\nthe Ideas of water it is not sufficient to see it in the quiet pond or in\nthe evenly-flowing stream; but these Ideas disclose themselves fully only\nwhen the water appears under all circumstances and exposed to all kinds of\nobstacles. The effects of the varied circumstances and obstacles give it\nthe opportunity of fully exhibiting all its qualities. This is why we find\nit beautiful when it tumbles, rushes, and foams, or leaps into the air, or\nfalls in a cataract of spray; or, lastly, if artificially confined it\nsprings up in a fountain. Thus showing itself different under different\ncircumstances, it yet always faithfully asserts its character; it is just\nas natural to it to spout up as to lie in glassy stillness; it is as ready\nfor the one as for the other as soon as the circumstances appear. Now,\nwhat the engineer achieves with the fluid matter of water, the architect\nachieves with the rigid matter of stone, and just this the epic or\ndramatic poet achieves with the Idea of man. Unfolding and rendering\ndistinct the Idea expressing itself in the object of every art, the Idea\nof the will which objectifies itself at each grade, is the common end of\nall the arts. The life of man, as it shows itself for the most part in the\nreal world, is like the water, as it is generally seen in the pond and the\nriver; but in the epic, the romance, the tragedy, selected characters are\nplaced in those circumstances in which all their special qualities unfold\nthemselves, the depths of the human heart are revealed, and become visible\nin extraordinary and very significant actions. Thus poetry objectifies the\nIdea of man, an Idea which has the peculiarity of expressing itself in\nhighly individual characters.\n\nTragedy is to be regarded, and is recognised as the summit of poetical\nart, both on account of the greatness of its effect and the difficulty of\nits achievement. It is very significant for our whole system, and well\nworthy of observation, that the end of this highest poetical achievement\nis the representation of the terrible side of life. The unspeakable pain,\nthe wail of humanity, the triumph of evil, the scornful mastery of chance,\nand the irretrievable fall of the just and innocent, is here presented to\nus; and in this lies a significant hint of the nature of the world and of\nexistence. It is the strife of will with itself, which here, completely\nunfolded at the highest grade of its objectivity, comes into fearful\nprominence. It becomes visible in the suffering of men, which is now\nintroduced, partly through chance and error, which appear as the rulers of\nthe world, personified as fate, on account of their insidiousness, which\neven reaches the appearance of design; partly it proceeds from man\nhimself, through the self-mortifying efforts of a few, through the\nwickedness and perversity of most. It is one and the same will that lives\nand appears in them all, but whose phenomena fight against each other and\ndestroy each other. In one individual it appears powerfully, in another\nmore weakly; in one more subject to reason, and softened by the light of\nknowledge, in another less so, till at last, in some single case, this\nknowledge, purified and heightened by suffering itself, reaches the point\nat which the phenomenon, the veil of M\u00e2ya, no longer deceives it. It sees\nthrough the form of the phenomenon, the _principium individuationis_. The\negoism which rests on this perishes with it, so that now the _motives_\nthat were so powerful before have lost their might, and instead of them\nthe complete knowledge of the nature of the world, which has a _quieting_\neffect on the will, produces resignation, the surrender not merely of\nlife, but of the very will to live. Thus we see in tragedies the noblest\nmen, after long conflict and suffering, at last renounce the ends they\nhave so keenly followed, and all the pleasures of life for ever, or else\nfreely and joyfully surrender life itself. So is it with the steadfast\nprince of Calderon; with Gretchen in \u201cFaust;\u201d with Hamlet, whom his friend\nHoratio would willingly follow, but is bade remain a while, and in this\nharsh world draw his breath in pain, to tell the story of Hamlet, and\nclear his memory; so also is it with the Maid of Orleans, the Bride of\nMessina; they all die purified by suffering, _i.e._, after the will to\nlive which was formerly in them is dead. In the \u201cMohammed\u201d of Voltaire\nthis is actually expressed in the concluding words which the dying Palmira\naddresses to Mohammad: \u201cThe world is for tyrants: live!\u201d On the other\nhand, the demand for so-called poetical justice rests on entire\nmisconception of the nature of tragedy, and, indeed, of the nature of the\nworld itself. It boldly appears in all its dulness in the criticisms which\nDr. Samuel Johnson made on particular plays of Shakespeare, for he very\nna\u00efvely laments its entire absence. And its absence is certainly obvious,\nfor in what has Ophelia, Desdemona, or Cordelia offended? But only the\ndull, optimistic, Protestant-rationalistic, or peculiarly Jewish view of\nlife will make the demand for poetical justice, and find satisfaction in\nit. The true sense of tragedy is the deeper insight, that it is not his\nown individual sins that the hero atones for, but original sin, _i.e._,\nthe crime of existence itself:\n\n\n    \u201cPues el delito mayor\n    Del hombre es haber nacido;\u201d\n\n    (\u201cFor the greatest crime of man\n    Is that he was born;\u201d)\n\n\nas Calderon exactly expresses it.\n\nI shall allow myself only one remark, more closely concerning the\ntreatment of tragedy. The representation of a great misfortune is alone\nessential to tragedy. But the many different ways in which this is\nintroduced by the poet may be brought under three specific conceptions. It\nmay happen by means of a character of extraordinary wickedness, touching\nthe utmost limits of possibility, who becomes the author of the\nmisfortune; examples of this kind are Richard III., Iago in \u201cOthello,\u201d\nShylock in \u201cThe Merchant of Venice,\u201d Franz Moor, Ph\u00e6dra of Euripides,\nCreon in the \u201cAntigone,\u201d &c., &c. Secondly, it may happen through blind\nfate, _i.e._, chance and error; a true pattern of this kind is the \u0152dipus\nRex of Sophocles, the \u201cTrachini\u00e6\u201d also; and in general most of the\ntragedies of the ancients belong to this class. Among modern tragedies,\n\u201cRomeo and Juliet,\u201d \u201cTancred\u201d by Voltaire, and \u201cThe Bride of Messina,\u201d are\nexamples. Lastly, the misfortune may be brought about by the mere position\nof the _dramatis person\u00e6_ with regard to each other, through their\nrelations; so that there is no need either for a tremendous error or an\nunheard-of accident, nor yet for a character whose wickedness reaches the\nlimits of human possibility; but characters of ordinary morality, under\ncircumstances such as often occur, are so situated with regard to each\nother that their position compels them, knowingly and with their eyes\nopen, to do each other the greatest injury, without any one of them being\nentirely in the wrong. This last kind of tragedy seems to me far to\nsurpass the other two, for it shows us the greatest misfortune, not as an\nexception, not as something occasioned by rare circumstances or monstrous\ncharacters, but as arising easily and of itself out of the actions and\ncharacters of men, indeed almost as essential to them, and thus brings it\nterribly near to us. In the other two kinds we may look on the prodigious\nfate and the horrible wickedness as terrible powers which certainly\nthreaten us, but only from afar, which we may very well escape without\ntaking refuge in renunciation. But in the last kind of tragedy we see that\nthose powers which destroy happiness and life are such that their path to\nus also is open at every moment; we see the greatest sufferings brought\nabout by entanglements that our fate might also partake of, and through\nactions that perhaps we also are capable of performing, and so could not\ncomplain of injustice; then shuddering we feel ourselves already in the\nmidst of hell. This last kind of tragedy is also the most difficult of\nachievement; for the greatest effect has to be produced in it with the\nleast use of means and causes of movement, merely through the position and\ndistribution of the characters; therefore even in many of the best\ntragedies this difficulty is evaded. Yet one tragedy may be referred to as\na perfect model of this kind, a tragedy which in other respects is far\nsurpassed by more than one work of the same great master; it is \u201cClavigo.\u201d\n\u201cHamlet\u201d belongs to a certain extent to this class, as far as the relation\nof Hamlet to Laertes and Ophelia is concerned. \u201cWallenstein\u201d has also this\nexcellence. \u201cFaust\u201d belongs entirely to this class, if we regard the\nevents connected with Gretchen and her brother as the principal action;\nalso the \u201cCid\u201d of Corneille, only that it lacks the tragic conclusion,\nwhile on the contrary the analogous relation of Max to Thecla has it.(61)\n\n\u00a7 52. Now that we have considered all the fine arts in the general way\nthat is suitable to our point of view, beginning with architecture, the\npeculiar end of which is to elucidate the objectification of will at the\nlowest grades of its visibility, in which it shows itself as the dumb\nunconscious tendency of the mass in accordance with laws, and yet already\nreveals a breach of the unity of will with itself in a conflict between\ngravity and rigidity\u2014and ending with the consideration of tragedy, which\npresents to us at the highest grades of the objectification of will this\nvery conflict with itself in terrible magnitude and distinctness; we find\nthat there is still another fine art which has been excluded from our\nconsideration, and had to be excluded, for in the systematic connection of\nour exposition there was no fitting place for it\u2014I mean _music_. It stands\nalone, quite cut off from all the other arts. In it we do not recognise\nthe copy or repetition of any Idea of existence in the world. Yet it is\nsuch a great and exceedingly noble art, its effect on the inmost nature of\nman is so powerful, and it is so entirely and deeply understood by him in\nhis inmost consciousness as a perfectly universal language, the\ndistinctness of which surpasses even that of the perceptible world itself,\nthat we certainly have more to look for in it than an _exercitum\narithmetic\u00e6 occultum nescientis se numerare animi_,(62) which Leibnitz\ncalled it. Yet he was perfectly right, as he considered only its immediate\nexternal significance, its form. But if it were nothing more, the\nsatisfaction which it affords would be like that which we feel when a sum\nin arithmetic comes out right, and could not be that intense pleasure with\nwhich we see the deepest recesses of our nature find utterance. From our\nstandpoint, therefore, at which the \u00e6sthetic effect is the criterion, we\nmust attribute to music a far more serious and deep significance,\nconnected with the inmost nature of the world and our own self, and in\nreference to which the arithmetical proportions, to which it may be\nreduced, are related, not as the thing signified, but merely as the sign.\nThat in some sense music must be related to the world as the\nrepresentation to the thing represented, as the copy to the original, we\nmay conclude from the analogy of the other arts, all of which possess this\ncharacter, and affect us on the whole in the same way as it does, only\nthat the effect of music is stronger, quicker, more necessary and\ninfallible. Further, its representative relation to the world must be very\ndeep, absolutely true, and strikingly accurate, because it is instantly\nunderstood by every one, and has the appearance of a certain\ninfallibility, because its form may be reduced to perfectly definite rules\nexpressed in numbers, from which it cannot free itself without entirely\nceasing to be music. Yet the point of comparison between music and the\nworld, the respect in which it stands to the world in the relation of a\ncopy or repetition, is very obscure. Men have practised music in all ages\nwithout being able to account for this; content to understand it directly,\nthey renounce all claim to an abstract conception of this direct\nunderstanding itself.\n\nI gave my mind entirely up to the impression of music in all its forms,\nand then returned to reflection and the system of thought expressed in the\npresent work, and thus I arrived at an explanation of the inner nature of\nmusic and of the nature of its imitative relation to the world\u2014which from\nanalogy had necessarily to be presupposed\u2014an explanation which is quite\nsufficient for myself, and satisfactory to my investigation, and which\nwill doubtless be equally evident to any one who has followed me thus far\nand has agreed with my view of the world. Yet I recognise the fact that it\nis essentially impossible to prove this explanation, for it assumes and\nestablishes a relation of music, as idea, to that which from its nature\ncan never be idea, and music will have to be regarded as the copy of an\noriginal which can never itself be directly presented as idea. I can\ntherefore do no more than state here, at the conclusion of this third\nbook, which has been principally devoted to the consideration of the arts,\nthe explanation of the marvellous art of music which satisfies myself, and\nI must leave the acceptance or denial of my view to the effect produced\nupon each of my readers both by music itself and by the whole system of\nthought communicated in this work. Moreover, I regard it as necessary, in\norder to be able to assent with full conviction to the exposition of the\nsignificance of music I am about to give, that one should often listen to\nmusic with constant reflection upon my theory concerning it, and for this\nagain it is necessary to be very familiar with the whole of my system of\nthought.\n\nThe (Platonic) Ideas are the adequate objectification of will. To excite\nor suggest the knowledge of these by means of the representation of\nparticular things (for works of art themselves are always representations\nof particular things) is the end of all the other arts, which can only be\nattained by a corresponding change in the knowing subject. Thus all these\narts objectify the will indirectly only by means of the Ideas; and since\nour world is nothing but the manifestation of the Ideas in multiplicity,\nthough their entrance into the _principium individuationis_ (the form of\nthe knowledge possible for the individual as such), music also, since it\npasses over the Ideas, is entirely independent of the phenomenal world,\nignores it altogether, could to a certain extent exist if there was no\nworld at all, which cannot be said of the other arts. Music is as _direct_\nan objectification and copy of the whole _will_ as the world itself, nay,\neven as the Ideas, whose multiplied manifestation constitutes the world of\nindividual things. Music is thus by no means like the other arts, the copy\nof the Ideas, but the _copy of the will itself_, whose objectivity the\nIdeas are. This is why the effect of music is so much more powerful and\npenetrating than that of the other arts, for they speak only of shadows,\nbut it speaks of the thing itself. Since, however, it is the same will\nwhich objectifies itself both in the Ideas and in music, though in quite\ndifferent ways, there must be, not indeed a direct likeness, but yet a\nparallel, an analogy, between music and the Ideas whose manifestation in\nmultiplicity and incompleteness is the visible world. The establishing of\nthis analogy will facilitate, as an illustration, the understanding of\nthis exposition, which is so difficult on account of the obscurity of the\nsubject.\n\nI recognise in the deepest tones of harmony, in the bass, the lowest\ngrades of the objectification of will, unorganised nature, the mass of the\nplanet. It is well known that all the high notes which are easily sounded,\nand die away more quickly, are produced by the vibration in their vicinity\nof the deep bass-notes. When, also, the low notes sound, the high notes\nalways sound faintly, and it is a law of harmony that only those high\nnotes may accompany a bass-note which actually already sound along with it\nof themselves (its _sons harmoniques_) on account of its vibration. This\nis analogous to the fact that the whole of the bodies and organisations of\nnature must be regarded as having come into existence through gradual\ndevelopment out of the mass of the planet; this is both their supporter\nand their source, and the same relation subsists between the high notes\nand the bass. There is a limit of depth, below which no sound is audible.\nThis corresponds to the fact that no matter can be perceived without form\nand quality, _i.e._, without the manifestation of a force which cannot be\nfurther explained, in which an Idea expresses itself, and, more generally,\nthat no matter can be entirely without will. Thus, as a certain pitch is\ninseparable from the note as such, so a certain grade of the manifestation\nof will is inseparable from matter. Bass is thus, for us, in harmony what\nunorganised nature, the crudest mass, upon which all rests, and from which\neverything originates and develops, is in the world. Now, further, in the\nwhole of the complemental parts which make up the harmony between the bass\nand the leading voice singing the melody, I recognise the whole gradation\nof the Ideas in which the will objectifies itself. Those nearer to the\nbass are the lower of these grades, the still unorganised, but yet\nmanifold phenomenal things; the higher represent to me the world of plants\nand beasts. The definite intervals of the scale are parallel to the\ndefinite grades of the objectification of will, the definite species in\nnature. The departure from the arithmetical correctness of the intervals,\nthrough some temperament, or produced by the key selected, is analogous to\nthe departure of the individual from the type of the species. Indeed, even\nthe impure discords, which give no definite interval, may be compared to\nthe monstrous abortions produced by beasts of two species, or by man and\nbeast. But to all these bass and complemental parts which make up the\n_harmony_ there is wanting that connected progress which belongs only to\nthe high voice singing the melody, and it alone moves quickly and lightly\nin modulations and runs, while all these others have only a slower\nmovement without a connection in each part for itself. The deep bass moves\nmost slowly, the representative of the crudest mass. Its rising and\nfalling occurs only by large intervals, in thirds, fourths, fifths, never\nby _one_ tone, unless it is a base inverted by double counterpoint. This\nslow movement is also physically essential to it; a quick run or shake in\nthe low notes cannot even be imagined. The higher complemental parts,\nwhich are parallel to animal life, move more quickly, but yet without\nmelodious connection and significant progress. The disconnected course of\nall the complemental parts, and their regulation by definite laws, is\nanalogous to the fact that in the whole irrational world, from the crystal\nto the most perfect animal, no being has a connected consciousness of its\nown which would make its life into a significant whole, and none\nexperiences a succession of mental developments, none perfects itself by\nculture, but everything exists always in the same way according to its\nkind, determined by fixed law. Lastly, in the _melody_, in the high,\nsinging, principal voice leading the whole and progressing with\nunrestrained freedom, in the unbroken significant connection of _one_\nthought from beginning to end representing a whole, I recognise the\nhighest grade of the objectification of will, the intellectual life and\neffort of man. As he alone, because endowed with reason, constantly looks\nbefore and after on the path of his actual life and its innumerable\npossibilities, and so achieves a course of life which is intellectual, and\ntherefore connected as a whole; corresponding to this, I say, the _melody_\nhas significant intentional connection from beginning to end. It records,\ntherefore, the history of the intellectually enlightened will. This will\nexpresses itself in the actual world as the series of its deeds; but\nmelody says more, it records the most secret history of this\nintellectually-enlightened will, pictures every excitement, every effort,\nevery movement of it, all that which the reason collects under the wide\nand negative concept of feeling, and which it cannot apprehend further\nthrough its abstract concepts. Therefore it has always been said that\nmusic is the language of feeling and of passion, as words are the language\nof reason. Plato explains it as \u1f21 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b9\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bc\u03b9\u03bc\u03b7\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b7, \u03b5\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2\n\u03c0\u03b1\u03b8\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f41\u03c4\u03b1\u03bd \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b7 \u03b3\u03b9\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 (_melodiarum motus, animi affectus imitans_),\nDe Leg. vii.; and also Aristotle says: \u03b4\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b9 \u03bf\u1f31 \u03c1\u03c5\u03b8\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b7, \u03c6\u03c9\u03bd\u03b7\n\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1, \u03b7\u03b8\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u03b5\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b5 (_cur numeri musici et modi, qui voces sunt, moribus\nsimiles sese exhibent?_): Probl. c. 19.\n\nNow the nature of man consists in this, that his will strives, is\nsatisfied and strives anew, and so on for ever. Indeed, his happiness and\nwell-being consist simply in the quick transition from wish to\nsatisfaction, and from satisfaction to a new wish. For the absence of\nsatisfaction is suffering, the empty longing for a new wish, languor,\n_ennui_. And corresponding to this the nature of melody is a constant\ndigression and deviation from the key-note in a thousand ways, not only to\nthe harmonious intervals to the third and dominant, but to every tone, to\nthe dissonant sevenths and to the superfluous degrees; yet there always\nfollows a constant return to the key-note. In all these deviations melody\nexpresses the multifarious efforts of will, but always its satisfaction\nalso by the final return to an harmonious interval, and still more, to the\nkey-note. The composition of melody, the disclosure in it of all the\ndeepest secrets of human willing and feeling, is the work of genius, whose\naction, which is more apparent here than anywhere else, lies far from all\nreflection and conscious intention, and may be called an inspiration. The\nconception is here, as everywhere in art, unfruitful. The composer reveals\nthe inner nature of the world, and expresses the deepest wisdom in a\nlanguage which his reason does not understand; as a person under the\ninfluence of mesmerism tells things of which he has no conception when he\nawakes. Therefore in the composer, more than in any other artist, the man\nis entirely separated and distinct from the artist. Even in the\nexplanation of this wonderful art, the concept shows its poverty and\nlimitation. I shall try, however, to complete our analogy. As quick\ntransition from wish to satisfaction, and from satisfaction to a new wish,\nis happiness and well-being, so quick melodies without great deviations\nare cheerful; slow melodies, striking painful discords, and only winding\nback through many bars to the keynote are, as analogous to the delayed and\nhardly won satisfaction, sad. The delay of the new excitement of will,\nlanguor, could have no other expression than the sustained keynote, the\neffect of which would soon be unbearable; very monotonous and unmeaning\nmelodies approach this effect. The short intelligible subjects of quick\ndance-music seem to speak only of easily attained common pleasure. On the\nother hand, the _Allegro maestoso_, in elaborate movements, long passages,\nand wide deviations, signifies a greater, nobler effort towards a more\ndistant end, and its final attainment. The _Adagio_ speaks of the pain of\na great and noble effort which despises all trifling happiness. But how\nwonderful is the effect of the _minor_ and _major_! How astounding that\nthe change of half a tone, the entrance of a minor third instead of a\nmajor, at once and inevitably forces upon us an anxious painful feeling,\nfrom which again we are just as instantaneously delivered by the major.\nThe _Adagio_ lengthens in the minor the expression of the keenest pain,\nand becomes even a convulsive wail. Dance-music in the minor seems to\nindicate the failure of that trifling happiness which we ought rather to\ndespise, seems to speak of the attainment of a lower end with toil and\ntrouble. The inexhaustibleness of possible melodies corresponds to the\ninexhaustibleness of Nature in difference of individuals, physiognomies,\nand courses of life. The transition from one key to an entirely different\none, since it altogether breaks the connection with what went before, is\nlike death, for the individual ends in it; but the will which appeared in\nthis individual lives after him as before him, appearing in other\nindividuals, whose consciousness, however, has no connection with his.\n\nBut it must never be forgotten, in the investigation of all these\nanalogies I have pointed out, that music has no direct, but merely an\nindirect relation to them, for it never expresses the phenomenon, but only\nthe inner nature, the in-itself of all phenomena, the will itself. It does\nnot therefore express this or that particular and definite joy, this or\nthat sorrow, or pain, or horror, or delight, or merriment, or peace of\nmind; but joy, sorrow, pain, horror, delight, merriment, peace of mind\n_themselves_, to a certain extent in the abstract, their essential nature,\nwithout accessories, and therefore without their motives. Yet we\ncompletely understand them in this extracted quintessence. Hence it arises\nthat our imagination is so easily excited by music, and now seeks to give\nform to that invisible yet actively moved spirit-world which speaks to us\ndirectly, and clothe it with flesh and blood, _i.e._, to embody it in an\nanalogous example. This is the origin of the song with words, and finally\nof the opera, the text of which should therefore never forsake that\nsubordinate position in order to make itself the chief thing and the music\na mere means of expressing it, which is a great misconception and a piece\nof utter perversity; for music always expresses only the quintessence of\nlife and its events, never these themselves, and therefore their\ndifferences do not always affect it. It is precisely this universality,\nwhich belongs exclusively to it, together with the greatest\ndeterminateness, that gives music the high worth which it has as the\npanacea for all our woes. Thus, if music is too closely united to the\nwords, and tries to form itself according to the events, it is striving to\nspeak a language which is not its own. No one has kept so free from this\nmistake as Rossini; therefore his music speaks _its own language_ so\ndistinctly and purely that it requires no words, and produces its full\neffect when rendered by instruments alone.\n\nAccording to all this, we may regard the phenomenal world, or nature, and\nmusic as two different expressions of the same thing, which is therefore\nitself the only medium of their analogy, so that a knowledge of it is\ndemanded in order to understand that analogy. Music, therefore, if\nregarded as an expression of the world, is in the highest degree a\nuniversal language, which is related indeed to the universality of\nconcepts, much as they are related to the particular things. Its\nuniversality, however, is by no means that empty universality of\nabstraction, but quite of a different kind, and is united with thorough\nand distinct definiteness. In this respect it resembles geometrical\nfigures and numbers, which are the universal forms of all possible objects\nof experience and applicable to them all _a priori_, and yet are not\nabstract but perceptible and thoroughly determined. All possible efforts,\nexcitements, and manifestations of will, all that goes on in the heart of\nman and that reason includes in the wide, negative concept of feeling, may\nbe expressed by the infinite number of possible melodies, but always in\nthe universal, in the mere form, without the material, always according to\nthe thing-in-itself, not the phenomenon, the inmost soul, as it were, of\nthe phenomenon, without the body. This deep relation which music has to\nthe true nature of all things also explains the fact that suitable music\nplayed to any scene, action, event, or surrounding seems to disclose to us\nits most secret meaning, and appears as the most accurate and distinct\ncommentary upon it. This is so truly the case, that whoever gives himself\nup entirely to the impression of a symphony, seems to see all the possible\nevents of life and the world take place in himself, yet if he reflects, he\ncan find no likeness between the music and the things that passed before\nhis mind. For, as we have said, music is distinguished from all the other\narts by the fact that it is not a copy of the phenomenon, or, more\naccurately, the adequate objectivity of will, but is the direct copy of\nthe will itself, and therefore exhibits itself as the metaphysical to\neverything physical in the world, and as the thing-in-itself to every\nphenomenon. We might, therefore, just as well call the world embodied\nmusic as embodied will; and this is the reason why music makes every\npicture, and indeed every scene of real life and of the world, at once\nappear with higher significance, certainly all the more in proportion as\nits melody is analogous to the inner spirit of the given phenomenon. It\nrests upon this that we are able to set a poem to music as a song, or a\nperceptible representation as a pantomime, or both as an opera. Such\nparticular pictures of human life, set to the universal language of music,\nare never bound to it or correspond to it with stringent necessity; but\nthey stand to it only in the relation of an example chosen at will to a\ngeneral concept. In the determinateness of the real, they represent that\nwhich music expresses in the universality of mere form. For melodies are\nto a certain extent, like general concepts, an abstraction from the\nactual. This actual world, then, the world of particular things, affords\nthe object of perception, the special and individual, the particular case,\nboth to the universality of the concepts and to the universality of the\nmelodies. But these two universalities are in a certain respect opposed to\neach other; for the concepts contain particulars only as the first forms\nabstracted from perception, as it were, the separated shell of things;\nthus they are, strictly speaking, _abstracta_; music, on the other hand,\ngives the inmost kernel which precedes all forms, or the heart of things.\nThis relation may be very well expressed in the language of the schoolmen\nby saying the concepts are the _universalia post rem_, but music gives the\n_universalia ante rem_, and the real world the _universalia in re_. To the\nuniversal significance of a melody to which a poem has been set, it is\nquite possible to set other equally arbitrarily selected examples of the\nuniversal expressed in this poem corresponding to the significance of the\nmelody in the same degree. This is why the same composition is suitable to\nmany verses; and this is also what makes the _vaudeville_ possible. But\nthat in general a relation is possible between a composition and a\nperceptible representation rests, as we have said, upon the fact that both\nare simply different expressions of the same inner being of the world.\nWhen now, in the particular case, such a relation is actually given, that\nis to say, when the composer has been able to express in the universal\nlanguage of music the emotions of will which constitute the heart of an\nevent, then the melody of the song, the music of the opera, is expressive.\nBut the analogy discovered by the composer between the two must have\nproceeded from the direct knowledge of the nature of the world unknown to\nhis reason, and must not be an imitation produced with conscious intention\nby means of conceptions, otherwise the music does not express the inner\nnature of the will itself, but merely gives an inadequate imitation of its\nphenomenon. All specially imitative music does this; for example, \u201cThe\nSeasons,\u201d by Haydn; also many passages of his \u201cCreation,\u201d in which\nphenomena of the external world are directly imitated; also all\nbattle-pieces. Such music is entirely to be rejected.\n\nThe unutterable depth of all music by virtue of which it floats through\nour consciousness as the vision of a paradise firmly believed in yet ever\ndistant from us, and by which also it is so fully understood and yet so\ninexplicable, rests on the fact that it restores to us all the emotions of\nour inmost nature, but entirely without reality and far removed from their\npain. So also the seriousness which is essential to it, which excludes the\nabsurd from its direct and peculiar province, is to be explained by the\nfact that its object is not the idea, with reference to which alone\ndeception and absurdity are possible; but its object is directly the will,\nand this is essentially the most serious of all things, for it is that on\nwhich all depends. How rich in content and full of significance the\nlanguage of music is, we see from the repetitions, as well as the _Da\ncapo_, the like of which would be unbearable in works composed in a\nlanguage of words, but in music are very appropriate and beneficial, for,\nin order to comprehend it fully, we must hear it twice.\n\nIn the whole of this exposition of music I have been trying to bring out\nclearly that it expresses in a perfectly universal language, in a\nhomogeneous material, mere tones, and with the greatest determinateness\nand truth, the inner nature, the in-itself of the world, which we think\nunder the concept of will, because will is its most distinct\nmanifestation. Further, according to my view and contention, philosophy is\nnothing but a complete and accurate repetition or expression of the nature\nof the world in very general concepts, for only in such is it possible to\nget a view of that whole nature which will everywhere be adequate and\napplicable. Thus, whoever has followed me and entered into my mode of\nthought, will not think it so very paradoxical if I say, that supposing it\nwere possible to give a perfectly accurate, complete explanation of music,\nextending even to particulars, that is to say, a detailed repetition in\nconcepts of what it expresses, this would also be a sufficient repetition\nand explanation of the world in concepts, or at least entirely parallel to\nsuch an explanation, and thus it would be the true philosophy.\nConsequently the saying of Leibnitz quoted above, which is quite accurate\nfrom a lower standpoint, may be parodied in the following way to suit our\nhigher view of music: _Musica est exercitium metaphysices occultum\nnescientis se philosophari animi_; for _scire_, to know, always means to\nhave fixed in abstract concepts. But further, on account of the truth of\nthe saying of Leibnitz, which is confirmed in various ways, music,\nregarded apart from its \u00e6sthetic or inner significance, and looked at\nmerely externally and purely empirically, is simply the means of\ncomprehending directly and in the concrete large numbers and complex\nrelations of numbers, which otherwise we could only know indirectly by\nfixing them in concepts. Therefore by the union of these two very\ndifferent but correct views of music we may arrive at a conception of the\npossibility of a philosophy of number, such as that of Pythagoras and of\nthe Chinese in Y-King, and then interpret in this sense the saying of the\nPythagoreans which Sextus Empiricus quotes (adv. Math., L. vii.): \u03c4\u1ff3\n\u03b1\u03c1\u03b9\u03b8\u03bc\u1ff3 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03c0\u03b5\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b5\u03bd (_numero cuncta assimilantur_). And if,\nfinally, we apply this view to the interpretation of harmony and melody\ngiven above, we shall find that a mere moral philosophy without an\nexplanation of Nature, such as Socrates wanted to introduce, is precisely\nanalogous to a mere melody without harmony, which Rousseau exclusively\ndesired; and, in opposition to this mere physics and metaphysics without\nethics, will correspond to mere harmony without melody. Allow me to add to\nthese cursory observations a few more remarks concerning the analogy of\nmusic with the phenomenal world. We found in the second book that the\nhighest grade of the objectification of will, man, could not appear alone\nand isolated, but presupposed the grades below him, as these again\npresupposed the grades lower still. In the same way music, which directly\nobjectifies the will, just as the world does, is complete only in full\nharmony. In order to achieve its full effect, the high leading voice of\nthe melody requires the accompaniment of all the other voices, even to the\nlowest bass, which is to be regarded as the origin of all. The melody\nitself enters as an integral part into the harmony, as the harmony enters\ninto it, and only thus, in the full harmonious whole, music expresses what\nit aims at expressing. Thus also the one will outside of time finds its\nfull objectification only in the complete union of all the steps which\nreveal its nature in the innumerable ascending grades of distinctness. The\nfollowing analogy is also very remarkable. We have seen in the preceding\nbook that notwithstanding the self-adaptation of all the phenomena of will\nto each other as regards their species, which constitutes their\nteleological aspect, there yet remains an unceasing conflict between those\nphenomena as individuals, which is visible at every grade, and makes the\nworld a constant battle-field of all those manifestations of one and the\nsame will, whose inner contradiction with itself becomes visible through\nit. In music also there is something corresponding to this. A complete,\npure, harmonious system of tones is not only physically but arithmetically\nimpossible. The numbers themselves by which the tones are expressed have\ninextricable irrationality. There is no scale in which, when it is\ncounted, every fifth will be related to the keynote as 2 to 3, every major\nthird as 4 to 5, every minor third as 5 to 6, and so on. For if they are\ncorrectly related to the keynote, they can no longer be so to each other;\nbecause, for example, the fifth must be the minor third to the third, &c.\nFor the notes of the scale may be compared to actors who must play now one\npart, now another. Therefore a perfectly accurate system of music cannot\neven be thought, far less worked out; and on this account all possible\nmusic deviates from perfect purity; it can only conceal the discords\nessential to it by dividing them among all the notes, _i.e._, by\ntemperament. On this see Chladni\u2019s \u201cAkustik,\u201d \u00a7 30, and his \u201cKurze\nUebersicht der Schall- und Klanglehre.\u201d(63)\n\nI might still have something to say about the way in which music is\nperceived, namely, in and through time alone, with absolute exclusion of\nspace, and also apart from the influence of the knowledge of causality,\nthus without understanding; for the tones make the \u00e6sthetic impression as\neffect, and without obliging us to go back to their causes, as in the case\nof perception. I do not wish, however, to lengthen this discussion, as I\nhave perhaps already gone too much into detail with regard to some things\nin this Third Book, or have dwelt too much on particulars. But my aim made\nit necessary, and it will be the less disapproved if the importance and\nhigh worth of art, which is seldom sufficiently recognised, be kept in\nmind. For if, according to our view, the whole visible world is just the\nobjectification, the mirror, of the will, conducting it to knowledge of\nitself, and, indeed, as we shall soon see, to the possibility of its\ndeliverance; and if, at the same time, the world as idea, if we regard it\nin isolation, and, freeing ourselves from all volition, allow it alone to\ntake possession of our consciousness, is the most joy-giving and the only\ninnocent side of life; we must regard art as the higher ascent, the more\ncomplete development of all this, for it achieves essentially just what is\nachieved by the visible world itself, only with greater concentration,\nmore perfectly, with intention and intelligence, and therefore may be\ncalled, in the full significance of the word, the flower of life. If the\nwhole world as idea is only the visibility of will, the work of art is to\nrender this visibility more distinct. It is the _camera obscura_ which\nshows the objects more purely, and enables us to survey them and\ncomprehend them better. It is the play within the play, the stage upon the\nstage in \u201cHamlet.\u201d\n\nThe pleasure we receive from all beauty, the consolation which art\naffords, the enthusiasm of the artist, which enables him to forget the\ncares of life,\u2014the latter an advantage of the man of genius over other\nmen, which alone repays him for the suffering that increases in proportion\nto the clearness of consciousness, and for the desert loneliness among men\nof a different race,\u2014all this rests on the fact that the in-itself of\nlife, the will, existence itself, is, as we shall see farther on, a\nconstant sorrow, partly miserable, partly terrible; while, on the\ncontrary, as idea alone, purely contemplated, or copied by art, free from\npain, it presents to us a drama full of significance. This purely knowable\nside of the world, and the copy of it in any art, is the element of the\nartist. He is chained to the contemplation of the play, the\nobjectification of will; he remains beside it, does not get tired of\ncontemplating it and representing it in copies; and meanwhile he bears\nhimself the cost of the production of that play, _i.e._, he himself is the\nwill which objectifies itself, and remains in constant suffering. That\npure, true, and deep knowledge of the inner nature of the world becomes\nnow for him an end in itself: he stops there. Therefore it does not become\nto him a quieter of the will, as, we shall see in the next book, it does\nin the case of the saint who has attained to resignation; it does not\ndeliver him for ever from life, but only at moments, and is therefore not\nfor him a path out of life, but only an occasional consolation in it, till\nhis power, increased by this contemplation and at last tired of the play,\nlays hold on the real. The St. Cecilia of Raphael may be regarded as a\nrepresentation of this transition. To the real, then, we now turn in the\nfollowing book.\n\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH BOOK. THE WORLD AS WILL.\n\n\n\n\nSecond Aspect. The Assertion And Denial Of The Will To Live, When\nSelf-Consciousness Has Been Attained.\n\n\n    Tempore quo cognitio simul advenit, amor e medio\n                supersurrexit.\u2014_Oupnek\u2019hat,_\n    _Studio Anquetil Duperron_, vol. ii. p. 216.\n\n\n\u00a7 53. The last part of our work presents itself as the most serious, for\nit relates to the action of men, the matter which concerns every one\ndirectly and can be foreign or indifferent to none. It is indeed so\ncharacteristic of the nature of man to relate everything else to action,\nthat in every systematic investigation he will always treat the part that\nhas to do with action as the result or outcome of the whole work, so far,\nat least, as it interests him, and will therefore give his most serious\nattention to this part, even if to no other. In this respect the following\npart of our work would, in ordinary language, be called practical\nphilosophy, in opposition to the theoretical, which has occupied us\nhitherto. But, in my opinion, all philosophy is theoretical, because it is\nessential to it that it should retain a purely contemplative attitude, and\nshould investigate, not prescribe. To become, on the contrary, practical,\nto guide conduct, to transform character, are old claims, which with\nfuller insight it ought finally to give up. For here, where the worth or\nworthlessness of an existence, where salvation or damnation are in\nquestion, the dead conceptions of philosophy do not decide the matter, but\nthe inmost nature of man himself, the D\u00e6mon that guides him and that has\nnot chosen him, but been chosen by him, as Plato would say; his\nintelligible character, as Kant expresses himself. Virtue cannot be taught\nany more than genius; indeed, for it the concept is just as unfruitful as\nit is in art, and in both cases can only be used as an instrument. It\nwould, therefore, be just as absurd to expect that our moral systems and\nethics will produce virtuous, noble, and holy men, as that our \u00e6sthetics\nwill produce poets, painters, and musicians.\n\nPhilosophy can never do more than interpret and explain what is given. It\ncan only bring to distinct abstract knowledge of the reason the nature of\nthe world which in the concrete, that is, as feeling, expresses itself\ncomprehensibly to every one. This, however, it does in every possible\nreference and from every point of view. Now, as this attempt has been made\nfrom other points of view in the three preceding books with the generality\nthat is proper to philosophy, in this book the action of men will be\nconsidered in the same way; and this side of the world might, indeed, be\nconsidered the most important of all, not only subjectively, as I remarked\nabove, but also objectively. In considering it I shall faithfully adhere\nto the method I have hitherto followed, and shall support myself by\npresupposing all that has already been advanced. There is, indeed, just\none thought which forms the content of this whole work. I have endeavoured\nto work it out in all other spheres, and I shall now do so with regard to\nhuman action. I shall then have done all that is in my power to\ncommunicate it as fully as possible.\n\nThe given point of view, and the method of treatment announced, are\nthemselves sufficient to indicate that in this ethical book no precepts,\nno doctrine of duty must be looked for; still less will a general moral\nprinciple be given, an universal receipt, as it were, for the production\nof all the virtues. Neither shall we talk of an \u201c_absolute ought_,\u201d for\nthis contains a contradiction, as is explained in the Appendix; nor yet of\na \u201c_law of freedom_,\u201d which is in the same position. In general, we shall\nnot speak at all of \u201cought,\u201d for this is how one speaks to children and to\nnations still in their childhood, but not to those who have appropriated\nall the culture of a full-grown age. It is a palpable contradiction to\ncall the will free, and yet to prescribe laws for it according to which it\nought to will. \u201cOught to will!\u201d\u2014wooden iron! But it follows from the point\nof view of our system that the will is not only free, but almighty. From\nit proceeds not only its action, but also its world; and as the will is,\nso does its action and its world become. Both are the self-knowledge of\nthe will and nothing more. The will determines itself, and at the same\ntime both its action and its world; for besides it there is nothing, and\nthese are the will itself. Only thus is the will truly autonomous, and\nfrom every other point of view it is heteronomous. Our philosophical\nendeavours can only extend to exhibiting and explaining the action of men\nin its inner nature and content, the various and even opposite maxims,\nwhose living expression it is. This we shall do in connection with the\npreceding portion of our work, and in precisely the same way as we have\nhitherto explained the other phenomena of the world, and have sought to\nbring their inmost nature to distinct abstract knowledge. Our philosophy\nwill maintain the same _immanency_ in the case of action, as in all that\nwe have hitherto considered. Notwithstanding Kant\u2019s great doctrine, it\nwill not attempt to use the forms of the phenomenon, the universal\nexpression of which is the principle of sufficient reason, as a\nleaping-pole to jump over the phenomenon itself, which alone gives meaning\nto these forms, and land in the boundless sphere of empty fictions. But\nthis actual world of experience, in which we are, and which is in us,\nremains both the material and the limits of our consideration: a world\nwhich is so rich in content that even the most searching investigation of\nwhich the human mind is capable could not exhaust it. Since then the real\nworld of experience will never fail to afford material and reality to our\nethical investigations, any more than to those we have already conducted,\nnothing will be less needful than to take refuge in negative conceptions\nvoid of content, and then somehow or other make even ourselves believe\nthat we are saying something when we speak with lifted eyebrows of\n\u201cabsolutes,\u201d \u201cinfinites,\u201d \u201csupersensibles,\u201d and whatever other mere\nnegations of this sort there may be (\u03bf\u03c5\u03b4\u03b5\u03bd \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9, \u03b7 \u03c4\u03bf \u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03c9\u03c2 \u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1,\n\u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1 \u03b1\u03bc\u03c5\u03b4\u03c1\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1\u03c2\u2014_nihil est, nisi negationis nomen, cum obscura\nnotione_.\u2014Jul. or. 5), instead of which it would be shorter to say at once\ncloud-cuckoo-town (\u03bd\u03b5\u03c6\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03ba\u03bf\u03ba\u03ba\u03c5\u03b3\u03b9\u03b1): we shall not require to serve up\ncovered empty dishes of this kind. Finally, we shall not in this book, any\nmore than in those which have preceded it, narrate histories and give them\nout as philosophy. For we are of opinion that whoever supposes that the\ninner nature of the world can in any way, however plausibly disguised, be\n_historically_ comprehended, is infinitely far from a philosophical\nknowledge of the world. Yet this is what is supposed whenever a\n\u201cbecoming,\u201d or a \u201chaving become,\u201d or an \u201cabout to become\u201d enters into a\ntheory of the nature of the world, whenever an earlier or a later has the\nleast place in it; and in this way a beginning and an end of the world,\nand the path it pursues between them, is, either openly or disguisedly,\nboth sought for and found, and the individual who philosophises even\nrecognises his own position on that path. Such _historical philosophising_\nin most cases produces a cosmogony which admits of many varieties, or else\na system of emanations, a doctrine of successive disengagements from one\nbeing; or, finally, driven in despair from fruitless efforts upon these\npaths to the last path of all, it takes refuge in the converse doctrine of\na constant becoming, springing up, arising, coming to light out of\ndarkness, out of the hidden ground source or groundlessness, or whatever\nother nonsense of this sort there may be, which is most shortly disposed\nof with the remark that at the present moment a whole eternity, _i.e._, an\nendless time, has already passed, so that everything that can or ought to\nbecome must have already done so. For all such historical philosophy,\nwhatever airs it may give itself, regards _time_ just as if Kant had never\nlived, as a quality of the thing-in-itself, and thus stops at that which\nKant calls the phenomenon in opposition to the thing-in-itself; which\nPlato calls the becoming and never being, in opposition to the being and\nnever becoming; and which, finally, is called in the Indian philosophy the\nweb of M\u00e2ya. It is just the knowledge which belongs to the principle of\nsufficient reason, with which no one can penetrate to the inner nature of\nthings, but endlessly pursues phenomena, moving without end or aim, like a\nsquirrel in its wheel, till, tired out at last, he stops at some point or\nother arbitrarily chosen, and now desires to extort respect for it from\nothers also. The genuine philosophical consideration of the world, _i.e._,\nthe consideration that affords us a knowledge of its inner nature, and so\nleads us beyond the phenomenon, is precisely that method which does not\nconcern itself with the whence, the whither, and the why of the world, but\nalways and everywhere demands only the what; the method which considers\nthings not according to any relation, not as becoming and passing away, in\nshort, not according to one of the four forms of the principle of\nsufficient reason; but, on the contrary, just that which remains when all\nthat belongs to the form of knowledge proper to that principle has been\nabstracted, the inner nature of the world, which always appears unchanged\nin all the relations, but is itself never subject to them, and has the\nIdeas of the world as its object or material. From such knowledge as this\nproceeds philosophy, like art, and also, as we shall see in this book,\nthat disposition of mind which alone leads to true holiness and to\ndeliverance from the world.\n\n\u00a7 54. The first three books will, it is hoped, have conveyed the distinct\nand certain knowledge that the world as idea is the complete mirror of the\nwill, in which it knows itself in ascending grades of distinctness and\ncompleteness, the highest of which is man, whose nature, however, receives\nits complete expression only through the whole connected series of his\nactions. The self-conscious connection of these actions is made possible\nby reason, which enables a man constantly to survey the whole in the\nabstract.\n\nThe will, which, considered purely in itself, is without knowledge, and is\nmerely a blind incessant impulse, as we see it appear in unorganised and\nvegetable nature and their laws, and also in the vegetative part of our\nown life, receives through the addition of the world as idea, which is\ndeveloped in subjection to it, the knowledge of its own willing and of\nwhat it is that it wills. And this is nothing else than the world as idea,\nlife, precisely as it exists. Therefore we called the phenomenal world the\nmirror of the will, its objectivity. And since what the will wills is\nalways life, just because life is nothing but the representation of that\nwilling for the idea, it is all one and a mere pleonism if, instead of\nsimply saying \u201cthe will,\u201d we say \u201cthe will to live.\u201d\n\nWill is the thing-in-itself, the inner content, the essence of the world.\nLife, the visible world, the phenomenon, is only the mirror of the will.\nTherefore life accompanies the will as inseparably as the shadow\naccompanies the body; and if will exists, so will life, the world, exist.\nLife is, therefore, assured to the will to live; and so long as we are\nfilled with the will to live we need have no fear for our existence, even\nin the presence of death. It is true we see the individual come into being\nand pass away; but the individual is only phenomenal, exists only for the\nknowledge which is bound to the principle of sufficient reason, to the\n_principio individuationis_. Certainly, for this kind of knowledge, the\nindividual receives his life as a gift, rises out of nothing, then suffers\nthe loss of this gift through death, and returns again to nothing. But we\ndesire to consider life philosophically, _i.e._, according to its Ideas,\nand in this sphere we shall find that neither the will, the\nthing-in-itself in all phenomena, nor the subject of knowing, that which\nperceives all phenomena, is affected at all by birth or by death. Birth\nand death belong merely to the phenomenon of will, thus to life; and it is\nessential to this to exhibit itself in individuals which come into being\nand pass away, as fleeting phenomena appearing in the form of\ntime\u2014phenomena of that which in itself knows no time, but must exhibit\nitself precisely in the way we have said, in order to objectify its\npeculiar nature. Birth and death belong in like manner to life, and hold\nthe balance as reciprocal conditions of each other, or, if one likes the\nexpression, as poles of the whole phenomenon of life. The wisest of all\nmythologies, the Indian, expresses this by giving to the very god that\nsymbolises destruction, death (as Brahma, the most sinful and the lowest\ngod of the Trimurti, symbolises generation, coming into being, and Vishnu\nmaintaining or preserving), by giving, I say, to Siva as an attribute not\nonly the necklace of skulls, but also the lingam, the symbol of\ngeneration, which appears here as the counterpart of death, thus\nsignifying that generation and death are essentially correlatives, which\nreciprocally neutralise and annul each other. It was precisely the same\nsentiment that led the Greeks and Romans to adorn their costly sarcophagi,\njust as we see them now, with feasts, dances, marriages, the chase, fights\nof wild beasts, bacchanalians, &c.; thus with representations of the full\nardour of life, which they place before us not only in such revels and\nsports, but also in sensual groups, and even go so far as to represent the\nsexual intercourse of satyrs and goats. Clearly the aim was to point in\nthe most impressive manner away from the death of the mourned individual\nto the immortal life of nature, and thus to indicate, though without\nabstract knowledge, that the whole of nature is the phenomenon and also\nthe fulfilment of the will to live. The form of this phenomenon is time,\nspace, and causality, and by means of these individuation, which carries\nwith it that the individual must come into being and pass away. But this\nno more affects the will to live, of whose manifestation the individual\nis, as it were, only a particular example or specimen, than the death of\nan individual injures the whole of nature. For it is not the individual,\nbut only the species that Nature cares for, and for the preservation of\nwhich she so earnestly strives, providing for it with the utmost\nprodigality through the vast surplus of the seed and the great strength of\nthe fructifying impulse. The individual, on the contrary, neither has nor\ncan have any value for Nature, for her kingdom is infinite time and\ninfinite space, and in these infinite multiplicity of possible\nindividuals. Therefore she is always ready to let the individual fall, and\nhence it is not only exposed to destruction in a thousand ways by the most\ninsignificant accident, but originally destined for it, and conducted\ntowards it by Nature herself from the moment it has served its end of\nmaintaining the species. Thus Nature na\u00efvely expresses the great truth\nthat only the Ideas, not the individuals, have, properly speaking,\nreality, _i.e._, are complete objectivity of the will. Now, since man is\nNature itself, and indeed Nature at the highest grade of its\nself-consciousness, but Nature is only the objectified will to live, the\nman who has comprehended and retained this point of view may well console\nhimself, when contemplating his own death and that of his friends, by\nturning his eyes to the immortal life of Nature, which he himself is. This\nis the significance of Siva with the lingam, and of those ancient\nsarcophagi with their pictures of glowing life, which say to the mourning\nbeholder, _Natura non contristatur_.\n\nThat generation and death are to be regarded as something belonging to\nlife, and essential to this phenomenon of the will, arises also from the\nfact that they both exhibit themselves merely as higher powers of the\nexpression of that in which all the rest of life consists. This is through\nand through nothing else than the constant change of matter in the fixed\npermanence of form; and this is what constitutes the transitoriness of the\nindividual and the permanence of the species. Constant nourishment and\nrenewal differ from generation only in degree, and constant excretion\ndiffers only in degree from death. The first shows itself most simply and\ndistinctly in the plant. The plant is throughout a constant recurrence of\nthe same impulse of its simplest fibre, which groups itself into leaf and\nbranch. It is a systematic aggregate of similar plants supporting each\nother, whose constant reproduction is its single impulse. It ascends to\nthe full satisfaction of this tendency through the grades of its\nmetamorphosis, finally to the blossom and fruit, that compendium of its\nexistence and effort in which it now attains, by a short way, to that\nwhich is its single aim, and at a stroke produces a thousand-fold what, up\ntill then, it effected only in the particular case\u2014the repetition of\nitself. Its earlier growth and development stands in the same relation to\nits fruit as writing stands to printing. With the animal it is clearly\nquite the same. The process of nourishing is a constant reproduction; the\nprocess of reproduction is a higher power of nourishing. The pleasure\nwhich accompanies the act of procreation is a higher power of the\nagreeableness of the sense of life. On the other hand, excretion, the\nconstant exhalation and throwing off of matter, is the same as that which,\nat a higher power, death, is the contrary of generation. And if here we\nare always content to retain the form without lamenting the discarded\nmatter, we ought to bear ourselves in the same way if in death the same\nthing happens, in a higher degree and to the whole, as takes place daily\nand hourly in a partial manner in excretion: if we are indifferent to the\none, we ought not to shrink from the other. Therefore, from this point of\nview, it appears just as perverse to desire the continuance of an\nindividuality which will be replaced by other individuals as to desire the\npermanence of matter which will be replaced by other matter. It appears\njust as foolish to embalm the body as it would be carefully to preserve\nits excrement. As to the individual consciousness which is bound to the\nindividual body, it is absolutely interrupted every day by sleep. Deep\nsleep is, while it lasts, in no way different from death, into which, in\nfact, it often passes continuously, as in the case of freezing to death.\nIt differs only with regard to the future, the awaking. Death is a sleep\nin which individuality is forgotten; everything else wakes again, or\nrather never slept.(64)\n\nAbove all things, we must distinctly recognise that the form of the\nphenomenon of will, the form of life or reality, is really only the\n_present_, not the future nor the past. The latter are only in the\nconception, exist only in the connection of knowledge, so far as it\nfollows the principle of sufficient reason. No man has ever lived in the\npast, and none will live in the future; the _present_ alone is the form of\nall life, and is its sure possession which can never be taken from it. The\npresent always exists, together with its content. Both remain fixed\nwithout wavering, like the rainbow on the waterfall. For life is firm and\ncertain in the will, and the present is firm and certain in life.\nCertainly, if we reflect on the thousands of years that are past, of the\nmillions of men who lived in them, we ask, What were they? what has become\nof them? But, on the other hand, we need only recall our own past life and\nrenew its scenes vividly in our imagination, and then ask again, What was\nall this? what has become of it? As it is with it, so is it with the life\nof those millions. Or should we suppose that the past could receive a new\nexistence because it has been sealed by death? Our own past, the most\nrecent part of it, and even yesterday, is now no more than an empty dream\nof the fancy, and such is the past of all those millions. What was? What\nis? The will, of which life is the mirror, and knowledge free from will,\nwhich beholds it clearly in that mirror. Whoever has not yet recognised\nthis, or will not recognise it, must add to the question asked above as to\nthe fate of past generations of men this question also: Why he, the\nquestioner, is so fortunate as to be conscious of this costly, fleeting,\nand only real present, while those hundreds of generations of men, even\nthe heroes and philosophers of those ages, have sunk into the night of the\npast, and have thus become nothing; but he, his insignificant ego,\nactually exists? or more shortly, though somewhat strangely: Why this now,\nhis now, _is_ just now and _was_ not long ago? Since he asks such strange\nquestions, he regards his existence and his time as independent of each\nother, and the former as projected into the latter. He assumes indeed two\nnows\u2014one which belongs to the object, the other which belongs to the\nsubject, and marvels at the happy accident of their coincidence. But in\ntruth, only the point of contact of the object, the form of which is time,\nwith the subject, which has no mode of the principle of sufficient reason\nas its form, constitutes the present, as is shown in the essay on the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. Now all object is the will so far as it\nhas become idea, and the subject is the necessary correlative of the\nobject. But real objects are only in the present; the past and the future\ncontain only conceptions and fancies, therefore the present is the\nessential form of the phenomenon of the will, and inseparable from it. The\npresent alone is that which always exists and remains immovable. That\nwhich, empirically apprehended, is the most transitory of all, presents\nitself to the metaphysical vision, which sees beyond the forms of\nempirical perception, as that which alone endures, the _nunc stans_ of the\nschoolmen. The source and the supporter of its content is the will to live\nor the thing-in-itself,\u2014which we are. That which constantly becomes and\npasses away, in that it has either already been or is still to be, belongs\nto the phenomenon as such on account of its forms, which make coming into\nbeing and passing away possible. Accordingly, we must think:\u2014_Quid\nfuit?_\u2014_Quod est._ _Quid erit?_\u2014_Quod fuit;_ and take it in the strict\nmeaning of the words; thus understand not _simile_ but _idem_. For life is\ncertain to the will, and the present is certain to life. Thus it is that\nevery one can say, \u201cI am once for all lord of the present, and through all\neternity it will accompany me as my shadow: therefore I do not wonder\nwhere it has come from, and how it happens that it is exactly now.\u201d We\nmight compare time to a constantly revolving sphere; the half that was\nalways sinking would be the past, that which was always rising would be\nthe future; but the indivisible point at the top, where the tangent\ntouches, would be the extensionless present. As the tangent does not\nrevolve with the sphere, neither does the present, the point of contact of\nthe object, the form of which is time, with the subject, which has no\nform, because it does not belong to the knowable, but is the condition of\nall that is knowable. Or, time is like an unceasing stream, and the\npresent a rock on which the stream breaks itself, but does not carry away\nwith it. The will, as thing-in-itself, is just as little subordinate to\nthe principle of sufficient reason as the subject of knowledge, which,\nfinally, in a certain regard is the will itself or its expression. And as\nlife, its own phenomenon, is assured to the will, so is the present, the\nsingle form of real life. Therefore we have not to investigate the past\nbefore life, nor the future after death: we have rather to know the\n_present_, the one form in which the will manifests itself.(65) It will\nnot escape from the will, but neither will the will escape from it. If,\ntherefore, life as it is satisfies, whoever affirms it in every way may\nregard it with confidence as endless, and banish the fear of death as an\nillusion that inspires him with the foolish dread that he can ever be\nrobbed of the present, and foreshadows a time in which there is no\npresent; an illusion with regard to time analogous to the illusion with\nregard to space through which every one imagines the position on the globe\nhe happens to occupy as above, and all other places as below. In the same\nway every one links the present to his own individuality, and imagines\nthat all present is extinguished with it; that then past and future might\nbe without a present. But as on the surface of the globe every place is\nabove, so the form of all life is the _present_, and to fear death because\nit robs us of the present, is just as foolish as to fear that we may slip\ndown from the round globe upon which we have now the good fortune to\noccupy the upper surface. The present is the form essential to the\nobjectification of the will. It cuts time, which extends infinitely in\nboth directions, as a mathematical point, and stands immovably fixed, like\nan everlasting mid-day with no cool evening, as the actual sun burns\nwithout intermission, while it only seems to sink into the bosom of night.\nTherefore, if a man fears death as his annihilation, it is just as if he\nwere to think that the sun cries out at evening, \u201cWoe is me! for I go down\ninto eternal night.\u201d(66) And conversely, whoever is oppressed with the\nburden of life, whoever desires life and affirms it, but abhors its\ntorments, and especially can no longer endure the hard lot that has fallen\nto himself, such a man has no deliverance to hope for from death, and\ncannot right himself by suicide. The cool shades of Orcus allure him only\nwith the false appearance of a haven of rest. The earth rolls from day\ninto night, the individual dies, but the sun itself shines without\nintermission, an eternal noon. Life is assured to the will to live; the\nform of life is an endless present, no matter how the individuals, the\nphenomena of the Idea, arise and pass away in time, like fleeting dreams.\nThus even already suicide appears to us as a vain and therefore a foolish\naction; when we have carried our investigation further it will appear to\nus in a still less favourable light.\n\nDogmas change and our knowledge is deceptive; but Nature never errs, her\nprocedure is sure, and she never conceals it. Everything is entirely in\nNature, and Nature is entire in everything. She has her centre in every\nbrute. It has surely found its way into existence, and it will surely find\nits way out of it. In the meantime it lives, fearless and without care, in\nthe presence of annihilation, supported by the consciousness that it is\nNature herself, and imperishable as she is. Man alone carries about with\nhim, in abstract conceptions, the certainty of his death; yet this can\nonly trouble him very rarely, when for a single moment some occasion calls\nit up to his imagination. Against the mighty voice of Nature reflection\ncan do little. In man, as in the brute which does not think, the certainty\nthat springs from his inmost consciousness that he himself is Nature, the\nworld, predominates as a lasting frame of mind; and on account of this no\nman is observably disturbed by the thought of certain and never-distant\ndeath, but lives as if he would live for ever. Indeed this is carried so\nfar that we may say that no one has really a lively conviction of the\ncertainty of his death, otherwise there would be no great difference\nbetween his frame of mind and that of a condemned criminal. Every one\nrecognises that certainty in the abstract and theoretically, but lays it\naside like other theoretical truths which are not applicable to practice,\nwithout really receiving it into his living consciousness. Whoever\ncarefully considers this peculiarity of human character will see that the\npsychological explanations of it, from habit and acquiescence in the\ninevitable, are by no means sufficient, and that its true explanation lies\nin the deeper ground we have given. The same fact explains the\ncircumstance that at all times and among all peoples dogmas of some kind\nor other relating to the continued existence of the individual after death\narise, and are believed in, although the evidence in support of them must\nalways be very insufficient, and the evidence against them forcible and\nvaried. But, in truth, this really requires no proof, but is recognised by\nthe healthy understanding as a fact, and confirmed by the confidence that\nNature never lies any more than she errs, but openly exhibits and na\u00efvely\nexpresses her action and her nature, while only we ourselves obscure it by\nour folly, in order to establish what is agreeable to our limited point of\nview.\n\nBut this that we have brought to clearest consciousness, that although the\nparticular phenomenon of the will has a temporal beginning and end, the\nwill itself as thing-in-itself is not affected by it, nor yet the\ncorrelative of all object, the knowing but never known subject, and that\nlife is always assured to the will to live\u2014this is not to be numbered with\nthe doctrines of immortality. For permanence has no more to do with the\nwill or with the pure subject of knowing, the eternal eye of the world,\nthan transitoriness, for both are predicates that are only valid in time,\nand the will and the pure subject of knowing lie outside time. Therefore\nthe egoism of the individual (this particular phenomenon of will\nenlightened by the subject of knowing) can extract as little nourishment\nand consolation for his wish to endure through endless time from the view\nwe have expressed, as he could from the knowledge that after his death the\nrest of the eternal world would continue to exist, which is just the\nexpression of the same view considered objectively, and therefore\ntemporally. For every individual is transitory only as phenomenon, but as\nthing-in-itself is timeless, and therefore endless. But it is also only as\nphenomenon that an individual is distinguished from the other things of\nthe world; as thing-in-itself he is the will which appears in all, and\ndeath destroys the illusion which separates his consciousness from that of\nthe rest: this is immortality. His exemption from death, which belongs to\nhim only as thing-in-itself, is for the phenomenon one with the\nimmortality of the rest of the external world.(67) Hence also, it arises\nthat although the inward and merely felt consciousness of that which we\nhave raised to distinct knowledge is indeed, as we have said, sufficient\nto prevent the thought of death from poisoning the life of the rational\nbeing, because this consciousness is the basis of that love of life which\nmaintains everything living, and enables it to live on at ease as if there\nwere no such thing as death, so long as it is face to face with life, and\nturns its attention to it, yet it will not prevent the individual from\nbeing seized with the fear of death, and trying in every way to escape\nfrom it, when it presents itself to him in some particular real case, or\neven only in his imagination, and he is compelled to contemplate it. For\njust as, so long as his knowledge was directed to life as such, he was\nobliged to recognise immortality in it, so when death is brought before\nhis eyes, he is obliged to recognise it as that which it is, the temporal\nend of the particular temporal phenomenon. What we fear in death is by no\nmeans the pain, for it lies clearly on this side of death, and, moreover,\nwe often take refuge in death from pain, just as, on the contrary, we\nsometimes endure the most fearful suffering merely to escape death for a\nwhile, although it would be quick and easy. Thus we distinguish pain and\ndeath as two entirely different evils. What we fear in death is the end of\nthe individual, which it openly professes itself to be, and since the\nindividual is a particular objectification of the will to live itself, its\nwhole nature struggles against death. Now when feeling thus exposes us\nhelpless, reason can yet step in and for the most part overcome its\nadverse influence, for it places us upon a higher standpoint, from which\nwe no longer contemplate the particular but the whole. Therefore a\nphilosophical knowledge of the nature of the world, which extended to the\npoint we have now reached in this work but went no farther, could even at\nthis point of view overcome the terror of death in the measure in which\nreflection had power over direct feeling in the given individual. A man\nwho had thoroughly assimilated the truths we have already advanced, but\nhad not come to know, either from his own experience or from a deeper\ninsight, that constant suffering is essential to life, who found\nsatisfaction and all that he wished in life, and could calmly and\ndeliberately desire that his life, as he had hitherto known it, should\nendure for ever or repeat itself ever anew, and whose love of life was so\ngreat that he willingly and gladly accepted all the hardships and miseries\nto which it is exposed for the sake of its pleasures,\u2014such a man would\nstand \u201cwith firm-knit bones on the well-rounded, enduring earth,\u201d and\nwould have nothing to fear. Armed with the knowledge we have given him, he\nwould await with indifference the death that hastens towards him on the\nwings of time. He would regard it as a false illusion, an impotent\nspectre, which frightens the weak but has no power over him who knows that\nhe is himself the will of which the whole world is the objectification or\ncopy, and that therefore he is always certain of life, and also of the\npresent, the peculiar and only form of the phenomenon of the will. He\ncould not be terrified by an endless past or future in which he would not\nbe, for this he would regard as the empty delusion of the web of M\u00e2ya.\nThus he would no more fear death than the sun fears the night. In the\n\u201cBhagavad-Gita\u201d Krishna thus raises the mind of his young pupil Arjuna,\nwhen, seized with compunction at the sight of the arrayed hosts (somewhat\nas Xerxes was), he loses heart and desires to give up the battle in order\nto avert the death of so many thousands. Krishna leads him to this point\nof view, and the death of those thousands can no longer restrain him; he\ngives the sign for battle. This point of view is also expressed by\nGoethe\u2019s Prometheus, especially when he says\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cHere sit I, form mankind\n    In my own image,\n    A race like to myself,\n    To suffer and to weep,\n    Rejoice, enjoy,\n    And heed thee not,\n    As I.\u201d\n\n\nThe philosophy of Bruno and that of Spinoza might also lead any one to\nthis point of view whose conviction was not shaken and weakened by their\nerrors and imperfections. That of Bruno has properly no ethical theory at\nall, and the theory contained in the philosophy of Spinoza does not really\nproceed from the inner nature of his doctrine, but is merely tacked on to\nit by means of weak and palpable sophisms, though in itself it is\npraiseworthy and beautiful. Finally, there are many men who would occupy\nthis point of view if their knowledge kept pace with their will, _i.e._,\nif, free from all illusion, they were in a position to become clearly and\ndistinctly themselves. For this is, for knowledge, the point of view of\nthe complete _assertion of the will to live_.\n\nThat the will asserts itself means, that while in its objectivity, _i.e._,\nin the world and life, its own nature is completely and distinctly given\nit as idea, this knowledge does not by any means check its volition; but\nthis very life, so known, is willed as such by the will with knowledge,\nconsciously and deliberately, just as up to this point it willed it as\nblind effort without knowledge. The opposite of this, the _denial of the\nwill to live_, shows itself if, when that knowledge is attained, volition\nends, because the particular known phenomena no longer act as _motives_\nfor willing, but the whole knowledge of the nature of the world, the\nmirror of the will, which has grown up through the comprehension of the\n_Ideas_, becomes a _quieter_ of the will; and thus free, the will\nsuppresses itself. These quite unfamiliar conceptions are difficult to\nunderstand when expressed in this general way, but it is hoped they will\nbecome clear through the exposition we shall give presently, with special\nreference to action, of the phenomena in which, on the one hand, the\nassertion in its different grades, and, on the other hand, the denial,\nexpresses itself. For both proceed from knowledge, yet not from abstract\nknowledge, which is expressed in words, but from living knowledge, which\nis expressed in action and behaviour alone, and is independent of the\ndogmas which at the same time occupy the reason as abstract knowledge. To\nexhibit them both, and bring them to distinct knowledge of the reason, can\nalone be my aim, and not to prescribe or recommend the one or the other,\nwhich would be as foolish as it would be useless; for the will in itself\nis absolutely free and entirely self-determining, and for it there is no\nlaw. But before we go on to the exposition referred to, we must first\nexplain and more exactly define this _freedom_ and its relation to\nnecessity. And also, with regard to the life, the assertion and denial of\nwhich is our problem, we must insert a few general remarks connected with\nthe will and its objects. Through all this we shall facilitate the\napprehension of the inmost nature of the knowledge we are aiming at, of\nthe ethical significance of methods of action.\n\nSince, as has been said, this whole work is only the unfolding of a single\nthought, it follows that all its parts have the most intimate connection\nwith each other. Not merely that each part stands in a necessary relation\nto what immediately precedes it, and only presupposes a recollection of\nthat by the reader, as is the case with all philosophies which consist\nmerely of a series of inferences, but that every part of the whole work is\nrelated to every other part and presupposes it. It is, therefore,\nnecessary that the reader should remember not only what has just been\nsaid, but all the earlier parts of the work, so that he may be able to\nconnect them with what he is reading, however much may have intervened.\nPlato also makes this demand upon his readers through the intricate\ndigressions of his dialogues, in which he only returns to the leading\nthought after long episodes, which illustrate and explain it. In our case\nthis demand is necessary; for the breaking up of our one single thought\ninto its many aspects is indeed the only means of imparting it, though not\nessential to the thought itself, but merely an artificial form. The\ndivision of four principal points of view into four books, and the most\ncareful bringing together of all that is related and homogeneous, assists\nthe exposition and its comprehension; yet the material absolutely does not\nadmit of an advance in a straight line, such as the progress of history,\nbut necessitates a more complicated exposition. This again makes a\nrepeated study of the book necessary, for thus alone does the connection\nof all the parts with each other become distinct, and only then do they\nall mutually throw light upon each other and become quite clear.(68)\n\n\u00a7 55. That the will as such is _free_, follows from the fact that,\naccording to our view, it is the thing-in-itself, the content of all\nphenomena. The phenomena, on the other hand, we recognise as absolutely\nsubordinate to the principle of sufficient reason in its four forms. And\nsince we know that necessity is throughout identical with following from\ngiven grounds, and that these are convertible conceptions, all that\nbelongs to the phenomenon, _i.e._, all that is object for the knowing\nsubject as individual, is in one aspect reason, and in another aspect\nconsequent; and in this last capacity is determined with absolute\nnecessity, and can, therefore, in no respect be other than it is. The\nwhole content of Nature, the collective sum of its phenomena, is thus\nthroughout necessary, and the necessity of every part, of every\nphenomenon, of every event, can always be proved, because it must be\npossible to find the reason from which it follows as a consequent. This\nadmits of no exception: it follows from the unrestricted validity of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. In another aspect, however, the same world\nis for us, in all its phenomena, objectivity of will. And the will, since\nit is not phenomenon, is not idea or object, but thing-in-itself, and is\nnot subordinate to the principle of sufficient reason, the form of all\nobject; thus is not determined as a consequent through any reason, knows\nno necessity, _i.e._, is _free_. The concept of freedom is thus properly a\nnegative concept, for its content is merely the denial of necessity,\n_i.e._, the relation of consequent to its reason, according to the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. Now here lies before us in its most\ndistinct form the solution of that great contradiction, the union of\nfreedom with necessity, which has so often been discussed in recent times,\nyet, so far as I know, never clearly and adequately. Everything is as\nphenomenon, as object, absolutely necessary: _in itself_ it is will, which\nis perfectly free to all eternity. The phenomenon, the object, is\nnecessarily and unalterably determined in that chain of causes and effects\nwhich admits of no interruption. But the existence in general of this\nobject, and its specific nature, _i.e._, the Idea which reveals itself in\nit, or, in other words, its character, is a direct manifestation of will.\nThus, in conformity with the freedom of this will, the object might not be\nat all, or it might be originally and essentially something quite\ndifferent from what it is, in which case, however, the whole chain of\nwhich it is a link, and which is itself a manifestation of the same will,\nwould be quite different also. But once there and existing, it has entered\nthe chain of causes and effects, is always necessarily determined in it,\nand can, therefore, neither become something else, _i.e._, change itself,\nnor yet escape from the chain, _i.e._, vanish. Man, like every other part\nof Nature, is objectivity of the will; therefore all that has been said\nholds good of him. As everything in Nature has its forces and qualities,\nwhich react in a definite way when definitely affected, and constitute its\ncharacter, man also has his _character_, from which the motives call forth\nhis actions with necessity. In this manner of conduct his empirical\ncharacter reveals itself, but in this again his intelligible character,\nthe will in itself, whose determined phenomenon he is. But man is the most\ncomplete phenomenon of will, and, as we explained in the Second Book, he\nhad to be enlightened with so high a degree of knowledge in order to\nmaintain himself in existence, that in it a perfectly adequate copy or\nrepetition of the nature of the world under the form of the idea became\npossible: this is the comprehension of the Ideas, the pure mirror of the\nworld, as we learnt in the Third Book. Thus in man the will can attain to\nfull self-consciousness, to distinct and exhaustive knowledge of its own\nnature, as it mirrors itself in the whole world. We saw in the preceding\nbook that art springs from the actual presence of this degree of\nknowledge; and at the end of our whole work it will further appear that,\nthrough the same knowledge, in that the will relates it to itself, a\nsuppression and self-denial of the will in its most perfect manifestation\nis possible. So that the freedom which otherwise, as belonging to the\nthing-in-itself, can never show itself in the phenomenon, in such a case\ndoes also appear in it, and, by abolishing the nature which lies at the\nfoundation of the phenomenon, while the latter itself still continues to\nexist in time, it brings about a contradiction of the phenomenon with\nitself, and in this way exhibits the phenomena of holiness and\nself-renunciation. But all this can only be fully understood at the end of\nthis book. What has just been said merely affords a preliminary and\ngeneral indication of how man is distinguished from all the other\nphenomena of will by the fact that freedom, _i.e._, independence of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason, which only belongs to the will as\nthing-in-itself, and contradicts the phenomenon, may yet possibly, in his\ncase, appear in the phenomenon also, where, however, it necessarily\nexhibits itself as a contradiction of the phenomenon with itself. In this\nsense, not only the will in itself, but man also may certainly be called\nfree, and thus distinguished from all other beings. But how this is to be\nunderstood can only become clear through all that is to follow, and for\nthe present we must turn away from it altogether. For, in the first place,\nwe must beware of the error that the action of the individual definite man\nis subject to no necessity, _i.e._, that the power of the motive is less\ncertain than the power of the cause, or the following of the conclusion\nfrom the premises. The freedom of the will as thing-in-itself, if, as has\nbeen said, we abstract from the entirely exceptional case mentioned above,\nby no means extends directly to its phenomenon, not even in the case in\nwhich this reaches the highest made of its visibility, and thus does not\nextend to the rational animal endowed with individual character, _i.e._,\nthe person. The person is never free although he is the phenomenon of a\nfree will; for he is already the determined phenomenon of the free\nvolition of this will, and, because he enters the form of every object,\nthe principle of sufficient reason, he develops indeed the unity of that\nwill in a multiplicity of actions, but on account of the timeless unity of\nthat volition in itself, this multiplicity exhibits in itself the regular\nconformity to law of a force of Nature. Since, however, it is that free\nvolition that becomes visible in the person and the whole of his conduct,\nrelating itself to him as the concept to the definition, every individual\naction of the person is to be ascribed to the free will, and directly\nproclaims itself as such in consciousness. Therefore, as was said in the\nSecond Book, every one regards himself _a priori_ (_i.e._, here in this\noriginal feeling) as free in his individual actions, in the sense that in\nevery given case every action is possible for him, and he only recognises\n_a posteriori_ from experience and reflection upon experience that his\nactions take place with absolute necessity from the coincidence of his\ncharacter with his motives. Hence it arises that every uncultured man,\nfollowing his feeling, ardently defends complete freedom in particular\nactions, while the great thinkers of all ages, and indeed the more\nprofound systems of religion, have denied it. But whoever has come to see\nclearly that the whole nature of man is will, and he himself only a\nphenomenon of this will, and that such a phenomenon has, even from the\nsubject itself, the principle of sufficient reason as its necessary form,\nwhich here appears as the law of motivation,\u2014such a man will regard it as\njust as absurd to doubt the inevitable nature of an action when the motive\nis presented to a given character, as to doubt that the three angles of\nany triangle are together equal to two right angles. Priestley has very\nsufficiently proved the necessity of the individual action in his\n\u201cDoctrine of Philosophical Necessity;\u201d but Kant, whose merit in this\nrespect is specially great, first proved the coexistence of this necessity\nwith the freedom of the will in itself, _i.e._, apart from the\nphenomenon,(69) by establishing the distinction between the intelligible\nand the empirical character. I entirely adhere to this distinction, for\nthe former is the will as thing-in-itself so far as it appears in a\ndefinite individual in a definite grade, and the latter is this phenomenon\nitself as it exhibits itself in time in the mode of action, and in space\nin the physical structure. In order to make the relation of the two\ncomprehensible, the best expression is that which I have already used in\nthe introductory essay, that the intelligible character of every man is to\nbe regarded as an act of will outside time, and therefore indivisible and\nunchangeable, and the manifestation of this act of will developed and\nbroken up in time and space and all the forms of the principle of\nsufficient reason is the empirical character as it exhibits itself for\nexperience in the whole conduct and life of this man. As the whole tree is\nonly the constantly repeated manifestation of one and the same tendency,\nwhich exhibits itself in its simplest form in the fibre, and recurs and is\neasily recognised in the construction of the leaf, shoot, branch, and\ntrunk, so all a man\u2019s deeds are merely the constantly repeated expression,\nsomewhat varied in form, of his intelligible character, and the induction\nbased on the sum of all these expressions gives us his empirical\ncharacter. For the rest, I shall not at this point repeat in my own words\nKant\u2019s masterly exposition, but presuppose it as known.\n\nIn the year 1840 I dealt with the important chapter on the freedom of the\nwill, thoroughly and in detail, in my crowned prize-essay upon the\nsubject, and exposed the reason of the delusion which led men to imagine\nthat they found an empirically given absolute freedom of the will, that is\nto say, a _liberum arbitrium indifferenti\u00e6_, as a fact in\nself-consciousness; for the question propounded for the essay was with\ngreat insight directed to this point. Therefore, as I refer the reader to\nthat work, and also to the tenth paragraph of the prize-essay on the basis\nof morals, which was published along with it under the title \u201cThe Two\nFundamental Problems of Ethics,\u201d I now omit the incomplete exposition of\nthe necessity of the act of will, which was given at this place in the\nfirst edition. Instead of it I shall explain the delusion mentioned above\nin a brief discussion which is presupposed in the nineteenth chapter of\nthe supplement to the present work, and therefore could not be given in\nthe prize-essay referred to.\n\nApart from the fact that the will as the true thing-in-itself is actually\noriginal and independent, and that the feeling of its originality and\nabsoluteness must accompany its acts in self-consciousness, though here\nthey are already determined, there arises the illusion of an empirical\nfreedom of the will (instead of the transcendental freedom which alone is\nto be attributed to it), and thus a freedom of its particular actions,\nfrom that attitude of the intellect towards the will which is explained,\nseparated, and subordinated in the nineteenth chapter of the supplement,\nespecially under No. 3. The intellect knows the conclusions of the will\nonly _a posteriori_ and empirically; therefore when a choice is presented,\nit has no data as to how the will is to decide. For the intelligible\ncharacter, by virtue of which, when motives are given, only _one_ decision\nis possible and is therefore necessary, does not come within the knowledge\nof the intellect, but merely the empirical character is known to it\nthrough the succession of its particular acts. Therefore it seems to the\nintellect that in a given case two opposite decisions are possible for the\nwill. But this is just the same thing as if we were to say of a\nperpendicular beam that has lost its balance, and is hesitating which way\nto fall, \u201cIt can fall either to the right hand or the left.\u201d This _can_\nhas merely a subjective significance, and really means \u201cas far as the data\nknown to us are concerned.\u201d Objectively, the direction of the fall is\nnecessarily determined as soon as the equilibrium is lost. Accordingly,\nthe decision of one\u2019s own will is undetermined only to the beholder, one\u2019s\nown intellect, and thus merely relatively and subjectively for the subject\nof knowing. In itself and objectively, on the other hand, in every choice\npresented to it, its decision is at once determined and necessary. But\nthis determination only comes into consciousness through the decision that\nfollows upon it. Indeed, we receive an empirical proof of this when any\ndifficult and important choice lies before us, but only under a condition\nwhich is not yet present, but merely hoped for, so that in the meanwhile\nwe can do nothing, but must remain passive. Now we consider how we shall\ndecide when the circumstances occur that will give us a free activity and\nchoice. Generally the foresight of rational deliberation recommends one\ndecision, while direct inclination leans rather to the other. So long as\nwe are compelled to remain passive, the side of reason seems to wish to\nkeep the upper hand; but we see beforehand how strongly the other side\nwill influence us when the opportunity for action arises. Till then we are\neagerly concerned to place the motives on both sides in the clearest\nlight, by calm meditation on the _pro et contra_, so that every motive may\nexert its full influence upon the will when the time arrives, and it may\nnot be misled by a mistake on the part of the intellect to decide\notherwise than it would have done if all the motives had their due\ninfluence upon it. But this distinct unfolding of the motives on both\nsides is all that the intellect can do to assist the choice. It awaits the\nreal decision just as passively and with the same intense curiosity as if\nit were that of a foreign will. Therefore from its point of view both\ndecisions must seem to it equally possible; and this is just the illusion\nof the empirical freedom of the will. Certainly the decision enters the\nsphere of the intellect altogether empirically, as the final conclusion of\nthe matter; but yet it proceeded from the inner nature, the intelligible\ncharacter, of the individual will in its conflict with given motives, and\ntherefore with complete necessity. The intellect can do nothing more than\nbring out clearly and fully the nature of the motives; it cannot determine\nthe will itself; for the will is quite inaccessible to it, and, as we have\nseen, cannot be investigated.\n\nIf, under the same circumstances, a man could act now one way and now\nanother, it would be necessary that his will itself should have changed in\nthe meantime, and thus that it should lie in time, for change is only\npossible in time; but then either the will would be a mere phenomenon, or\ntime would be a condition of the thing-in-itself. Accordingly the dispute\nas to the freedom of the particular action, the _liberum arbitrium\nindifferenti\u00e6_, really turns on the question whether the will lies in time\nor not. If, as both Kant\u2019s doctrine and the whole of my system\nnecessitates, the will is the thing-in-itself outside time and outside\nevery form of the principle of sufficient reason, not only must the\nindividual act in the same way in the same circumstances, and not only\nmust every bad action be the sure warrant of innumerable others, which the\nindividual _must_ perform and _cannot_ leave, but, as Kant said, if only\nthe empirical character and the motives were completely given, it would be\npossible to calculate the future conduct of a man just as we can calculate\nan eclipse of the sun or moon. As Nature is consistent, so is the\ncharacter; every action must take place in accordance with it, just as\nevery phenomenon takes place according to a law of Nature: the causes in\nthe latter case and the motives in the former are merely the occasional\ncauses, as was shown in the Second Book. The will, whose phenomenon is the\nwhole being and life of man, cannot deny itself in the particular case,\nand what the man wills on the whole, that will he also will in the\nparticular case.\n\nThe assertion of an empirical freedom of the will, a _liberum arbitrium\nindifferenti\u00e6_, agrees precisely with the doctrine that places the inner\nnature of man in a _soul_, which is originally a _knowing_, and indeed\nreally an abstract _thinking_ nature, and only in consequence of this a\n_willing_ nature\u2014a doctrine which thus regards the will as of a secondary\nor derivative nature, instead of knowledge which is really so. The will\nindeed came to be regarded as an act of thought, and to be identified with\nthe judgment, especially by Descartes and Spinoza. According to this\ndoctrine every man must become what he is only through his knowledge; he\nmust enter the world as a moral cipher come to know the things in it, and\nthereupon determine to be this or that, to act thus or thus, and may also\nthrough new knowledge achieve a new course of action, that is to say,\nbecome another person. Further, he must first know a thing to be _good_,\nand in consequence of this will it, instead of first _willing_ it, and in\nconsequence of this calling it _good_. According to my fundamental point\nof view, all this is a reversal of the true relation. Will is first and\noriginal; knowledge is merely added to it as an instrument belonging to\nthe phenomenon of will. Therefore every man is what he is through his\nwill, and his character is original, for willing is the basis of his\nnature. Through the knowledge which is added to it he comes to know in the\ncourse of experience _what he is_, _i.e._, he learns his character. Thus\nhe _knows_ himself in consequence of and in accordance with the nature of\nhis will, instead of _willing_ in consequence of and in accordance with\nhis knowing. According to the latter view, he would only require to\nconsider how he would like best to be, and he would be it; that is its\ndoctrine of the freedom of the will. Thus it consists really in this, that\na man is his own work guided by the light of knowledge. I, on the\ncontrary, say that he is his own work before all knowledge, and knowledge\nis merely added to it to enlighten it. Therefore he cannot resolve to be\nthis or that, nor can he become other than he is; but he _is_ once for\nall, and he knows in the course of experience _what_ he is. According to\none doctrine he _wills_ what he knows, and according to the other he\n_knows_ what he wills.\n\nThe Greeks called the character \u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2, and its expression, _i.e._, morals,\n\u03b7\u03b8\u03b7. But this word comes from \u03b5\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2, custom; they chose it in order to\nexpress metaphorically the constancy of character through the constancy of\ncustom. \u03a4\u03bf \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b5\u03b8\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b5\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u03b5\u03c0\u03c9\u03bd\u03c5\u03bc\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd. \u03b7\u03b8\u03b9\u03ba\u03b5 \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\n\u03b4\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c4\u03bf \u03b5\u03b8\u03b9\u03b6\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 (_a voce_ \u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2, _i.e._, _consuetudo_ \u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 _est\nappellatum: ethica ergo dicta est_ \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b5\u03b8\u03b9\u03b6\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9, _sivi ab\nassuescendo_) says Aristotle (Eth. Magna, i. 6, p. 1186, and Eth. Eud., p.\n1220, and Eth. Nic., p. 1103, ed. Ber.) Stob\u00e6us quotes: \u03bf\u1f31 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u0396\u03b7\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd\u03b1\n\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c0\u03b9\u03ba\u03c9\u03c2; \u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b7\u03b3\u03b7 \u03b2\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b1\u03c6\u1fbd \u1f21\u03c2 \u03b1\u1f31 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03be\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c1\u03b5\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9 (_Stoici\nautem, Zenonis castra sequentes, metaphorice ethos definiunt vit\u00e6 fontem,\ne quo singul\u00e6 manant actiones_), ii. ch. 7. In Christian theology we find\nthe dogma of predestination in consequence of election and non-election\n(Rom. ix. 11-24), clearly originating from the knowledge that man does not\nchange himself, but his life and conduct, _i.e._, his empirical character,\nis only the unfolding of his intelligible character, the development of\ndecided and unchangeable natural dispositions recognisable even in the\nchild; therefore, as it were, even at his birth his conduct is firmly\ndetermined, and remains essentially the same to the end. This we entirely\nagree with; but certainly the consequences which followed from the union\nof this perfectly correct insight with the dogmas that already existed in\nJewish theology, and which now gave rise to the great difficulty, the\nGordian knot upon which most of the controversies of the Church turned, I\ndo not undertake to defend, for even the Apostle Paul scarcely succeeded\nin doing so by means of his simile of the potter\u2019s vessels which he\ninvented for the purpose, for the result he finally arrived at was nothing\nelse than this:\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cLet mankind\n    Fear the gods!\n    They hold the power\n    In everlasting hands:\n    And they can use it\n    As seems good to them.\u201d\n\n\nSuch considerations, however, are really foreign to our subject. Some\nexplanation as to the relation between the character and the knowledge in\nwhich all its motives lie, will now be more to the point.\n\nThe motives which determine the manifestation of the character or conduct\ninfluence it through the medium of knowledge. But knowledge is changeable,\nand often vacillates between truth and error, yet, as a rule, is rectified\nmore and more in the course of life, though certainly in very different\ndegrees. Therefore the conduct of a man may be observably altered without\njustifying us in concluding that his character has been changed. What the\nman really and in general wills, the striving of his inmost nature, and\nthe end he pursues in accordance with it, this we can never change by\ninfluence upon him from without by instruction, otherwise we could\ntransform him. Seneca says admirably, _velle non discitur_; whereby he\npreferred truth to his Stoic philosophers, who taught \u03b4\u03b9\u03b4\u03b1\u03ba\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b7\u03bd\n\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd (_doceri posse virtutem_). From without the will can only be\naffected by motives. But these can never change the will itself; for they\nhave power over it only under the presupposition that it is precisely such\nas it is. All that they can do is thus to alter the direction of its\neffort, _i.e._, bring it about that it shall seek in another way than it\nhas hitherto done that which it invariably seeks. Therefore instruction,\nimproved knowledge, in other words, influence from without, may indeed\nteach the will that it erred in the means it employed, and can therefore\nbring it about that the end after which it strives once for all according\nto its inner nature shall be pursued on an entirely different path and in\nan entirely different object from what has hitherto been the case. But it\ncan never bring about that the will shall will something actually\ndifferent from what it has hitherto willed; this remains unchangeable, for\nthe will is simply this willing itself, which would have to be abolished.\nThe former, however, the possible modification of knowledge, and through\nknowledge of conduct, extends so far that the will seeks to attain its\nunalterable end, for example, Mohammed\u2019s paradise, at one time in the real\nworld, at another time in a world of imagination, adapting the means to\neach, and thus in the first case applying prudence, might, and fraud, and\nin the second case, abstinence, justice, alms, and pilgrimages to Mecca.\nBut its effort itself has not therefore changed, still less the will\nitself. Thus, although its action certainly shows itself very different at\ndifferent times, its willing has yet remained precisely the same. _Velle\nnon discitur._\n\nFor motives to act, it is necessary not only that they should be present,\nbut that they should be known; for, according to a very good expression of\nthe schoolmen, which we referred to once before, _causa finalis movet non\nsecundum suum esse reale; sed secundum esse cognitum_. For example, in\norder that the relation may appear that exists in a given man between\negoism and sympathy, it is not sufficient that he should possess wealth\nand see others in want, but he must also know what he can do with his\nwealth, both for himself and for others: not only must the suffering of\nothers be presented to him, but he must know both what suffering and also\nwhat pleasure is. Perhaps, on a first occasion, he did not know all this\nso well as on a second; and if, on a similar occasion, he acts\ndifferently, this arises simply from the fact that the circumstances were\nreally different, as regards the part of them that depends on his knowing\nthem, although they seem to be the same. As ignorance of actually existing\ncircumstances robs them of their influence, so, on the other hand,\nentirely imaginary circumstances may act as if they were real, not only in\nthe case of a particular deception, but also in general and continuously.\nFor example, if a man is firmly persuaded that every good action will be\nrepaid him a hundredfold in a future life, such a conviction affects him\nin precisely the same way as a good bill of exchange at a very long date,\nand he can give from mere egoism, as from another point of view he would\ntake from egoism. He has not changed himself: _velle non discitur._ It is\non account of this great influence of knowledge upon action, while the\nwill remains unchangeable, that the character develops and its different\nfeatures appear only little by little. Therefore it shows itself different\nat every period of life, and an impetuous, wild youth may be succeeded by\na staid, sober, manly age. Especially what is bad in the character will\nalways come out more strongly with time, yet sometimes it occurs that\npassions which a man gave way to in his youth are afterwards voluntarily\nrestrained, simply because the motives opposed to them have only then come\ninto knowledge. Hence, also, we are all innocent to begin with, and this\nmerely means that neither we nor others know the evil of our own nature;\nit only appears with the motives, and only in time do the motives appear\nin knowledge. Finally we come to know ourselves as quite different from\nwhat _a priori_ we supposed ourselves to be, and then we are often\nterrified at ourselves.\n\nRepentance never proceeds from a change of the will (which is impossible),\nbut from a change of knowledge. The essential and peculiar in what I have\nalways willed I must still continue to will; for I myself am this will\nwhich lies outside time and change. I can therefore never repent of what I\nhave willed, though I can repent of what I have done; because, led by\nfalse conceptions, I did something that was not in conformity with my\nwill. The discovery of this through fuller knowledge is _repentance_. This\nextends not merely to worldly wisdom, to the choice of the means, and the\njudgment of the appropriateness of the end to my own will, but also to\nwhat is properly ethical. For example, I may have acted more egotistically\nthan is in accordance with my character, led astray by exaggerated ideas\nof the need in which I myself stood, or of the craft, falseness, and\nwickedness of others, or because I hurried too much, _i.e._, acted without\ndeliberation, determined not by motives distinctly known _in abstracto_,\nbut by merely perceived motives, by the present and the emotion which it\nexcited, and which was so strong that I had not properly the use of my\nreason; but the return of reflection is thus here also merely corrected\nknowledge, and from this repentance may proceed, which always proclaims\nitself by making amends for the past, as far as is possible. Yet it must\nbe observed that, in order to deceive themselves, men prearrange what seem\nto be hasty errors, but are really secretly considered actions. For we\ndeceive and flatter no one through such fine devices as ourselves. The\nconverse of the case we have given may also occur. I may be misled by too\ngood an opinion of others, or want of knowledge of the relative value of\nthe good things of life, or some abstract dogma in which I have since lost\nfaith, and thus I may act less egotistically than is in keeping with my\ncharacter, and lay up for myself repentance of another kind. Thus\nrepentance is always corrected knowledge of the relation of an act to its\nspecial intention. When the will reveals its Ideas in space alone, _i.e._,\nthrough mere form, the matter in which other Ideas\u2014in this case natural\nforces\u2014already reign, resists the will, and seldom allows the form that is\nstriving after visibility to appear in perfect purity and distinctness,\n_i.e._, in perfect beauty. And there is an analogous hindrance to the will\nas it reveals itself in time alone, _i.e._, through actions, in the\nknowledge which seldom gives it the data quite correctly, so that the\naction which takes place does not accurately correspond to the will, and\nleads to repentance. Repentance thus always proceeds from corrected\nknowledge, not from the change of the will, which is impossible. Anguish\nof conscience for past deeds is anything but repentance. It is pain at the\nknowledge of oneself in one\u2019s inmost nature, _i.e._, as will. It rests\nprecisely on the certainty that we have still the same will. If the will\nwere changed, and therefore the anguish of conscience mere repentance, it\nwould cease to exist. The past could then no longer give us pain, for it\nexhibited the expressions of a will which is no longer that of him who has\nrepented. We shall explain the significance of anguish of conscience in\ndetail farther on.\n\nThe influence which knowledge, as the medium of motives, exerts, not\nindeed upon the will itself, but upon its appearance in actions, is also\nthe source of the principal distinction between the action of men and that\nof brutes, for their methods of knowledge are different. The brute has\nonly knowledge of perception, the man, through reason, has also abstract\nideas, conceptions. Now, although man and brute are with equal necessity\ndetermined by their motives, yet man, as distinguished from the brute, has\na complete _choice_, which has often been regarded as a freedom of the\nwill in particular actions, although it is nothing but the possibility of\na thoroughly-fought-out battle between several motives, the strongest of\nwhich then determines it with necessity. For this the motives must have\nassumed the form of abstract thoughts, because it is really only by means\nof these that deliberation, _i.e._, a weighing of opposite reasons for\naction, is possible. In the case of the brute there can only be a choice\nbetween perceptible motives presented to it, so that the choice is limited\nto the narrow sphere of its present sensuous perception. Therefore the\nnecessity of the determination of the will by the motive, which is like\nthat of the effect by the cause, can be exhibited perceptibly and directly\nonly in the case of the brutes, because here the spectator has the motives\njust as directly before his eyes as their effect; while in the case of man\nthe motives are almost always abstract ideas, which are not communicated\nto the spectator, and even for the actor himself the necessity of their\neffect is hidden behind their conflict. For only _in abstracto_ can\nseveral ideas, as judgments and chains of conclusions, lie beside each\nother in consciousness, and then, free from all determination of time,\nwork against each other till the stronger overcomes the rest and\ndetermines the will. This is the complete _choice_ or power of\ndeliberation which man has as distinguished from the brutes, and on\naccount of which freedom of the will has been attributed to him, in the\nbelief that his willing is a mere result of the operations of his\nintellect, without a definite tendency which serves as its basis; while,\nin truth, the motives only work on the foundation and under the\npresupposition of his definite tendency, which in his case is individual,\n_i.e._, a character. A fuller exposition of this power of deliberation,\nand the difference between human and brute choice which is introduced by\nit, will be found in the \u201cTwo Fundamental Problems of Ethics\u201d (1st\nedition, p. 35, _et seq._; 2d edition, p. 34, _et seq._), to which I\ntherefore refer. For the rest, this power of deliberation which man\npossesses is one of those things that makes his existence so much more\nmiserable than that of the brute. For in general our greatest sufferings\ndo not lie in the present as ideas of perception or as immediate feelings;\nbut in the reason, as abstract conceptions, painful thoughts, from which\nthe brute, which lives only in the present, and therefore in enviable\ncarelessness, is entirely free.\n\nIt seems to have been the dependence, which we have shown, of the human\npower of deliberation upon the faculty of abstract thinking, and thus also\nof judging and drawing conclusions also, that led both Descartes and\nSpinoza to identify the decisions of the will with the faculty of\nasserting and denying (the faculty of judgment). From this Descartes\ndeduced the doctrine that the will, which, according to him, is\nindifferently free, is the source of sin, and also of all theoretical\nerror. And Spinoza, on the other hand, concluded that the will is\nnecessarily determined by the motives, as the judgment is by the\nreasons.(70) The latter doctrine is in a sense true, but it appears as a\ntrue conclusion from false premises.\n\nThe distinction we have established between the ways in which the brutes\nand man are respectively moved by motives exerts a very wide influence\nupon the nature of both, and has most to do with the complete and obvious\ndifferences of their existence. While an idea of perception is in every\ncase the motive which determines the brute, the man strives to exclude\nthis kind of motivation altogether, and to determine himself entirely by\nabstract ideas. Thus he uses his prerogative of reason to the greatest\npossible advantage. Independent of the present, he neither chooses nor\navoids the passing pleasure or pain, but reflects on the consequences of\nboth. In most cases, setting aside quite insignificant actions, we are\ndetermined by abstract, thought motives, not present impressions.\nTherefore all particular privation for the moment is for us comparatively\nlight, but all renunciation is terribly hard; for the former only concerns\nthe fleeting present, but the latter concerns the future, and includes in\nitself innumerable privations, of which it is the equivalent. The causes\nof our pain, as of our pleasure, lie for the most part, not in the real\npresent, but merely in abstract thoughts. It is these which are often\nunbearable to us\u2014inflict torments in comparison with which all the\nsufferings of the animal world are very small; for even our own physical\npain is not felt at all when they are present. Indeed, in the case of keen\nmental suffering, we even inflict physical suffering on ourselves merely\nto distract our attention from the former to the latter. This is why, in\ngreat mental anguish, men tear their hair, beat their breasts, lacerate\ntheir faces, or roll on the floor, for all these are in reality only\nviolent means of diverting the mind from an unbearable thought. Just\nbecause mental pain, being much greater, makes us insensible to physical\npain, suicide is very easy to the person who is in despair, or who is\nconsumed by morbid depression, even though formerly, in comfortable\ncircumstances, he recoiled at the thought of it. In the same way care and\npassion (thus the play of thought) wear out the body oftener and more than\nphysical hardships. And in accordance with this Epictetus rightly says:\n\u03a4\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1, \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b4\u03bf\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\n(_Perturbant homines non res ips\u00e6, sed de rebus decreta_) (V.); and\nSeneca: _Plura sunt qu\u00e6 nos terrent, quam qu\u00e6 premunt, et s\u00e6pius opinione\nquam re laboramus_ (Ep. 5). Eulenspiegel also admirably bantered human\nnature, for going uphill he laughed, and going downhill he wept. Indeed,\nchildren who have hurt themselves often cry, not at the pain, but at the\nthought of the pain which is awakened when some one condoles with them.\nSuch great differences in conduct and in life arise from the diversity\nbetween the methods of knowledge of the brutes and man. Further, the\nappearance of the distinct and decided individual character, the principal\ndistinction between man and the brute, which has scarcely more than the\ncharacter of the species, is conditioned by the choice between several\nmotives, which is only possible through abstract conceptions. For only\nafter a choice has been made are the resolutions, which vary in different\nindividuals, an indication of the individual character which is different\nin each; while the action of the brute depends only upon the presence or\nabsence of the impression, supposing this impression to be in general a\nmotive for its species. And, finally, in the case of man, only the\nresolve, and not the mere wish, is a valid indication of his character\nboth for himself and for others; but the resolve becomes for himself, as\nfor others, a certain fact only through the deed. The wish is merely the\nnecessary consequence of the present impression, whether of the outward\nstimulus, or the inward passing mood; and is therefore as immediately\nnecessary and devoid of consideration as the action of the brutes.\nTherefore, like the action of the brutes, it merely expresses the\ncharacter of the species, not that of the individual, _i.e._, it indicates\nmerely what _man in general_, not what the individual who experiences the\nwish, is capable of doing. The deed alone,\u2014because as human action it\nalways requires a certain deliberation, and because as a rule a man has\ncommand of his reason, is considerate, _i.e._, decides in accordance with\nconsidered and abstract motives,\u2014is the expression of the intelligible\nmaxims of his conduct, the result of his inmost willing, and is related as\na letter to the word that stands for his empirical character, itself\nmerely the temporal expression of his intelligible character. In a healthy\nmind, therefore, only deeds oppress the conscience, not wishes and\nthoughts; for it is only our deeds that hold up to us the mirror of our\nwill. The deed referred to above, that is entirely unconsidered and is\nreally committed in blind passion, is to a certain extent an intermediate\nthing between the mere wish and the resolve.\n\nTherefore, by true repentance, which, however, shows itself as action\nalso, it can be obliterated, as a falsely drawn line, from that picture of\nour will which our course of life is. I may insert the remark here, as a\nvery good comparison, that the relation between wish and deed has a purely\naccidental but accurate analogy with that between the accumulation and\ndischarge of electricity.\n\nAs the result of the whole of this discussion of the freedom of the will\nand what relates to it, we find that although the will may, in itself and\napart from the phenomenon, be called free and even omnipotent, yet in its\nparticular phenomena enlightened by knowledge, as in men and brutes, it is\ndetermined by motives to which the special character regularly and\nnecessarily responds, and always in the same way. We see that because of\nthe possession on his part of abstract or rational knowledge, man, as\ndistinguished from the brutes, has a _choice_, which only makes him the\nscene of the conflict of his motives, without withdrawing him from their\ncontrol. This choice is therefore certainly the condition of the\npossibility of the complete expression of the individual character, but is\nby no means to be regarded as freedom of the particular volition, _i.e._,\nindependence of the law of causality, the necessity of which extends to\nman as to every other phenomenon. Thus the difference between human\nvolition and that of the brutes, which is introduced by reason or\nknowledge through concepts, extends to the point we have indicated, and no\nfarther. But, what is quite a different thing, there may arise a\nphenomenon of the human will which is quite impossible in the brute\ncreation, if man altogether lays aside the knowledge of particular things\nas such which is subordinate to the principle of sufficient reason, and by\nmeans of his knowledge of the Ideas sees through the _principium\nindividuationis_. Then an actual appearance of the real freedom of the\nwill as a thing-in-itself is possible, by which the phenomenon comes into\na sort of contradiction with itself, as is indicated by the word\nself-renunciation; and, finally, the \u201cin-itself\u201d of its nature suppresses\nitself. But this, the one, real, and direct expression of the freedom of\nthe will in itself in the phenomenon, cannot be distinctly explained here,\nbut will form the subject of the concluding part of our work.\n\nNow that we have shown clearly in these pages the unalterable nature of\nthe empirical character, which is just the unfolding of the intelligible\ncharacter that lies outside time, together with the necessity with which\nactions follow upon its contact with motives, we hasten to anticipate an\nargument which may very easily be drawn from this in the interest of bad\ndispositions. Our character is to be regarded as the temporal unfolding of\nan extra-temporal, and therefore indivisible and unalterable, act of will,\nor an intelligible character. This necessarily determines all that is\nessential in our conduct in life, _i.e._, its ethical content, which must\nexpress itself in accordance with it in its phenomenal appearance, the\nempirical character; while only what is unessential in this, the outward\nform of our course of life, depends upon the forms in which the motives\npresent themselves. It might, therefore, be inferred that it is a waste of\ntrouble to endeavour to improve one\u2019s character, and that it is wiser to\nsubmit to the inevitable, and gratify every inclination at once, even if\nit is bad. But this is precisely the same thing as the theory of an\ninevitable fate which is called \u03b1\u03c1\u03b3\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03c2, and in more recent times\nTurkish faith. Its true refutation, as it is supposed to have been given\nby Chrysippus, is explained by Cicero in his book _De Fato_, ch. 12, 13.\n\nThough everything may be regarded as irrevocably predetermined by fate,\nyet it is so only through the medium of the chain of causes; therefore in\nno case can it be determined that an effect shall appear without its\ncause. Thus it is not simply the event that is predetermined, but the\nevent as the consequence of preceding causes; so that fate does not decide\nthe consequence alone, but also the means as the consequence of which it\nis destined to appear. Accordingly, if some means is not present, it is\ncertain that the consequence also will not be present: each is always\npresent in accordance with the determination of fate, but this is never\nknown to us till afterwards.\n\nAs events always take place according to fate, _i.e._, according to the\ninfinite concatenation of causes, so our actions always take place\naccording to our intelligible character. But just as we do not know the\nformer beforehand, so no _a priori_ insight is given us into the latter,\nbut we only come to know ourselves as we come to know other persons _a\nposteriori_ through experience. If the intelligible character involved\nthat we could only form a good resolution after a long conflict with a bad\ndisposition, this conflict would have to come first and be waited for.\nReflection on the unalterable nature of the character, on the unity of the\nsource from which all our actions flow, must not mislead us into claiming\nthe decision of the character in favour of one side or the other; it is in\nthe resolve that follows that we shall see what manner of men we are, and\nmirror ourselves in our actions. This is the explanation of the\nsatisfaction or the anguish of soul with which we look back on the course\nof our past life. Both are experienced, not because these past deeds have\nstill an existence; they are past, they have been, and now are no more;\nbut their great importance for us lies in their significance, lies in the\nfact that these deeds are the expression of the character, the mirror of\nthe will, in which we look and recognise our inmost self, the kernel of\nour will. Because we experience this not before, but only after, it\nbehoves us to strive and fight in time, in order that the picture we\nproduce by our deeds may be such that the contemplation of it may calm us\nas much as possible, instead of harassing us. The significance of this\nconsolation or anguish of soul will, as we have said, be inquired into\nfarther on; but to this place there belongs the inquiry which follows, and\nwhich stands by itself.\n\nBesides the intelligible and the empirical character, we must mention a\nthird which is different from them both, the _acquired character_, which\none only receives in life through contact with the world, and which is\nreferred to when one is praised as a man of character or censured as being\nwithout character. Certainly one might suppose that, since the empirical\ncharacter, as the phenomenon of the intelligible, is unalterable, and,\nlike every natural phenomenon, is consistent with itself, man would always\nhave to appear like himself and consistent, and would therefore have no\nneed to acquire a character artificially by experience and reflection. But\nthe case is otherwise, and although a man is always the same, yet he does\nnot always understand himself, but often mistakes himself, till he has in\nsome degree acquired real self-knowledge. The empirical character, as a\nmere natural tendency, is in itself irrational; nay, more, its expressions\nare disturbed by reason, all the more so the more intellect and power of\nthought the man has; for these always keep before him what becomes _man in\ngeneral_ as the character of the species, and what is possible for him\nboth in will and in deed. This makes it the more difficult for him to see\nhow much his individuality enables him to will and to accomplish. He finds\nin himself the germs of all the various human pursuits and powers, but the\ndifference of degree in which they exist in his individuality is not clear\nto him in the absence of experience; and if he now applies himself to the\npursuits which alone correspond to his character, he yet feels, especially\nat particular moments and in particular moods, the inclination to directly\nopposite pursuits which cannot be combined with them, but must be entirely\nsuppressed if he desires to follow the former undisturbed. For as our\nphysical path upon earth is always merely a line, not an extended surface,\nso in life, if we desire to grasp and possess one thing, we must renounce\nand leave innumerable others on the right hand and on the left. If we\ncannot make up our minds to this, but, like children at the fair, snatch\nat everything that attracts us in passing, we are making the perverse\nendeavour to change the line of our path into an extended surface; we run\nin a zigzag, skip about like a will o\u2019 the wisp, and attain to nothing.\nOr, to use another comparison, as, according to Hobbes\u2019 philosophy of law,\nevery one has an original right to everything but an exclusive right to\nnothing, yet can obtain an exclusive right to particular things by\nrenouncing his right to all the rest, while others, on their part, do\nlikewise with regard to what he has chosen; so is it in life, in which\nsome definite pursuit, whether it be pleasure, honour, wealth, science,\nart, or virtue, can only be followed with seriousness and success when all\nclaims that are foreign to it are given up, when everything else is\nrenounced. Accordingly, the mere will and the mere ability are not\nsufficient, but a man must also _know_ what he wills, and _know_ what he\ncan do; only then will he show character, and only then can he accomplish\nsomething right. Until he attains to that, notwithstanding the natural\nconsistency of the empirical character, he is without character. And\nalthough, on the whole, he must remain true to himself, and fulfil his\ncourse, led by his d\u00e6mon, yet his path will not be a straight line, but\nwavering and uneven. He will hesitate, deviate, turn back, lay up for\nhimself repentance and pain. And all this is because, in great and small,\nhe sees before him all that is possible and attainable for man in general,\nbut does not know what part of all this is alone suitable for him, can be\naccomplished by him, and is alone enjoyable by him. He will, therefore,\nenvy many men on account of a position and circumstances which are yet\nonly suitable to their characters and not to his, and in which he would\nfeel unhappy, if indeed he found them endurable at all. For as a fish is\nonly at home in water, a bird in the air, a mole in the earth, so every\nman is only at home in the atmosphere suitable to him. For example, not\nall men can breathe the air of court life. From deficiency of proper\ninsight into all this, many a man will make all kinds of abortive\nattempts, will do violence to his character in particulars, and yet, on\nthe whole, will have to yield to it again; and what he thus painfully\nattains will give him no pleasure; what he thus learns will remain dead;\neven in an ethical regard, a deed that is too noble for his character,\nthat has not sprung from pure, direct impulse, but from a concept, a\ndogma, will lose all merit, even in his own eyes, through subsequent\negoistical repentance. _Velle non discitur._ We only become conscious of\nthe inflexibility of another person\u2019s character through experience, and\ntill then we childishly believe that it is possible, by means of rational\nideas, by prayers and entreaties, by example and noble-mindedness, ever to\npersuade any one to leave his own way, to change his course of conduct, to\ndepart from his mode of thinking, or even to extend his capacities: so is\nit also with ourselves. We must first learn from experience what we desire\nand what we can do. Till then we know it not, we are without character,\nand must often be driven back to our own way by hard blows from without.\nBut if we have finally learnt it, then we have attained to what in the\nworld is called character, the _acquired character_. This is accordingly\nnothing but the most perfect knowledge possible of our own individuality.\nIt is the abstract, and consequently distinct, knowledge of the\nunalterable qualities of our own empirical character, and of the measure\nand direction of our mental and physical powers, and thus of the whole\nstrength and weakness of our own individuality. This places us in a\nposition to carry out deliberately and methodically the r\u00f4le which belongs\nto our own person, and to fill up the gaps which caprices or weaknesses\nproduce in it, under the guidance of fixed conceptions. This r\u00f4le is in\nitself unchangeably determined once for all, but hitherto we have allowed\nit to follow its natural course without any rule. We have now brought to\ndistinct conscious maxims which are always present to us the form of\nconduct which is necessarily determined by our own individual nature, and\nnow we conduct it in accordance with them as deliberately as if we had\nlearned it; without ever falling into error through the passing influence\nof the mood or the impression of the present, without being checked by the\nbitterness or sweetness of some particular thing we meet with on our path,\nwithout delay, without hesitation, without inconsistency. We shall now no\nlonger, as novices, wait, attempt, and grope about in order to see what we\nreally desire and are able to do, but we know this once for all, and in\nevery choice we have only to apply general principles to particular cases,\nand arrive at once at a decision. We know our will in general, and do not\nallow ourselves to be led by the passing mood or by solicitations from\nwithout to resolve in particular cases what is contrary to it as a whole.\nWe know in the same way the nature and the measure of our strength and our\nweakness, and thereby are spared much suffering. For we experience no real\npleasure except in the use and feeling of our own powers, and the greatest\npain is the conscious deficiency of our powers where we need them. If,\nnow, we have discovered where our strength and our weakness lie, we will\nendeavour to cultivate, employ, and in every way make use of those talents\nwhich are naturally prominent in us. We will always turn to those\noccupations in which they are valuable and to the purpose, and entirely\navoid, even with self-renunciation, those pursuits for which we have\nnaturally little aptitude; we will beware of attempting that in which we\nhave no chance of succeeding. Only he who has attained to this will\nconstantly and with full consciousness be completely himself, and will\nnever fail himself at the critical moment, because he will always have\nknown what he could expect from himself. He will often enjoy the\nsatisfaction of feeling his strength, and seldom experience the pain of\nbeing reminded of his weakness. The latter is mortification, which causes\nperhaps the greatest of mental sufferings; therefore it is far more\nendurable to have our misfortune brought clearly before us than our\nincapacity. And, further, if we are thus fully acquainted with our\nstrength and our weakness, we will not attempt to make a show of powers\nwhich we do not possess; we will not play with base coin, for all such\ndissimulation misses the mark in the end. For since the whole man is only\nthe phenomenon of his will, nothing can be more perverse than to try, by\nmeans of reflection, to become something else than one is, for this is a\ndirect contradiction of the will with itself. The imitation of the\nqualities and idiosyncrasies of others is much more shameful than to dress\nin other people\u2019s clothes; for it is the judgment of our own worthlessness\npronounced by ourselves. Knowledge of our own mind and its capacities of\nevery kind, and their unalterable limits, is in this respect the surest\nway to the attainment of the greatest possible contentment with ourselves.\nFor it holds good of inward as of outward circumstances that there is for\nus no consolation so effective as the complete certainty of unalterable\nnecessity. No evil that befalls us pains us so much as the thought of the\ncircumstances by which it might have been warded off. Therefore nothing\ncomforts us so effectually as the consideration of what has happened from\nthe standpoint of necessity, from which all accidents appear as tools in\nthe hand of an overruling fate, and we therefore recognise the evil that\nhas come to us as inevitably produced by the conflict of inner and outer\ncircumstances; in other words, fatalism. We really only complain and storm\nso long as we hope either to affect others or to excite ourselves to\nunheard-of efforts. But children and grown-up people know very well to\nyield contentedly as soon as they clearly see that it absolutely cannot be\notherwise:\u2014\u0398\u03c5\u03bc\u1f78\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd\u1f76 \u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03b8\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c6\u03af\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4\u03b1\u03bc\u03ac\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03b3\u03ba\u03b7 (_Animo in\npectoribus nostro domito necessitate_). We are like the entrapped\nelephants, that rage and struggle for many days, till they see that it is\nuseless, and then suddenly offer their necks quietly to the yoke, tamed\nfor ever. We are like King David, who, as long as his son still lived,\nunceasingly importuned Jehovah with prayers, and behaved himself as if in\ndespair; but as soon as his son was dead, thought no longer about it.\nHence it arises that innumerable permanent ills, such as lameness,\npoverty, low estate, ugliness, a disagreeable dwelling-place, are borne\nwith indifference by innumerable persons, and are no longer felt, like\nhealed wounds, just because these persons know that inward or outward\nnecessity renders it impossible that any change can take place in these\nthings; while those who are more fortunate cannot understand how such\nmisfortunes can be borne. Now as with outward necessity, so also with\ninward; nothing reconciles so thoroughly as a distinct knowledge of it. If\nwe have once for all distinctly recognised not only our good qualities and\nour strength, but also our defects and weakness, established our aim\naccordingly, and rest satisfied concerning what cannot be attained, we\nthus escape in the surest way, as far as our individuality permits, the\nbitterest of all sorrows, discontentment with ourselves, which is the\ninevitable result of ignorance of our own individuality, of false conceit\nand the audacity that proceeds from it. To the bitter chapter of the\nself-knowledge here recommended the lines of Ovid admit of excellent\napplication\u2014\n\n\n    \u201c_Optimus ille animi vindex l\u00e6dentia pectus,_\n    _Vincula qui rupit, dedoluitque semel._\u201d\n\n\nSo much with regard to the _acquired character_, which, indeed, is not of\nso much importance for ethics proper as for life in the world. But its\ninvestigation was related as that of a third species to the investigation\nof the intelligible and the empirical character, in regard to which we\nwere obliged to enter upon a somewhat detailed inquiry in order to bring\nout clearly how in all its phenomena the will is subject to necessity,\nwhile yet in itself it may be called free and even omnipotent.\n\n\u00a7 56. This freedom, this omnipotence, as the expression of which the whole\nvisible world exists and progressively develops in accordance with the\nlaws which belong to the form of knowledge, can now, at the point at which\nin its most perfect manifestation it has attained to the completely\nadequate knowledge of its own nature, express itself anew in two ways.\nEither it wills here, at the summit of mental endowment and\nself-consciousness, simply what it willed before blindly and\nunconsciously, and if so, knowledge always remains its _motive_ in the\nwhole as in the particular case. Or, conversely, this knowledge becomes\nfor it a _quieter_, which appeases and suppresses all willing. This is\nthat assertion and denial of the will to live which was stated above in\ngeneral terms. As, in the reference of individual conduct, a general, not\na particular manifestation of will, it does not disturb and modify the\ndevelopment of the character, nor does it find its expression in\nparticular actions; but, either by an ever more marked appearance of the\nwhole method of action it has followed hitherto, or conversely by the\nentire suppression of it, it expresses in a living form the maxims which\nthe will has freely adopted in accordance with the knowledge it has now\nattained to. By the explanations we have just given of freedom, necessity,\nand character, we have somewhat facilitated and prepared the way for the\nclearer development of all this, which is the principal subject of this\nlast book. But we shall have done so still more when we have turned our\nattention to life itself, the willing or not willing of which is the great\nquestion, and have endeavoured to find out generally what the will itself,\nwhich is everywhere the inmost nature of this life, will really attain by\nits assertion\u2014in what way and to what extent this assertion satisfies or\ncan satisfy the will; in short, what is generally and mainly to be\nregarded as its position in this its own world, which in every relation\nbelongs to it.\n\nFirst of all, I wish the reader to recall the passage with which we closed\nthe Second Book,\u2014a passage occasioned by the question, which met us then,\nas to the end and aim of the will. Instead of the answer to this question,\nit appeared clearly before us how, in all the grades of its manifestation,\nfrom the lowest to the highest, the will dispenses altogether with a final\ngoal and aim. It always strives, for striving is its sole nature, which no\nattained goal can put an end to. Therefore it is not susceptible of any\nfinal satisfaction, but can only be restrained by hindrances, while in\nitself it goes on for ever. We see this in the simplest of all natural\nphenomena, gravity, which does not cease to strive and press towards a\nmathematical centre to reach which would be the annihilation both of\nitself and matter, and would not cease even if the whole universe were\nalready rolled into one ball. We see it in the other simple natural\nphenomena. A solid tends towards fluidity either by melting or dissolving,\nfor only so will its chemical forces be free; rigidity is the imprisonment\nin which it is held by cold. The fluid tends towards the gaseous state,\ninto which it passes at once as soon as all pressure is removed from it.\nNo body is without relationship, _i.e._, without tendency or without\ndesire and longing, as Jacob B\u00f6hme would say. Electricity transmits its\ninner self-repulsion to infinity, though the mass of the earth absorbs the\neffect. Galvanism is certainly, so long as the pile is working, an\naimless, unceasingly repeated act of repulsion and attraction. The\nexistence of the plant is just such a restless, never satisfied striving,\na ceaseless tendency through ever-ascending forms, till the end, the seed,\nbecomes a new starting-point; and this repeated _ad infinitum_\u2014nowhere an\nend, nowhere a final satisfaction, nowhere a resting-place. It will also\nbe remembered, from the Second Book, that the multitude of natural forces\nand organised forms everywhere strive with each other for the matter in\nwhich they desire to appear, for each of them only possesses what it has\nwrested from the others; and thus a constant internecine war is waged,\nfrom which, for the most part, arises the resistance through which that\nstriving, which constitutes the inner nature of everything, is at all\npoints hindered; struggles in vain, yet, from its nature, cannot leave\noff; toils on laboriously till this phenomenon dies, when others eagerly\nseize its place and its matter.\n\nWe have long since recognised this striving, which constitutes the kernel\nand in-itself of everything, as identical with that which in us, where it\nmanifests itself most distinctly in the light of the fullest\nconsciousness, is called _will_. Its hindrance through an obstacle which\nplaces itself between it and its temporary aim we call _suffering_, and,\non the other hand, its attainment of the end satisfaction, wellbeing,\nhappiness. We may also transfer this terminology to the phenomena of the\nunconscious world, for though weaker in degree, they are identical in\nnature. Then we see them involved in constant suffering, and without any\ncontinuing happiness. For all effort springs from defect\u2014from discontent\nwith one\u2019s estate\u2014is thus suffering so long as it is not satisfied; but no\nsatisfaction is lasting, rather it is always merely the starting-point of\na new effort. The striving we see everywhere hindered in many ways,\neverywhere in conflict, and therefore always under the form of suffering.\nThus, if there is no final end of striving, there is no measure and end of\nsuffering.\n\nBut what we only discover in unconscious Nature by sharpened observation,\nand with an effort, presents itself distinctly to us in the intelligent\nworld in the life of animals, whose constant suffering is easily proved.\nBut without lingering over these intermediate grades, we shall turn to the\nlife of man, in which all this appears with the greatest distinctness,\nilluminated by the clearest knowledge; for as the phenomenon of will\nbecomes more complete, the suffering also becomes more and more apparent.\nIn the plant there is as yet no sensibility, and therefore no pain. A\ncertain very small degree of suffering is experienced by the lowest\nspecies of animal life\u2014infusoria and radiata; even in insects the capacity\nto feel and suffer is still limited. It first appears in a high degree\nwith the complete nervous system of vertebrate animals, and always in a\nhigher degree the more intelligence develops. Thus, in proportion as\nknowledge attains to distinctness, as consciousness ascends, pain also\nincreases, and therefore reaches its highest degree in man. And then,\nagain, the more distinctly a man knows, the more intelligent he is, the\nmore pain he has; the man who is gifted with genius suffers most of all.\nIn this sense, that is, with reference to the degree of knowledge in\ngeneral, not mere abstract rational knowledge, I understand and use here\nthat saying of the Preacher: _Qui auget scientiam, auget at dolorem._ That\nphilosophical painter or painting philosopher, Tischbein, has very\nbeautifully expressed the accurate relation between the degree of\nconsciousness and that of suffering by exhibiting it in a visible and\nclear form in a drawing. The upper half of his drawing represents women\nwhose children have been stolen, and who in different groups and\nattitudes, express in many ways deep maternal pain, anguish, and despair.\nThe lower half of the drawing represents sheep whose lambs have been taken\naway. They are arranged and grouped in precisely the same way; so that\nevery human head, every human attitude of the upper half, has below a\nbrute head and attitude corresponding to it. Thus we see distinctly how\nthe pain which is possible in the dull brute consciousness is related to\nthe violent grief, which only becomes possible through distinctness of\nknowledge and clearness of consciousness.\n\nWe desire to consider in this way, in _human existence_, the inner and\nessential destiny of will. Every one will easily recognise that same\ndestiny expressed in various degrees in the life of the brutes, only more\nweakly, and may also convince himself to his own satisfaction, from the\nsuffering animal world, _how essential to all life is suffering_.\n\n\u00a7 57. At every grade that is enlightened by knowledge, the will appears as\nan individual. The human individual finds himself as finite in infinite\nspace and time, and consequently as a vanishing quantity compared with\nthem. He is projected into them, and, on account of their unlimited\nnature, he has always a merely relative, never absolute _when_ and _where_\nof his existence; for his place and duration are finite parts of what is\ninfinite and boundless. His real existence is only in the present, whose\nunchecked flight into the past is a constant transition into death, a\nconstant dying. For his past life, apart from its possible consequences\nfor the present, and the testimony regarding the will that is expressed in\nit, is now entirely done with, dead, and no longer anything; and,\ntherefore, it must be, as a matter of reason, indifferent to him whether\nthe content of that past was pain or pleasure. But the present is always\npassing through his hands into the past; the future is quite uncertain and\nalways short. Thus his existence, even when we consider only its formal\nside, is a constant hurrying of the present into the dead past, a constant\ndying. But if we look at it from the physical side; it is clear that, as\nour walking is admittedly merely a constantly prevented falling, the life\nof our body is only a constantly prevented dying, an ever-postponed death:\nfinally, in the same way, the activity of our mind is a constantly\ndeferred ennui. Every breath we draw wards off the death that is\nconstantly intruding upon us. In this way we fight with it every moment,\nand again, at longer intervals, through every meal we eat, every sleep we\ntake, every time we warm ourselves, &c. In the end, death must conquer,\nfor we became subject to him through birth, and he only plays for a little\nwhile with his prey before he swallows it up. We pursue our life, however,\nwith great interest and much solicitude as long as possible, as we blow\nout a soap-bubble as long and as large as possible, although we know\nperfectly well that it will burst.\n\nWe saw that the inner being of unconscious nature is a constant striving\nwithout end and without rest. And this appears to us much more distinctly\nwhen we consider the nature of brutes and man. Willing and striving is its\nwhole being, which may be very well compared to an unquenchable thirst.\nBut the basis of all willing is need, deficiency, and thus pain.\nConsequently, the nature of brutes and man is subject to pain originally\nand through its very being. If, on the other hand, it lacks objects of\ndesire, because it is at once deprived of them by a too easy satisfaction,\na terrible void and ennui comes over it, _i.e._, its being and existence\nitself becomes an unbearable burden to it. Thus its life swings like a\npendulum backwards and forwards between pain and ennui. This has also had\nto express itself very oddly in this way; after man had transferred all\npain and torments to hell, there then remained nothing over for heaven but\nennui.\n\nBut the constant striving which constitutes the inner nature of every\nmanifestation of will obtains its primary and most general foundation at\nthe higher grades of objectification, from the fact that here the will\nmanifests itself as a living body, with the iron command to nourish it;\nand what gives strength to this command is just that this body is nothing\nbut the objectified will to live itself. Man, as the most complete\nobjectification of that will, is in like measure also the most necessitous\nof all beings: he is through and through concrete willing and needing; he\nis a concretion of a thousand necessities. With these he stands upon the\nearth, left to himself, uncertain about everything except his own need and\nmisery. Consequently the care for the maintenance of that existence under\nexacting demands, which are renewed every day, occupies, as a rule, the\nwhole of human life. To this is directly related the second claim, that of\nthe propagation of the species. At the same time he is threatened from all\nsides by the most different kinds of dangers, from which it requires\nconstant watchfulness to escape. With cautious steps and casting anxious\nglances round him he pursues his path, for a thousand accidents and a\nthousand enemies lie in wait for him. Thus he went while yet a savage,\nthus he goes in civilised life; there is no security for him.\n\n\n    \u201c_Qualibus in tenebris vit\u00e6, quantisque periclis_\n    _Degitur hocc\u2019 \u00e6vi, quodcunque est!_\u201d\u2014LUCR. ii. 15.\n\n\nThe life of the great majority is only a constant struggle for this\nexistence itself, with the certainty of losing it at last. But what\nenables them to endure this wearisome battle is not so much the love of\nlife as the fear of death, which yet stands in the background as\ninevitable, and may come upon them at any moment. Life itself is a sea,\nfull of rocks and whirlpools, which man avoids with the greatest care and\nsolicitude, although he knows that even if he succeeds in getting through\nwith all his efforts and skill, he yet by doing so comes nearer at every\nstep to the greatest, the total, inevitable, and irremediable shipwreck,\ndeath; nay, even steers right upon it: this is the final goal of the\nlaborious voyage, and worse for him than all the rocks from which he has\nescaped.\n\nNow it is well worth observing that, on the one hand, the suffering and\nmisery of life may easily increase to such an extent that death itself, in\nthe flight from which the whole of life consists, becomes desirable, and\nwe hasten towards it voluntarily; and again, on the other hand, that as\nsoon as want and suffering permit rest to a man, ennui is at once so near\nthat he necessarily requires diversion. The striving after existence is\nwhat occupies all living things and maintains them in motion. But when\nexistence is assured, then they know not what to do with it; thus the\nsecond thing that sets them in motion is the effort to get free from the\nburden of existence, to make it cease to be felt, \u201cto kill time,\u201d _i.e._,\nto escape from ennui. Accordingly we see that almost all men who are\nsecure from want and care, now that at last they have thrown off all other\nburdens, become a burden to themselves, and regard as a gain every hour\nthey succeed in getting through; and thus every diminution of the very\nlife which, till then, they have employed all their powers to maintain as\nlong as possible. Ennui is by no means an evil to be lightly esteemed; in\nthe end it depicts on the countenance real despair. It makes beings who\nlove each other so little as men do, seek each other eagerly, and thus\nbecomes the source of social intercourse. Moreover, even from motives of\npolicy, public precautions are everywhere taken against it, as against\nother universal calamities. For this evil may drive men to the greatest\nexcesses, just as much as its opposite extreme, famine: the people require\n_panem et circenses_. The strict penitentiary system of Philadelphia makes\nuse of ennui alone as a means of punishment, through solitary confinement\nand idleness, and it is found so terrible that it has even led prisoners\nto commit suicide. As want is the constant scourge of the people, so ennui\nis that of the fashionable world. In middle-class life ennui is\nrepresented by the Sunday, and want by the six week-days.\n\nThus between desiring and attaining all human life flows on throughout.\nThe wish is, in its nature, pain; the attainment soon begets satiety: the\nend was only apparent; possession takes away the charm; the wish, the\nneed, presents itself under a new form; when it does not, then follows\ndesolateness, emptiness, ennui, against which the conflict is just as\npainful as against want. That wish and satisfaction should follow each\nother neither too quickly nor too slowly reduces the suffering, which both\noccasion to the smallest amount, and constitutes the happiest life. For\nthat which we might otherwise call the most beautiful part of life, its\npurest joy, if it were only because it lifts us out of real existence and\ntransforms us into disinterested spectators of it\u2014that is, pure knowledge,\nwhich is foreign to all willing, the pleasure of the beautiful, the true\ndelight in art\u2014this is granted only to a very few, because it demands rare\ntalents, and to these few only as a passing dream. And then, even these\nfew, on account of their higher intellectual power, are made susceptible\nof far greater suffering than duller minds can ever feel, and are also\nplaced in lonely isolation by a nature which is obviously different from\nthat of others; thus here also accounts are squared. But to the great\nmajority of men purely intellectual pleasures are not accessible. They are\nalmost quite incapable of the joys which lie in pure knowledge. They are\nentirely given up to willing. If, therefore, anything is to win their\nsympathy, to be _interesting_ to them, it must (as is implied in the\nmeaning of the word) in some way excite their _will_, even if it is only\nthrough a distant and merely problematical relation to it; the will must\nnot be left altogether out of the question, for their existence lies far\nmore in willing than in knowing,\u2014action and reaction is their one element.\nWe may find in trifles and everyday occurrences the na\u00efve expressions of\nthis quality. Thus, for example, at any place worth seeing they may visit,\nthey write their names, in order thus to react, to affect the place since\nit does not affect them. Again, when they see a strange rare animal, they\ncannot easily confine themselves to merely observing it; they must rouse\nit, tease it, play with it, merely to experience action and reaction; but\nthis need for excitement of the will manifests itself very specially in\nthe discovery and support of card-playing, which is quite peculiarly the\nexpression of the miserable side of humanity.\n\nBut whatever nature and fortune may have done, whoever a man be and\nwhatever he may possess, the pain which is essential to life cannot be\nthrown off:\u2014\u03a0\u03b7\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03b4\u1fbd \u1ff3\u03bc\u03c9\u03be\u03b5\u03bd, \u03b9\u03b4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u03c5\u03c1\u03c5\u03bd (_Pelides autem\nejulavit, intuitus in c\u00e6lum latum_). And again:\u2014\u0396\u03b7\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b7\u03b1\n\u039a\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1 \u03bf\u03b9\u03b6\u03c5\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd \u03b1\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03b7\u03bd (_Jovis quidem filius eram\nSaturnii; verum \u00e6rumnam habebam infinitam_). The ceaseless efforts to\nbanish suffering accomplish no more than to make it change its form. It is\nessentially deficiency, want, care for the maintenance of life. If we\nsucceed, which is very difficult, in removing pain in this form, it\nimmediately assumes a thousand others, varying according to age and\ncircumstances, such as lust, passionate love, jealousy, envy, hatred,\nanxiety, ambition, covetousness, sickness, &c., &c. If at last it can find\nentrance in no other form, it comes in the sad, grey garments of\ntediousness and ennui, against which we then strive in various ways. If\nfinally we succeed in driving this away, we shall hardly do so without\nletting pain enter in one of its earlier forms, and the dance begin again\nfrom the beginning; for all human life is tossed backwards and forwards\nbetween pain and ennui. Depressing as this view of life is, I will draw\nattention, by the way, to an aspect of it from which consolation may be\ndrawn, and perhaps even a stoical indifference to one\u2019s own present ills\nmay be attained. For our impatience at these arises for the most part from\nthe fact that we regard them as brought about by a chain of causes which\nmight easily be different. We do not generally grieve over ills which are\ndirectly necessary and quite universal; for example, the necessity of age\nand of death, and many daily inconveniences. It is rather the\nconsideration of the accidental nature of the circumstances that brought\nsome sorrow just to us, that gives it its sting. But if we have recognised\nthat pain, as such, is inevitable and essential to life, and that nothing\ndepends upon chance but its mere fashion, the form under which it presents\nitself, that thus our present sorrow fills a place that, without it, would\nat once be occupied by another which now is excluded by it, and that\ntherefore fate can affect us little in what is essential; such a\nreflection, if it were to become a living conviction, might produce a\nconsiderable degree of stoical equanimity, and very much lessen the\nanxious care for our own well-being. But, in fact, such a powerful control\nof reason over directly felt suffering seldom or never occurs.\n\nBesides, through this view of the inevitableness of pain, of the\nsupplanting of one pain by another, and the introduction of a new pain\nthrough the passing away of that which preceded it, one might be led to\nthe paradoxical but not absurd hypothesis, that in every individual the\nmeasure of the pain essential to him was determined once for all by his\nnature, a measure which could neither remain empty, nor be more than\nfilled, however much the form of the suffering might change. Thus his\nsuffering and well-being would by no means be determined from without, but\nonly through that measure, that natural disposition, which indeed might\nexperience certain additions and diminutions from the physical condition\nat different times, but yet, on the whole, would remain the same, and\nwould just be what is called the temperament, or, more accurately, the\ndegree in which he might be \u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 or \u03b4\u03c5\u03c3\u03ba\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2, as Plato expresses it in\nthe First Book of the Republic, _i.e._, in an easy or difficult mood. This\nhypothesis is supported not only by the well-known experience that great\nsuffering makes all lesser ills cease to be felt, and conversely that\nfreedom from great suffering makes even the most trifling inconveniences\ntorment us and put us out of humour; but experience also teaches that if a\ngreat misfortune, at the mere thought of which we shuddered, actually\nbefalls us, as soon as we have overcome the first pain of it, our\ndisposition remains for the most part unchanged; and, conversely, that\nafter the attainment of some happiness we have long desired, we do not\nfeel ourselves on the whole and permanently very much better off and\nagreeably situated than before. Only the moment at which these changes\noccur affects us with unusual strength, as deep sorrow or exulting joy,\nbut both soon pass away, for they are based upon illusion. For they do not\nspring from the immediately present pleasure or pain, but only from the\nopening up of a new future which is anticipated in them. Only by borrowing\nfrom the future could pain or pleasure be heightened so abnormally, and\nconsequently not enduringly. It would follow, from the hypothesis\nadvanced, that a large part of the feeling of suffering and of well-being\nwould be subjective and determined _a priori_, as is the case with\nknowing; and we may add the following remarks as evidence in favour of it.\nHuman cheerfulness or dejection are manifestly not determined by external\ncircumstances, such as wealth and position, for we see at least as many\nglad faces among the poor as among the rich. Further, the motives which\ninduce suicide are so very different, that we can assign no motive that is\nso great as to bring it about, even with great probability, in every\ncharacter, and few that would be so small that the like of them had never\ncaused it. Now although the degree of our serenity or sadness is not at\nall times the same, yet, in consequence of this view, we shall not\nattribute it to the change of outward circumstances, but to that of the\ninner condition, the physical state. For when an actual, though only\ntemporary, increase of our serenity, even to the extent of joyfulness,\ntakes place, it usually appears without any external occasion. It is true\nthat we often see our pain arise only from some definite external\nrelation, and are visibly oppressed and saddened by this only. Then we\nbelieve that if only this were taken away, the greatest contentment would\nnecessarily ensue. But this is illusion. The measure of our pain and our\nhappiness is on the whole, according to our hypothesis, subjectively\ndetermined for each point of time, and the motive for sadness is related\nto that, just as a blister which draws to a head all the bad humours\notherwise distributed is related to the body. The pain which is at that\nperiod of time essential to our nature, and therefore cannot be shaken\noff, would, without the definite external cause of our suffering, be\ndivided at a hundred points, and appear in the form of a hundred little\nannoyances and cares about things which we now entirely overlook, because\nour capacity for pain is already filled by that chief evil which has\nconcentrated in a point all the suffering otherwise dispersed. This\ncorresponds also to the observation that if a great and pressing care is\nlifted from our breast by its fortunate issue, another immediately takes\nits place, the whole material of which was already there before, yet could\nnot come into consciousness as care because there was no capacity left for\nit, and therefore this material of care remained indistinct and unobserved\nin a cloudy form on the farthest horizon of consciousness. But now that\nthere is room, this prepared material at once comes forward and occupies\nthe throne of the reigning care of the day (\u03c0\u03c1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b1\u03bd\u03b5\u03c5\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1). And if it is\nvery much lighter in its matter than the material of the care which has\nvanished, it knows how to blow itself out so as apparently to equal it in\nsize, and thus, as the chief care of the day, completely fills the throne.\n\nExcessive joy and very keen suffering always occur in the same person, for\nthey condition each other reciprocally, and are also in common conditioned\nby great activity of the mind. Both are produced, as we have just seen,\nnot by what is really present, but by the anticipation of the future. But\nsince pain is essential to life, and its degree is also determined by the\nnature of the subject, sudden changes, because they are always external,\ncannot really alter its degree. Thus an error and delusion always lies at\nthe foundation of immoderate joy or grief, and consequently both these\nexcessive strainings of the mind can be avoided by knowledge. Every\nimmoderate joy (_exultatio, insolens l\u00e6titia_) always rests on the\ndelusion that one has found in life what can never be found there\u2014lasting\nsatisfaction of the harassing desires and cares, which are constantly\nbreeding new ones. From every particular delusion of this kind one must\ninevitably be brought back later, and then when it vanishes must pay for\nit with pain as bitter as the joy its entrance caused was keen. So far,\nthen, it is precisely like a height from which one can come down only by a\nfall. Therefore one ought to avoid them; and every sudden excessive grief\nis just a fall from some such height, the vanishing of such a delusion,\nand so conditioned by it. Consequently we might avoid them both if we had\nsufficient control over ourselves to survey things always with perfect\nclearness as a whole and in their connection, and steadfastly to guard\nagainst really lending them the colours which we wish they had. The\nprincipal effort of the Stoical ethics was to free the mind from all such\ndelusion and its consequences, and to give it instead an equanimity that\ncould not be disturbed. It is this insight that inspires Horace in the\nwell-known ode\u2014\n\n\n    \u201c_\u00c6quam memento rebus in arduiis_\n    Servare mentem, non secus in bonis\n        _Ab insolenti temperatam_\n          _L\u00e6titia._\u201d\n\n\nFor the most part, however, we close our minds against the knowledge,\nwhich may be compared to a bitter medicine, that suffering is essential to\nlife, and therefore does not flow in upon us from without, but that every\none carries about with him its perennial source in his own heart. We\nrather seek constantly for an external particular cause, as it were, a\npretext for the pain which never leaves us, just as the free man makes\nhimself an idol, in order to have a master. For we unweariedly strive from\nwish to wish; and although every satisfaction, however much it promised,\nwhen attained fails to satisfy us, but for the most part comes presently\nto be an error of which we are ashamed, yet we do not see that we draw\nwater with the sieve of the Danaides, but ever hasten to new desires.\n\n\n    \u201c_Sed, dum abest quod avemus, id exsuperare videtur_\n    _C\u00e6tera; post aliud, quum contigit illud, avemus;_\n    _Et sitis \u00e6qua tenet vitai semper hiantes._\u201d\u2014LUCR. iii. 1095.\n\n\nThus it either goes on for ever, or, what is more rare and presupposes a\ncertain strength of character, till we reach a wish which is not satisfied\nand yet cannot be given up. In that case we have, as it were, found what\nwe sought, something that we can always blame, instead of our own nature,\nas the source of our suffering. And thus, although we are now at variance\nwith our fate, we are reconciled to our existence, for the knowledge is\nagain put far from us that suffering is essential to this existence\nitself, and true satisfaction impossible. The result of this form of\ndevelopment is a somewhat melancholy disposition, the constant endurance\nof a single great pain, and the contempt for all lesser sorrows or joys\nthat proceeds from it; consequently an already nobler phenomenon than that\nconstant seizing upon ever-new forms of illusion, which is much more\ncommon.\n\n\u00a7 58. All satisfaction, or what is commonly called happiness, is always\nreally and essentially only _negative_, and never positive. It is not an\noriginal gratification coming to us of itself, but must always be the\nsatisfaction of a wish. The wish, _i.e._, some want, is the condition\nwhich precedes every pleasure. But with the satisfaction the wish and\ntherefore the pleasure cease. Thus the satisfaction or the pleasing can\nnever be more than the deliverance from a pain, from a want; for such is\nnot only every actual, open sorrow, but every desire, the importunity of\nwhich disturbs our peace, and, indeed, the deadening ennui also that makes\nlife a burden to us. It is, however, so hard to attain or achieve\nanything; difficulties and troubles without end are opposed to every\npurpose, and at every step hindrances accumulate. But when finally\neverything is overcome and attained, nothing can ever be gained but\ndeliverance from some sorrow or desire, so that we find ourselves just in\nthe same position as we occupied before this sorrow or desire appeared.\nAll that is even directly given us is merely the want, _i.e._, the pain.\nThe satisfaction and the pleasure we can only know indirectly through the\nremembrance of the preceding suffering and want, which ceases with its\nappearance. Hence it arises that we are not properly conscious of the\nblessings and advantages we actually possess, nor do we prize them, but\nthink of them merely as a matter of course, for they gratify us only\nnegatively by restraining suffering. Only when we have lost them do we\nbecome sensible of their value; for the want, the privation, the sorrow,\nis the positive, communicating itself directly to us. Thus also we are\npleased by the remembrance of past need, sickness, want, and such like,\nbecause this is the only means of enjoying the present blessings. And,\nfurther, it cannot be denied that in this respect, and from this\nstandpoint of egoism, which is the form of the will to live, the sight or\nthe description of the sufferings of others affords us satisfaction and\npleasure in precisely the way Lucretius beautifully and frankly expresses\nit in the beginning of the Second Book\u2014\n\n\n    \u201c_Suave, mari magno, turbantibus \u00e6quora ventis,_\n    _E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem:_\n    _Non, quia vexari quemquam est jucunda voluptas;_\n    _Sed, quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est._\u201d\n\n\nYet we shall see farther on that this kind of pleasure, through knowledge\nof our own well-being obtained in this way, lies very near the source of\nreal, positive wickedness.\n\nThat all happiness is only of a negative not a positive nature, that just\non this account it cannot be lasting satisfaction and gratification, but\nmerely delivers us from some pain or want which must be followed either by\na new pain, or by languor, empty longing, and ennui; this finds support in\nart, that true mirror of the world and life, and especially in poetry.\nEvery epic and dramatic poem can only represent a struggle, an effort, and\nfight for happiness, never enduring and complete happiness itself. It\nconducts its heroes through a thousand difficulties and dangers to the\ngoal; as soon as this is reached, it hastens to let the curtain fall; for\nnow there would remain nothing for it to do but to show that the\nglittering goal in which the hero expected to find happiness had only\ndisappointed him, and that after its attainment he was no better off than\nbefore. Because a genuine enduring happiness is not possible, it cannot be\nthe subject of art. Certainly the aim of the idyll is the description of\nsuch a happiness, but one also sees that the idyll as such cannot\ncontinue. The poet always finds that it either becomes epical in his\nhands, and in this case it is a very insignificant epic, made up of\ntrifling sorrows, trifling delights, and trifling efforts\u2014this is the\ncommonest case\u2014or else it becomes a merely descriptive poem, describing\nthe beauty of nature, _i.e._, pure knowing free from will, which\ncertainly, as a matter of fact, is the only pure happiness, which is\nneither preceded by suffering or want, nor necessarily followed by\nrepentance, sorrow, emptiness, or satiety; but this happiness cannot fill\nthe whole life, but is only possible at moments. What we see in poetry we\nfind again in music; in the melodies of which we have recognised the\nuniversal expression of the inmost history of the self-conscious will, the\nmost secret life, longing, suffering, and delight; the ebb and flow of the\nhuman heart. Melody is always a deviation from the keynote through a\nthousand capricious wanderings, even to the most painful discord, and then\na final return to the keynote which expresses the satisfaction and\nappeasing of the will, but with which nothing more can then be done, and\nthe continuance of which any longer would only be a wearisome and\nunmeaning monotony corresponding to ennui.\n\nAll that we intend to bring out clearly through these investigations, the\nimpossibility of attaining lasting satisfaction and the negative nature of\nall happiness, finds its explanation in what is shown at the conclusion of\nthe Second Book: that the will, of which human life, like every\nphenomenon, is the objectification, is a striving without aim or end. We\nfind the stamp of this endlessness imprinted upon all the parts of its\nwhole manifestation, from its most universal form, endless time and space,\nup to the most perfect of all phenomena, the life and efforts of man. We\nmay theoretically assume three extremes of human life, and treat them as\nelements of actual human life. First, the powerful will, the strong\npassions (Radscha-Guna). It appears in great historical characters; it is\ndescribed in the epic and the drama. But it can also show itself in the\nlittle world, for the size of the objects is measured here by the degree\nin which they influence the will, not according to their external\nrelations. Secondly, pure knowing, the comprehension of the Ideas,\nconditioned by the freeing of knowledge from the service of will: the life\nof genius (Satwa-Guna). Thirdly and lastly, the greatest lethargy of the\nwill, and also of the knowledge attaching to it, empty longing,\nlife-benumbing languor (Tama-Guna). The life of the individual, far from\nbecoming permanently fixed in one of these extremes, seldom touches any of\nthem, and is for the most part only a weak and wavering approach to one or\nthe other side, a needy desiring of trifling objects, constantly\nrecurring, and so escaping ennui. It is really incredible how meaningless\nand void of significance when looked at from without, how dull and\nunenlightened by intellect when felt from within, is the course of the\nlife of the great majority of men. It is a weary longing and complaining,\na dream-like staggering through the four ages of life to death,\naccompanied by a series of trivial thoughts. Such men are like clockwork,\nwhich is wound up, and goes it knows not why; and every time a man is\nbegotten and born, the clock of human life is wound up anew, to repeat the\nsame old piece it has played innumerable times before, passage after\npassage, measure after measure, with insignificant variations. Every\nindividual, every human being and his course of life, is but another short\ndream of the endless spirit of nature, of the persistent will to live; is\nonly another fleeting form, which it carelessly sketches on its infinite\npage, space and time; allows to remain for a time so short that it\nvanishes into nothing in comparison with these, and then obliterates to\nmake new room. And yet, and here lies the serious side of life, every one\nof these fleeting forms, these empty fancies, must be paid for by the\nwhole will to live, in all its activity, with many and deep sufferings,\nand finally with a bitter death, long feared and coming at last. This is\nwhy the sight of a corpse makes us suddenly so serious.\n\nThe life of every individual, if we survey it as a whole and in general,\nand only lay stress upon its most significant features, is really always a\ntragedy, but gone through in detail, it has the character of a comedy. For\nthe deeds and vexations of the day, the restless irritation of the moment,\nthe desires and fears of the week, the mishaps of every hour, are all\nthrough chance, which is ever bent upon some jest, scenes of a comedy. But\nthe never-satisfied wishes, the frustrated efforts, the hopes unmercifully\ncrushed by fate, the unfortunate errors of the whole life, with increasing\nsuffering and death at the end, are always a tragedy. Thus, as if fate\nwould add derision to the misery of our existence, our life must contain\nall the woes of tragedy, and yet we cannot even assert the dignity of\ntragic characters, but in the broad detail of life must inevitably be the\nfoolish characters of a comedy.\n\nBut however much great and small trials may fill human life, they are not\nable to conceal its insufficiency to satisfy the spirit; they cannot hide\nthe emptiness and superficiality of existence, nor exclude ennui, which is\nalways ready to fill up every pause that care may allow. Hence it arises\nthat the human mind, not content with the cares, anxieties, and\noccupations which the actual world lays upon it, creates for itself an\nimaginary world also in the form of a thousand different superstitions,\nthen finds all manner of employment with this, and wastes time and\nstrength upon it, as soon as the real world is willing to grant it the\nrest which it is quite incapable of enjoying. This is accordingly most\nmarkedly the case with nations for which life is made easy by the\ncongenial nature of the climate and the soil, most of all with the Hindus,\nthen with the Greeks, the Romans, and later with the Italians, the\nSpaniards, &c. Demons, gods, and saints man creates in his own image; and\nto them he must then unceasingly bring offerings, prayers, temple\ndecorations, vows and their fulfilment, pilgrimages, salutations,\nornaments for their images, &c. Their service mingles everywhere with the\nreal, and, indeed, obscures it. Every event of life is regarded as the\nwork of these beings; the intercourse with them occupies half the time of\nlife, constantly sustains hope, and by the charm of illusion often becomes\nmore interesting than intercourse with real beings. It is the expression\nand symptom of the actual need of mankind, partly for help and support,\npartly for occupation and diversion; and if it often works in direct\nopposition to the first need, because when accidents and dangers arise\nvaluable time and strength, instead of being directed to warding them off,\nare uselessly wasted on prayers and offerings; it serves the second end\nall the better by this imaginary converse with a visionary spirit world;\nand this is the by no means contemptible gain of all superstitions.\n\n\u00a7 59. If we have so far convinced ourselves _a priori_, by the most\ngeneral consideration, by investigation of the primary and elemental\nfeatures of human life, that in its whole plan it is capable of no true\nblessedness, but is in its very nature suffering in various forms, and\nthroughout a state of misery, we might now awaken this conviction much\nmore vividly within us if, proceeding more _a posteriori_, we were to turn\nto more definite instances, call up pictures to the fancy, and illustrate\nby examples the unspeakable misery which experience and history present,\nwherever one may look and in whatever direction one may seek. But the\nchapter would have no end, and would carry us far from the standpoint of\nthe universal, which is essential to philosophy; and, moreover, such a\ndescription might easily be taken for a mere declamation on human misery,\nsuch as has often been given, and, as such, might be charged with\none-sidedness, because it started from particular facts. From such a\nreproach and suspicion our perfectly cold and philosophical investigation\nof the inevitable suffering which is founded in the nature of life is\nfree, for it starts from the universal and is conducted _a priori_. But\nconfirmation _a posteriori_ is everywhere easily obtained. Every one who\nhas awakened from the first dream of youth, who has considered his own\nexperience and that of others, who has studied himself in life, in the\nhistory of the past and of his own time, and finally in the works of the\ngreat poets, will, if his judgment is not paralysed by some indelibly\nimprinted prejudice, certainly arrive at the conclusion that this human\nworld is the kingdom of chance and error, which rule without mercy in\ngreat things and in small, and along with which folly and wickedness also\nwield the scourge. Hence it arises that everything better only struggles\nthrough with difficulty; what is noble and wise seldom attains to\nexpression, becomes effective and claims attention, but the absurd and the\nperverse in the sphere of thought, the dull and tasteless in the sphere of\nart, the wicked and deceitful in the sphere of action, really assert a\nsupremacy, only disturbed by short interruptions. On the other hand,\neverything that is excellent is always a mere exception, one case in\nmillions, and therefore, if it presents itself in a lasting work, this,\nwhen it has outlived the enmity of its contemporaries, exists in\nisolation, is preserved like a meteoric stone, sprung from an order of\nthings different from that which prevails here. But as far as the life of\nthe individual is concerned, every biography is the history of suffering,\nfor every life is, as a rule, a continual series of great and small\nmisfortunes, which each one conceals as much as possible, because he knows\nthat others can seldom feel sympathy or compassion, but almost always\nsatisfaction at the sight of the woes from which they are themselves for\nthe moment exempt. But perhaps at the end of life, if a man is sincere and\nin full possession of his faculties, he will never wish to have it to live\nover again, but rather than this, he will much prefer absolute\nannihilation. The essential content of the famous soliloquy in \u201cHamlet\u201d is\nbriefly this: Our state is so wretched that absolute annihilation would be\ndecidedly preferable. If suicide really offered us this, so that the\nalternative \u201cto be or not to be,\u201d in the full sense of the word, was\nplaced before us, then it would be unconditionally to be chosen as \u201ca\nconsummation devoutly to be wished.\u201d But there is something in us which\ntells us that this is not the case: suicide is not the end; death is not\nabsolute annihilation. In like manner, what was said by the father of\nhistory(71) has not since him been contradicted, that no man has ever\nlived who has not wished more than once that he had not to live the\nfollowing day. According to this, the brevity of life, which is so\nconstantly lamented, may be the best quality it possesses. If, finally, we\nshould bring clearly to a man\u2019s sight the terrible sufferings and miseries\nto which his life is constantly exposed, he would be seized with horror;\nand if we were to conduct the confirmed optimist through the hospitals,\ninfirmaries, and surgical operating-rooms, through the prisons,\ntorture-chambers, and slave-kennels, over battle-fields and places of\nexecution; if we were to open to him all the dark abodes of misery, where\nit hides itself from the glance of cold curiosity, and, finally, allow him\nto glance into the starving dungeon of Ugolino, he, too, would understand\nat last the nature of this \u201cbest of possible worlds.\u201d For whence did Dante\ntake the materials for his hell but from this our actual world? And yet he\nmade a very proper hell of it. And when, on the other hand, he came to the\ntask of describing heaven and its delights, he had an insurmountable\ndifficulty before him, for our world affords no materials at all for this.\nTherefore there remained nothing for him to do but, instead of describing\nthe joys of paradise, to repeat to us the instruction given him there by\nhis ancestor, by Beatrice, and by various saints. But from this it is\nsufficiently clear what manner of world it is. Certainly human life, like\nall bad ware, is covered over with a false lustre: what suffers always\nconceals itself; on the other hand, whatever pomp or splendour any one can\nget, he makes a show of openly, and the more inner contentment deserts\nhim, the more he desires to exist as fortunate in the opinion of others:\nto such an extent does folly go, and the opinion of others is a chief aim\nof the efforts of every one, although the utter nothingness of it is\nexpressed in the fact that in almost all languages vanity, _vanitas_,\noriginally signifies emptiness and nothingness. But under all this false\nshow, the miseries of life can so increase\u2014and this happens every day\u2014that\nthe death which hitherto has been feared above all things is eagerly\nseized upon. Indeed, if fate will show its whole malice, even this refuge\nis denied to the sufferer, and, in the hands of enraged enemies, he may\nremain exposed to terrible and slow tortures without remedy. In vain the\nsufferer then calls on his gods for help; he remains exposed to his fate\nwithout grace. But this irremediableness is only the mirror of the\ninvincible nature of his will, of which his person is the objectivity. As\nlittle as an external power can change or suppress this will, so little\ncan a foreign power deliver it from the miseries which proceed from the\nlife which is the phenomenal appearance of that will. In the principal\nmatter, as in everything else, a man is always thrown back upon himself.\nIn vain does he make to himself gods in order to get from them by prayers\nand flattery what can only be accomplished by his own will-power. The Old\nTestament made the world and man the work of a god, but the New Testament\nsaw that, in order to teach that holiness and salvation from the sorrows\nof this world can only come from the world itself, it was necessary that\nthis god should become man. It is and remains the will of man upon which\neverything depends for him. Fanatics, martyrs, saints of every faith and\nname, have voluntarily and gladly endured every torture, because in them\nthe will to live had suppressed itself; and then even the slow destruction\nof its phenomenon was welcome to them. But I do not wish to anticipate the\nlater exposition. For the rest, I cannot here avoid the statement that, to\nme, _optimism_, when it is not merely the thoughtless talk of such as\nharbour nothing but words under their low foreheads, appears not merely as\nan absurd, but also as a really _wicked_ way of thinking, as a bitter\nmockery of the unspeakable suffering of humanity. Let no one think that\nChristianity is favourable to optimism; for, on the contrary, in the\nGospels world and evil are used as almost synonymous.(72)\n\n\u00a7 60. We have now completed the two expositions it was necessary to\ninsert; the exposition of the freedom of the will in itself together with\nthe necessity of its phenomenon, and the exposition of its lot in the\nworld which reflects its own nature, and upon the knowledge of which it\nhas to assert or deny itself. Therefore we can now proceed to bring out\nmore clearly the nature of this assertion and denial itself, which was\nreferred to and explained in a merely general way above. This we shall do\nby exhibiting the conduct in which alone it finds its expression, and\nconsidering it in its inner significance.\n\nThe _assertion of the will_ is the continuous willing itself, undisturbed\nby any knowledge, as it fills the life of man in general. For even the\nbody of a man is the objectivity of the will, as it appears at this grade\nand in this individual. And thus his willing which develops itself in time\nis, as it were, a paraphrase of his body, an elucidation of the\nsignificance of the whole and its parts; it is another way of exhibiting\nthe same thing-in-itself, of which the body is already the phenomenon.\nTherefore, instead of saying assertion of the will, we may say assertion\nof the body. The fundamental theme or subject of all the multifarious acts\nof will is the satisfaction of the wants which are inseparable from the\nexistence of the body in health, they already have their expression in it,\nand may be referred to the maintenance of the individual and the\npropagation of the species. But indirectly the most different kinds of\nmotives obtain in this way power over the will, and bring about the most\nmultifarious acts of will. Each of these is only an example, an instance,\nof the will which here manifests itself generally. Of what nature this\nexample may be, what form the motive may have and impart to it, is not\nessential; the important point here is that something is willed in general\nand the degree of intensity with which it is so willed. The will can only\nbecome visible in the motives, as the eye only manifests its power of\nseeing in the light. The motive in general stands before the will in\nprotean forms. It constantly promises complete satisfaction, the quenching\nof the thirst of will. But whenever it is attained it at once appears in\nanother form, and thus influences the will anew, always according to the\ndegree of the intensity of this will, and its relation to knowledge which\nare revealed as empirical character, in these very examples and instances.\n\nFrom the first appearance of consciousness, a man finds himself a willing\nbeing, and as a rule, his knowledge remains in constant relation to his\nwill. He first seeks to know thoroughly the objects of his desire, and\nthen the means of attaining them. Now he knows what he has to do, and, as\na rule, he does not strive after other knowledge. He moves and acts; his\nconsciousness keeps him always working directly and actively towards the\naims of his will; his thought is concerned with the choice of motives.\nSuch is life for almost all men; they wish, they know what they wish, and\nthey strive after it, with sufficient success to keep them from despair,\nand sufficient failure to keep them from ennui and its consequences. From\nthis proceeds a certain serenity, or at least indifference, which cannot\nbe affected by wealth or poverty; for the rich and the poor do not enjoy\nwhat they have, for this, as we have shown, acts in a purely negative way,\nbut what they hope to attain to by their efforts. They press forward with\nmuch earnestness, and indeed with an air of importance; thus children also\npursue their play. It is always an exception if such a life suffers\ninterruption from the fact that either the \u00e6sthetic demand for\ncontemplation or the ethical demand for renunciation proceed from a\nknowledge which is independent of the service of the will, and directed to\nthe nature of the world in general. Most men are pursued by want all\nthrough life, without ever being allowed to come to their senses. On the\nother hand, the will is often inflamed to a degree that far transcends the\nassertion of the body, and then violent emotions and powerful passions\nshow themselves, in which the individual not only asserts his own\nexistence, but denies and seeks to suppress that of others when it stands\nin his way.\n\nThe maintenance of the body through its own powers is so small a degree of\nthe assertion of will, that if it voluntarily remains at this degree, we\nmight assume that, with the death of this body, the will also which\nappeared in it would be extinguished. But even the satisfaction of the\nsexual passions goes beyond the assertion of one\u2019s own existence, which\nfills so short a time, and asserts life for an indefinite time after the\ndeath of the individual. Nature, always true and consistent, here even\nna\u00efve, exhibits to us openly the inner significance of the act of\ngeneration. Our own consciousness, the intensity of the impulse, teaches\nus that in this act the most decided _assertion of the will to live_\nexpresses itself, pure and without further addition (any denial of other\nindividuals); and now, as the consequence of this act, a new life appears\nin time and the causal series, _i.e._, in nature; the begotten appears\nbefore the begetter, different as regards the phenomenon, but in himself,\n_i.e._, according to the Idea, identical with him. Therefore it is this\nact through which every species of living creature binds itself to a whole\nand is perpetuated. Generation is, with reference to the begetter, only\nthe expression, the symptom, of his decided assertion of the will to live:\nwith reference to the begotten, it is not the cause of the will which\nappears in him, for the will in itself knows neither cause nor effect,\nbut, like all causes, it is merely the occasional cause of the phenomenal\nappearance of this will at this time in this place. As thing-in-itself,\nthe will of the begetter and that of the begotten are not different, for\nonly the phenomenon, not the thing-in-itself, is subordinate to the\n_principim individuationis_. With that assertion beyond our own body and\nextending to the production of a new body, suffering and death, as\nbelonging to the phenomenon of life, have also been asserted anew, and the\npossibility of salvation, introduced by the completest capability of\nknowledge, has for this time been shown to be fruitless. Here lies the\nprofound reason of the shame connected with the process of generation.\nThis view is mythically expressed in the dogma of Christian theology that\nwe are all partakers in Adam\u2019s first transgression (which is clearly just\nthe satisfaction of sexual passion), and through it are guilty of\nsuffering and death. In this theology goes beyond the consideration of\nthings according to the principle of sufficient reason, and recognises the\nIdea of man, the unity of which is re-established out of its dispersion\ninto innumerable individuals through the bond of generation which holds\nthem all together. Accordingly it regards every individual as on one side\nidentical with Adam, the representative of the assertion of life, and, so\nfar, as subject to sin (original sin), suffering, and death; on the other\nside, the knowledge of the Idea of man enables it to regard every\nindividual as identical with the saviour, the representative of the denial\nof the will to live, and, so far as a partaker of his sacrifice of\nhimself, saved through his merits, and delivered from the bands of sin and\ndeath, _i.e._, the world (Rom. v. 12-21).\n\nAnother mythical exposition of our view of sexual pleasure as the\nassertion of the will to live beyond the individual life, as an attainment\nto life which is brought about for the first time by this means, or as it\nwere a renewed assignment of life, is the Greek myth of Proserpine, who\nmight return from the lower world so long as she had not tasted its fruit,\nbut who became subject to it altogether through eating the pomegranate.\nThis meaning appears very clearly in Goethe\u2019s incomparable presentation of\nthis myth, especially when, as soon as she has tasted the pomegranate, the\ninvisible chorus of the Fates\u2014\n\n\n                    \u201cThou art ours!\n    Fasting shouldest thou return:\n    And the bite of the apple makes thee ours!\u201d\n\n\nIt is worth noticing that Clement of Alexandria (Strom. iii. c. 15)\nillustrates the matter with the same image and the same expression: \u039f\u1f31 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\n\u03b5\u03c5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c7\u03b9\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f11\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c0\u03bf \u03c0\u03b1\u03c3\u03b7\u03c2 \u1f01\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03b1\u03c2, \u03b4\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u03b2\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd, \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd,\n\u03bc\u03b1\u03ba\u03b1\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03b9 \u03bf\u1f51\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b5\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd, \u03bf\u1f31 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03ba\u03bf\u03c3\u03bc\u03bf\u03c5 \u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c5\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2; (_Qui se castrarunt ab\nomni peccato propter regnum c\u0153lorum, ii sunt beati, a mundo jejunantes_).\n\nThe sexual impulse also proves itself the decided and strongest assertion\nof life by the fact that to man in a state of nature, as to the brutes, it\nis the final end, the highest goal of life. Self-maintenance is his first\neffort, and as soon as he has made provision for that, he only strives\nafter the propagation of the species: as a merely natural being he can\nattempt no more. Nature also, the inner being of which is the will to live\nitself, impels with all her power both man and the brute towards\npropagation. Then it has attained its end with the individual, and is\nquite indifferent to its death, for, as the will to live, it cares only\nfor the preservation of the species, the individual is nothing to it.\nBecause the will to live expresses itself most strongly in the sexual\nimpulse, the inner being of nature, the old poets and philosophers\u2014Hesiod\nand Parmenides\u2014said very significantly that Eros is the first, the\ncreator, the principle from which all things proceed. (Cf. Arist. Metaph.,\ni. 4.) Pherecydes said: \u0395\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b5\u03c1\u03c9\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b2\u03b5\u03b2\u03bb\u03b7\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u0394\u03b9\u03b1, \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\n\u03b4\u03b7\u03bc\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd (_Jovem, cum mundum fabricare vellet, in cupidinem sese\ntransformasse_). _Proclus ad Plat. Tim._, l. iii. A complete treatment of\nthis subject we have recently received from G. F. Sch\u0153mann, \u201c_De Cupidine\nCosmogonico_,\u201d 1852. The M\u00e2ya of the Hindus, whose work and web is the\nwhole world of illusion, is also symbolised by love.\n\nThe genital organs are, far more than any other external member of the\nbody, subject merely to the will, and not at all to knowledge. Indeed, the\nwill shows itself here almost as independent of knowledge, as in those\nparts which, acting merely in consequence of stimuli, are subservient to\nvegetative life and reproduction, in which the will works blindly as in\nunconscious nature. For generation is only reproduction passing over to a\nnew individual, as it were reproduction at the second power, as death is\nonly excretion at the second power. According to all this, the genitals\nare properly the _focus_ of will, and consequently the opposite pole of\nthe brain, the representative of knowledge, _i.e._, the other side of the\nworld, the world as idea. The former are the life-sustaining principle\nensuring endless life to time. In this respect they were worshipped by the\nGreeks in the _phallus_, and by the Hindus in the _lingam_, which are thus\nthe symbol of the assertion of the will. Knowledge, on the other hand,\naffords the possibility of the suppression of willing, of salvation\nthrough freedom, of conquest and annihilation of the world.\n\nWe already considered fully at the beginning of this Fourth Book how the\nwill to live in its assertion must regard its relation to death. We saw\nthat death does not trouble it, because it exists as something included in\nlife itself and belonging to it. Its opposite, generation, completely\ncounterbalances it; and, in spite of the death of the individual, ensures\nand guarantees life to the will to live through all time. To express this\nthe Hindus made the _lingam_ an attribute of Siva, the god of death. We\nalso fully explained there how he who with full consciousness occupies the\nstandpoint of the decided assertion of life awaits death without fear. We\nshall therefore say nothing more about this here. Without clear\nconsciousness most men occupy this standpoint and continually assert life.\nThe world exists as the mirror of this assertion, with innumerable\nindividuals in infinite time and space, in infinite suffering, between\ngeneration and death without end. Yet from no side is a complaint to be\nfurther raised about this; for the will conducts the great tragedy and\ncomedy at its own expense, and is also its own spectator. The world is\njust what it is because the will, whose manifestation it is, is what it\nis, because it so wills. The justification of suffering is, that in this\nphenomenon also the will asserts itself; and this assertion is justified\nand balanced by the fact that the will bears the suffering. Here we get a\nglimpse of _eternal justice_ in the whole: we shall recognise it later\nmore definitely and distinctly, and also in the particular. But first we\nmust consider temporal or human justice.(73)\n\n\u00a7 61. It may be remembered from the Second Book that in the whole of\nnature, at all the grades of the objectification of will, there was a\nnecessary and constant conflict between the individuals of all species;\nand in this way was expressed the inner contradiction of the will to live\nwith itself. At the highest grade of the objectification, this phenomenon,\nlike all others, will exhibit itself with greater distinctness, and will\ntherefore be more easily explained. With this aim we shall next attempt to\ntrace the source of _egoism_ as the starting-point of all conflict.\n\nWe have called time and space the _principium individuationis_, because\nonly through them and in them is multiplicity of the homogeneous possible.\nThey are the essential forms of natural knowledge, _i.e._, knowledge\nspringing from the will. Therefore the will everywhere manifests itself in\nthe multiplicity of individuals. But this multiplicity does not concern\nthe will as thing-in-itself, but only its phenomena. The will itself is\npresent, whole and undivided, in every one of these, and beholds around it\nthe innumerably repeated image of its own nature; but this nature itself,\nthe actually real, it finds directly only in its inner self. Therefore\nevery one desires everything for himself, desires to possess, or at least\nto control, everything, and whatever opposes it it would like to destroy.\nTo this is added, in the case of such beings as have knowledge, that the\nindividual is the supporter of the knowing subject, and the knowing\nsubject is the supporter of the world, _i.e._, that the whole of Nature\noutside the knowing subject, and thus also all other individuals, exist\nonly in its idea; it is only conscious of them as its idea, thus merely\nindirectly as something which is dependent on its own nature and\nexistence; for with its consciousness the world necessarily disappears for\nit, _i.e._, its being and non-being become synonymous and\nindistinguishable. Every knowing individual is thus in truth, and finds\nitself as the whole will to live, or the inner being of the world itself,\nand also as the complemental condition of the world as idea, consequently\nas a microcosm which is of equal value with the macrocosm. Nature itself,\nwhich is everywhere and always truthful, gives him this knowledge,\noriginally and independently of all reflection, with simple and direct\ncertainty. Now from these two necessary properties we have given the fact\nmay be explained that every individual, though vanishing altogether and\ndiminished to nothing in the boundless world, yet makes itself the centre\nof the world, has regard for its own existence and well-being before\neverything else; indeed, from the natural standpoint, is ready to\nsacrifice everything else for this\u2014is ready to annihilate the world in\norder to maintain its own self, this drop in the ocean, a little longer.\nThis disposition is _egoism_, which is essential to everything in Nature.\nYet it is just through egoism that the inner conflict of the will with\nitself attains to such a terrible revelation; for this egoism has its\ncontinuance and being in that opposition of the microcosm and macrocosm,\nor in the fact that the objectification of will has the _principium\nindividuationis_ for its form, through which the will manifests itself in\nthe same way in innumerable individuals, and indeed entire and completely\nin both aspects (will and idea) in each. Thus, while each individual is\ngiven to itself directly as the whole will and the whole subject of ideas,\nother individuals are only given it as ideas. Therefore its own being, and\nthe maintenance of it, is of more importance to it than that of all others\ntogether. Every one looks upon his own death as upon the end of the world,\nwhile he accepts the death of his acquaintances as a matter of comparative\nindifference, if he is not in some way affected by it. In the\nconsciousness that has reached the highest grade, that of man, egoism, as\nwell as knowledge, pain and pleasure, must have reached its highest grade\nalso, and the conflict of individuals which is conditioned by it must\nappear in its most terrible form. And indeed we see this everywhere before\nour eyes, in small things as in great. Now we see its terrible side in the\nlives of great tyrants and miscreants, and in world-desolating wars; now\nits absurd side, in which it is the theme of comedy, and very specially\nappears as self-conceit and vanity. Rochefoucault understood this better\nthan any one else, and presented it in the abstract. We see it both in the\nhistory of the world and in our own experience. But it appears most\ndistinctly of all when any mob of men is set free from all law and order;\nthen there shows itself at once in the distinctest form the _bellum omnium\ncontra omnes_, which Hobbes has so admirably described in the first\nchapter _De Cive_. We see not only how every one tries to seize from the\nother what he wants himself, but how often one will destroy the whole\nhappiness or life of another for the sake of an insignificant addition to\nhis own happiness. This is the highest expression of egoism, the\nmanifestations of which in this regard are only surpassed by those of\nactual wickedness, which seeks, quite disinterestedly, the hurt and\nsuffering of others, without any advantage to itself. Of this we shall\nspeak soon. With this exhibition of the source of egoism the reader should\ncompare the presentation of it in my prize-essay on the basis of morals, \u00a7\n14.\n\nA chief source of that suffering which we found above to be essential and\ninevitable to all life is, when it really appears in a definite form, that\n_Eris_, the conflict of all individuals, the expression of the\ncontradiction, with which the will to live is affected in its inner self,\nand which attains a visible form through the _principium individuationis_.\nWild-beast fights are the most cruel means of showing this directly and\nvividly. In this original discord lies an unquenchable source of\nsuffering, in spite of the precautions that have been taken against it,\nand which we shall now consider more closely.\n\n\u00a7 62. It has already been explained that the first and simplest assertion\nof the will to live is only the assertion of one\u2019s own body, _i.e._, the\nexhibition of the will through acts in time, so far as the body, in its\nform and design, exhibits the same will in space, and no further. This\nassertion shows itself as maintenance of the body, by means of the\napplication of its own powers. To it is directly related the satisfaction\nof the sexual impulse; indeed this belongs to it, because the genitals\nbelong to the body. Therefore _voluntary_ renunciation of the satisfaction\nof that impulse, based upon no _motive_, is already a denial of the will\nto live, is a voluntary self-suppression of it, upon the entrance of\nknowledge which acts as a _quieter_. Accordingly such denial of one\u2019s own\nbody exhibits itself as a contradiction by the will of its own phenomenon.\nFor although here also the body objectifies in the genitals the will to\nperpetuate the species, yet this is not willed. Just on this account,\nbecause it is a denial or suppression of the will to live, such a\nrenunciation is a hard and painful self-conquest; but of this later. But\nsince the will exhibits that _self-assertion_ of one\u2019s own body in\ninnumerable individuals beside each other, it very easily extends in one\nindividual, on account of the egoism peculiar to them all, beyond this\nassertion to the _denial_ of the same will appearing in another\nindividual. The will of the first breaks through the limits of the\nassertion of will of another, because the individual either destroys or\ninjures this other body itself, or else because it compels the powers of\nthe other body to serve _its own_ will, instead of the will which\nmanifests itself in that other body. Thus if, from the will manifesting\nitself as another body, it withdraws the powers of this body, and so\nincreases the power serving its own will beyond that of its own body, it\nconsequently asserts its own will beyond its own body by means of the\nnegation of the will appearing in another body. This breaking through the\nlimits of the assertion of will of another has always been distinctly\nrecognised, and its concept denoted by the word _wrong_. For both sides\nrecognise the fact instantly, not, indeed, as we do here in distinct\nabstraction, but as feeling. He who suffers wrong feels the transgression\ninto the sphere of the assertion of his own body, through the denial of it\nby another individual, as a direct and mental pain which is entirely\nseparated and different from the accompanying physical suffering\nexperienced from the act or the vexation at the loss. To the doer of\nwrong, on the other hand, the knowledge presents itself that he is in\nhimself the same will which appears in that body also, and which asserts\nitself with such vehemence; the one phenomenon that, transgressing the\nlimits of its own body and its powers, it extends to the denial of this\nvery will in another phenomenon, and so, regarded as will in itself, it\nstrives against itself by this vehemence and rends itself. Moreover, this\nknowledge presents itself to him instantly, not _in abstracto_, but as an\nobscure feeling; and this is called remorse, or, more accurately in this\ncase, the feeling of _wrong committed_.\n\n_Wrong_, the conception of which we have thus analysed in its most general\nand abstract form, expresses itself in the concrete most completely,\npeculiarly, and palpably in cannibalism. This is its most distinct and\nevident type, the terrible picture of the greatest conflict of the will\nwith itself at the highest grade of its objectification, which is man.\nNext to this, it expresses itself most distinctly in murder; and therefore\nthe committal of murder is followed instantly and with fearful\ndistinctness by remorse, the abstract and dry significance of which we\nhave just given, which inflicts a wound on our peace of mind that a\nlifetime cannot heal. For our horror at the murder committed, as also our\nshrinking from the committal of it, corresponds to that infinite clinging\nto life with which everything living, as phenomenon of the will to live,\nis penetrated. (We shall analyse this feeling which accompanies the doing\nof wrong and evil, in other words, the pangs of conscience, more fully\nlater on, and raise its concept to distinctness.) Mutilation, or mere\ninjury of another body, indeed every blow, is to be regarded as in its\nnature the same as murder, and differing from it only in degree. Further,\nwrong shows itself in the subjugation of another individual, in forcing\nhim into slavery, and, finally, in the seizure of another\u2019s goods, which,\nso far as these goods are regarded as the fruit of his labour, is just the\nsame thing as making him a slave, and is related to this as mere injury is\nto murder.\n\nFor _property_, which is not taken from a man without _wrong_, can,\naccording to our explanation of wrong, only be that which has been\nproduced by his own powers. Therefore by taking this we really take the\npowers of his body from the will objectified in it, to make them subject\nto the will objectified in another body. For only so does the wrong-doer,\nby seizing, not the body of another, but a lifeless thing quite different\nfrom it, break into the sphere of the assertion of will of another person,\nbecause the powers, the work of this other body, are, as it were,\nincorporated and identified with this thing. It follows from this that all\ntrue, _i.e._, moral, right of property is based simply and solely on work,\nas was pretty generally assumed before Kant, and is distinctly and\nbeautifully expressed in the oldest of all codes of law: \u201cWise men who\nknow the past explain that a cultured field is the property of him who cut\ndown the wood and cleared and ploughed it, as an antelope belongs to the\nfirst hunter who mortally wounds it\u201d (Laws of Manu, ix. 44). Kant\u2019s\nphilosophy of law is an extraordinary concatenation of errors all leading\nto each other, and he bases the right of property upon first occupation.\nTo me this is only explicable on the supposition that his powers were\nfailing through old age. For how should the mere avowal of my will to\nexclude others from the use of a thing at once give me a _right_ to it?\nClearly such an avowal itself requires a foundation of right, instead of\nbeing one, as Kant assumes. And how would he act unjustly _in se_, _i.e._,\nmorally, who does not respect that claim to the sole possession of a thing\nwhich is based upon nothing but its own avowal? How should his conscience\ntrouble him about it? For it is so clear and easy to understand that there\ncan be absolutely no such thing as a just seizure of anything, but only a\njust conversion or acquired possession of it, by spending our own original\npowers upon it. When, by any foreign labour, however little, a thing has\nbeen cultivated, improved, kept from harm or preserved, even if this\nlabour were only the plucking or picking up from the ground of fruit that\nhas grown wild; the person who forcibly seizes such a thing clearly\ndeprives the other of the result of his labour expended upon it, makes the\nbody of this other serve his will instead of its own, asserts his will\nbeyond its own phenomenon to the denial of that of the other, _i.e._, does\ninjustice or wrong.(74) On the other hand, the mere enjoyment of a thing,\nwithout any cultivation or preservation of it from destruction, gives just\nas little right to it as the mere avowal of our desire for its sole\npossession. Therefore, though one family has hunted a district alone, even\nfor a hundred years, but has done nothing for its improvement; if a\nstranger comes and desires to hunt there, it cannot prevent him from doing\nso without moral injustice. Thus the so-called right of preoccupation,\naccording to which, for the mere past enjoyment of a thing, there is\ndemanded the further recompense of the exclusive right to its future\nenjoyment, is morally entirely without foundation. A new-comer might with\nfar better right reply to him who was depending upon such a right, \u201cJust\nbecause you have so long enjoyed, it is right that others should now enjoy\nalso.\u201d No moral right can be established to the sole possession of\nanything upon which labour cannot be expended, either in improving it or\nin preserving it from harm, unless it be through a voluntary surrender on\nthe part of others, as a reward for other services. This, however, already\npresupposes a community regulated by agreement\u2014the State. The morally\nestablished right of property, as we have deduced it above, gives, from\nits nature, to the owner of a thing, the same unlimited power over it\nwhich he has over his own body; and hence it follows that he can part with\nhis possessions to others either in exchange or as a gift, and they then\npossess them with the same moral right as he did.\n\nAs regards the doing of wrong generally, it occurs either through violence\nor through craft; it matters not which as far as what is morally essential\nis concerned. First, in the case of murder, it is a matter of indifference\nwhether I make use of a dagger or of poison; and the case of every bodily\ninjury is analogous. Other cases of wrong can all be reduced to the fact\nthat I, as the doer of wrong, compel another individual to serve my will\ninstead of his own, to act according to my will instead of according to\nhis own. On the path of violence I attain this end through physical\ncausality, but on the path of craft by means of motivation, _i.e._, by\nmeans of causality through knowledge; for I present to his will illusive\nmotives, on account of which he follows my will, while he believes he is\nfollowing his own. Since the medium in which the motives lie is knowledge,\nI can only accomplish this by falsifying his knowledge, and this is the\n_lie_. The lie always aims at influencing another\u2019s will, not merely his\nknowledge, for itself and as such, but only as a means, so far as it\ndetermines his will. For my lying itself, inasmuch as it proceeds from my\nwill, requires a motive; and only the will of another can be such a\nmotive, not his knowledge in and for itself; for as such it can never have\nan influence upon _my_ will, therefore it can never move it, can never be\na motive of its aim. But only the willing and doing of another can be\nthis, and his knowledge indirectly through it. This holds good not only of\nall lies that have manifestly sprung from self-interest, but also of those\nwhich proceed from pure wickedness, which seeks enjoyment in the painful\nconsequences of the error into which it has led another. Indeed, mere\nempty boasting aims at influencing the will and action of others more or\nless, by increasing their respect or improving their opinion of the\nboaster. The mere refusal of a truth, _i.e._, of an assertion generally,\nis in itself no wrong, but every imposing of a lie is certainly a wrong.\nHe who refuses to show the strayed traveller the right road does him no\nwrong, but he who directs him to a false road certainly does. It follows\nfrom what has been said, that every _lie_, like every act of violence, is\nas such _wrong_, because as such it has for its aim the extension of the\nauthority of my will to other individuals, and so the assertion of my will\nthrough the denial of theirs, just as much as violence has. But the most\ncomplete lie is the _broken contract_, because here all the conditions\nmentioned are completely and distinctly present together. For when I enter\ninto a contract, the promised performance of the other individual is\ndirectly and confessedly the motive for my reciprocal performance. The\npromises were deliberately and formally exchanged. The fulfilment of the\ndeclarations made is, it is assumed, in the power of each. If the other\nbreaks the covenant, he has deceived me, and by introducing merely\nillusory motives into my knowledge, he has bent my will according to his\nintention; he has extended the control of his will to another individual,\nand thus has committed a distinct wrong. On this is founded the moral\nlawfulness and validity of the _contract_.\n\nWrong through violence is not so _shameful_ to the doer of it as wrong\nthrough craft; for the former arises from physical power, which under all\ncircumstances impresses mankind; while the latter, by the use of\nsubterfuge, betrays weakness, and lowers man at once as a physical and\nmoral being. This is further the case because lying and deception can only\nsucceed if he who employs them expresses at the same time horror and\ncontempt of them in order to win confidence, and his victory rests on the\nfact that men credit him with honesty which he does not possess. The deep\nhorror which is always excited by cunning, faithlessness, and treachery\nrests on the fact that good faith and honesty are the bond which\nexternally binds into a unity the will which has been broken up into the\nmultiplicity of individuals, and thereby limits the consequences of the\negoism which results from that dispersion. Faithlessness and treachery\nbreak this outward bond asunder, and thus give boundless scope to the\nconsequences of egoism.\n\nIn the connection of our system we have found that the content of the\nconcept of _wrong_ is that quality of the conduct of an individual in\nwhich he extends the assertion of the will appearing in his own body so\nfar that it becomes the denial of the will appearing in the bodies of\nothers. We have also laid down, by means of very general examples, the\nlimits at which the province of wrong begins; for we have at once defined\nits gradations, from the highest degree to the lowest, by means of a few\nleading conceptions. According to this, the concept of wrong is the\noriginal and positive, and the concept of right, which is opposed to it,\nis the derivative and negative; for we must keep to the concepts, and not\nto the words. As a matter of fact, there would be no talk of right if\nthere were no such thing as wrong. The concept right contains merely the\nnegation of wrong, and every action is subsumed under it which does not\ntransgress the limit laid down above, _i.e._, is not a denial of the will\nof another for the stronger assertion of our own. That limit, therefore,\ndivides, as regards a purely _moral_ definition, the whole province of\npossible actions into such as are wrong or right. Whenever an action does\nnot encroach, in the way explained above, on the sphere of the assertion\nof will of another, denying it, it is not wrong. Therefore, for example,\nthe refusal of help to another in great need, the quiet contemplation of\nthe death of another from starvation while we ourselves have more than\nenough, is certainly cruel and fiendish, but it is not wrong; only it can\nbe affirmed with certainty that whoever is capable of carrying unkindness\nand hardness to such a degree will certainly also commit every wrong\nwhenever his wishes demand it and no compulsion prevents it.\n\nBut the conception of right as the negation of wrong finds its principal\napplication, and no doubt its origin, in cases in which an attempted wrong\nby violence is warded off. This warding off cannot itself be wrong, and\nconsequently is right, although the violence it requires, regarded in\nitself and in isolation, would be wrong, and is here only justified by the\nmotive, _i.e._, becomes right. If an individual goes so far in the\nassertion of his own will that he encroaches upon the assertion of will\nwhich is essential to my person as such, and denies it, then my warding\noff of that encroachment is only the denial of that denial, and thus from\nmy side is nothing more than the assertion of the will which essentially\nand originally appears in my body, and is already implicitly expressed by\nthe mere appearance of this body; consequently is not wrong, but right.\nThat is to say: I have then a right to deny that denial of another with\nthe force necessary to overcome it, and it is easy to see that this may\nextend to the killing of the other individual, whose encroachment as\nexternal violence pressing upon me may be warded off by a somewhat\nstronger counteraction, entirely without wrong, consequently with right.\nFor all that happens from my side lies always within the sphere of the\nassertion of will essential to my person as such, and already expressed by\nit (which is the scene of the conflict), and does not encroach on that of\nthe other, consequently is only negation of the negation, and thus\naffirmation, not itself negation. Thus if the will of another denies my\nwill, as this appears in my body and the use of its powers for its\nmaintenance, without denial of any foreign will which observes a like\nlimitation, I can _without wrong_ compel it to desist from such denial,\n_i.e._, I have so far a _right of compulsion_.\n\nIn all cases in which I have a right of compulsion, a complete right to\nuse _violence_ against another, I may, according to the circumstances,\njust as well oppose the violence of the other with _craft_ without doing\nany wrong, and accordingly I have an actual _right to lie precisely so far\nas I have a right of compulsion_. Therefore a man acts with perfect right\nwho assures a highway robber who is searching him that he has nothing more\nupon him; or, if a burglar has broken into his house by night, induces him\nby a lie to enter a cellar and then locks him in. A man who has been\ncaptured and carried off by robbers, for example by pirates, has the right\nto kill them not only by violence but also by craft, in order to regain\nhis freedom. Thus, also, a promise is certainly not binding when it has\nbeen extorted by direct bodily violence, because he who suffers such\ncompulsion may with full right free himself by killing, and, _a fortiori_,\nby deceiving his oppressor. Whoever cannot recover through force the\nproperty which has been stolen from him, commits no wrong if he can\naccomplish it through craft. Indeed, if some one plays with me for money\nhe has stolen from me, I have the right to use false dice against him,\nbecause all that I win from him already belongs to me. Whoever would deny\nthis must still more deny the justifiableness of stratagem in war, which\nis just an acted lie, and is a proof of the saying of Queen Christina of\nSweden, \u201cThe words of men are to be esteemed as nothing; scarcely are\ntheir deeds to be trusted.\u201d So sharply does the limit of right border upon\nthat of wrong. For the rest, I regard it as superfluous to show that all\nthis completely agrees with what was said above about the unlawfulness of\nthe lie and of violence. It may also serve to explain the peculiar theory\nof the lie told under pressure.(75)\n\nIn accordance with what has been said, wrong and right are merely moral\ndeterminations, _i.e._, such as are valid with regard to the consideration\nof human action as such, and in relation _to the inner significance of\nthis action in itself_. This asserts itself directly in consciousness\nthrough the fact that the doing of wrong is accompanied by an inward pain,\nwhich is the merely felt consciousness of the wrong-doer of the excessive\nstrength of the assertion of will in itself, which extends even to the\ndenial of the manifestation of the will of another, and also the\nconsciousness that although he is different from the person suffering\nwrong as far as the manifestation is concerned, yet in himself he is\nidentical with him. The further explanation of this inner significance of\nall pain of conscience cannot be given till later. He who suffers wrong\nis, on the other hand, painfully conscious of the denial of his will, as\nit is expressed through the body and its natural requirements, for the\nsatisfaction of which nature refers him to the powers of his body; and at\nthe same time he is conscious that without doing wrong he might ward off\nthat denial by every means unless he lacks the power. This purely moral\nsignificance is the only one which right and wrong have for men as men,\nnot as members of the State, and which consequently remains even when man\nis in a state of nature without any positive law. It constitutes the basis\nand the content of all that has on this account been named _natural law_,\nthough it is better called moral law, for its validity does not extend to\nsuffering, to the external reality, but only to the action of man and the\nself-knowledge of his individual will which grows up in him from his\naction, and which is called _conscience_. It cannot, however, in a state\nof nature, assert itself in all cases, and outwardly upon other\nindividuals, and prevent might from reigning instead of right. In a state\nof nature it depends upon every one merely to see that in every case he\n_does_ no wrong, but by no means to see that in every case he _suffers_ no\nwrong, for this depends on the accident of his outward power. Therefore\nthe concepts right and wrong, even in a state of nature, are certainly\nvalid and by no means conventional, but there they are valid merely as\n_moral_ concepts, for the self-knowledge of one\u2019s own will in each. They\nare a fixed point in the scale of the very different degrees of strength\nwith which the will to live asserts itself in human individuals, like the\nfreezing-point on the thermometer; the point at which the assertion of\none\u2019s own will becomes the denial of the will of another, _i.e._,\nspecifies through wrong-doing the degree of its intensity, combined with\nthe degree in which knowledge is involved in the _principium\nindividuationis_ (which is the form of all knowledge that is subject to\nthe will). But whoever wants to set aside the purely moral consideration\nof human action, or denies it, and wishes to regard conduct merely in its\noutward effects and their consequences, may certainly, with Hobbes,\nexplain right and wrong as conventional definitions arbitrarily assumed,\nand therefore not existing outside positive law, and we can never show him\nthrough external experience what does not belong to such experience.\nHobbes himself characterises his completely empirical method of thought\nvery remarkably by the fact that in his book \u201c_De Principiis Geometrarum_\u201d\nhe denies all pure mathematics properly so called, and obstinately\nmaintains that the point has extension and the line has breadth, and we\ncan never show him a point without extension or a line without breadth.\nThus we can just as little impart to him the _a priori_ nature of\nmathematics as the _a priori_ nature of right, because he shuts himself\nout from all knowledge which is not empirical.\n\nThe pure doctrine of right is thus a chapter of ethics, and is directly\nrelated only to _action_, not to _suffering_; for only the former is the\nexpression of will, and this alone is considered by ethics. Suffering is\nmere occurrence. Ethics can only have regard to suffering indirectly,\nmerely to show that what takes place merely to avoid suffering wrong is\nitself no infliction of wrong. The working out of this chapter of ethics\nwould contain the precise definition of the limits to which an individual\nmay go in the assertion of the will already objectified in his body\nwithout denying the same will as it appears in another individual; and\nalso the actions which transgress these limits, which consequently are\nwrong, and therefore in their turn may be warded off without wrong. Thus\nour own _action_ always remains the point of view of the investigation.\n\nBut the _suffering of wrong_ appears as an event in outward experience,\nand in it is manifested, as we have said, more distinctly than anywhere\nelse, the phenomenon of the conflict of the will to live with itself,\narising from the multiplicity of individuals and from egoism, both of\nwhich are conditioned through the _principium individuationis_, which is\nthe form of the world as idea for the knowledge of the individual. We also\nsaw above that a very large part of the suffering essential to human life\nhas its perennial source in that conflict of individuals.\n\nThe reason, however, which is common to all these individuals, and which\nenables them to know not merely the particular case, as the brutes do, but\nalso the whole abstractly in its connection, has also taught them to\ndiscern the source of that suffering, and induced them to consider the\nmeans of diminishing it, or, when possible, of suppressing it by a common\nsacrifice, which is, however, more than counterbalanced by the common\nadvantage that proceeds from it. However agreeable it is to the egoism of\nthe individual to inflict wrong in particular cases, this has yet a\nnecessary correlative in the suffering of wrong of another individual, to\nwhom it is a great pain. And because the reason which surveys the whole\nleft the one-sided point of view of the individual to which it belongs,\nand freed itself for the moment from its dependence upon it, it saw the\npleasure of an individual in inflicting wrong always outweighed by the\nrelatively greater pain of the other who suffered the wrong; and it found\nfurther, that because here everything was left to chance, every one had to\nfear that the pleasure of conveniently inflicting wrong would far more\nrarely fall to his lot than the pain of enduring it. From this reason\nrecognised that both in order to diminish the suffering which is\neverywhere disseminated, and as far as possible to divide it equally, the\nbest and only means was to spare all the pain of suffering wrong by\nrenouncing all the pleasure to be obtained by inflicting it. This means is\nthe _contract of the state_ or _law_. It is easily conceived, and little\nby little carried out by the egoism, which, through the use of reason,\nproceeds methodically and forsakes its one-sided point of view. This\norigin of the state and of law I have indicated was already exhibited as\nsuch by Plato in the \u201cRepublic.\u201d In fact, it is the essential and only\norigin, determined by the nature of the matter. Moreover, in no land can\nthe state have ever had a different origin, because it is just this mode\nof originating this aim that makes it a state. But it is a matter of\nindifference whether, in each particular nation, the condition which\npreceded it was that of a horde of savages independent of each other\n(anarchy), or that of a horde of slaves ruled at will by the stronger\n(despotism). In both cases there existed as yet no state; it first arose\nthrough that common agreement; and according as that agreement is more or\nless free from anarchy or despotism, the state is more or less perfect.\nRepublics tend to anarchy, monarchies to despotism, and the mean of\nconstitutional monarchy, which was therefore devised, tends to government\nby factions. In order to found a perfect state, we must begin by providing\nbeings whose nature allows them always to sacrifice their own to the\npublic good. Till then, however, something may be attained through the\nexistence of _one_ family whose good is quite inseparable from that of the\ncountry; so that, at least in matters of importance, it can never advance\nthe one without the other. On this rests the power and the advantage of\nthe hereditary monarchy.\n\nNow as ethics was concerned exclusively with right and wrong doing, and\ncould accurately point out the limits of his action to whoever was\nresolved to do no wrong; politics, on the contrary, the theory of\nlegislation, is exclusively concerned with the _suffering_ of wrong, and\nwould never trouble itself with wrong-doing at all if it were not on\naccount of its ever-necessary correlative, the suffering of wrong, which\nit always keeps in view as the enemy it opposes. Indeed, if it were\npossible to conceive an infliction of wrong with which no suffering of\nwrong on the part of another was connected, the state would, consistently,\nby no means prohibit it. And because in ethics the will, the disposition,\nis the object of consideration, and the only real thing, the firm will to\ndo wrong, which is only restrained and rendered ineffective by external\nmight, and the actually committed wrong, are to it quite the same, and it\ncondemns him who so wills as unjust at its tribunal. On the other hand,\nwill and disposition, merely as such, do not concern the state at all, but\nonly the _deed_ (whether it is merely attempted or carried out), on\naccount of its correlative, the _suffering_ on the part of another. Thus\nfor the state the deed, the event, is the only real; the disposition, the\nintention, is only investigated so far as the significance of the deed\nbecomes known through it. Therefore the state will forbid no one to carry\nabout in his thought murder and poison against another, so long as it\nknows certainly that the fear of the sword and the wheel will always\nrestrain the effects of that will. The state has also by no means to\neradicate the foolish purpose, the inclination to wrong-doing, the wicked\ndisposition; but merely always to place beside every possible motive for\ndoing a wrong a more powerful motive for leaving it undone in the\ninevitable punishment that will ensue. Therefore the criminal code is as\ncomplete a register as possible of motives against every criminal action\nthat can possibly be imagined\u2014both _in abstracto_, in order to make any\ncase that occurs an application _in concreto_. Politics or legislation\nwill therefore for this end borrow from that chapter of ethics which is\nthe doctrine of right, and which, besides the inner significance of right\nand wrong, determines the exact limits between them. Yet it will only do\nso for the purpose of making use of its reverse side, and regarding all\nthe limits which ethics lays down as not to be transgressed, if we are to\navoid _doing_ wrong, from the other side, as the limits which we must not\nallow others to transgress if we do not wish to _suffer_ wrong, and from\nwhich we have therefore a _right_ to drive others back. Therefore these\nlimits are, as much as possible, from the passive side, barricaded by\nlaws. It is evident that as an historian has very wittily been called an\ninverted prophet, the professor of law is an inverted moralist, and\ntherefore law itself, in its proper sense, _i.e._, the doctrine of the\n_right_, which we ought to maintain, is inverted ethics in that chapter of\nit in which the rights are laid down which we ought not to violate. The\nconcept of wrong and its negation, that of right, which is originally\n_ethical_, becomes _juridical_ by the transference of the starting-point\nfrom the active to the passive side, and thus by inversion. This, as well\nas Kant\u2019s theory of law, which very falsely deduces the institution of the\nstate as a moral duty from his categorical imperative, has, even in the\nmost recent times, repeatedly occasioned the very extraordinary error that\nthe state is an institution for furthering morality; that it arises from\nthe endeavour after this, and is, consequently, directed against egoism.\nAs if the inward disposition, to which alone morality or immorality\nbelongs, the externally free will, would allow itself to be modified from\nwithout and changed by influences exerted upon it! Still more perverse is\nthe theory that the state is the condition of freedom in the moral sense,\nand in this way the condition of morality; for freedom lies beyond the\nphenomenon, and indeed beyond human arrangements. The state is, as we have\nsaid, so little directed against egoism in general and as such, that, on\nthe contrary, it has sprung from egoism and exists only in its service\u2014an\negoism that well understands itself, proceeds methodically and forsakes\nthe one-sided for the universal point of view, and so by addition is the\ncommon egoism of all. The state is thus instituted under the correct\npresupposition that pure morality, _i.e._, right action from moral\ngrounds, is not to be expected; if this were not the case, it would itself\nbe superfluous. Thus the state, which aims at well-being, is by no means\ndirected against egoism, but only against the disadvantageous consequences\nwhich arise from the multiplicity of egoistic individuals, and\nreciprocally affect them all and disturb their well-being. Therefore it\nwas already said by Aristotle (De. Rep. iii.): \u03a4\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u03bf\u03c5\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03b5\u03c9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf \u03b5\u03c5\n\u03b6\u03b7\u03bd; \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf \u03b4\u03b5 \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf \u03b6\u1fc3\u03bd \u03b5\u03c5\u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03c9\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03c9\u03c2 (_Finis civitatis est bene\nvivere, hoc autem est beate et pulchre vivere_). Hobbes also has\naccurately and excellently expounded this origin and end of the state; and\nthat old first principle of all state policy, _salus publica prima lex\nesto_, indicates the same thing. If the state completely attains its end,\nit will produce the same outward result as if perfect justice of\ndisposition prevailed everywhere. But the inner nature and origin of both\nphenomena will be the converse. Thus in the second case it would be that\nno one wished to _do_ wrong, and in the first that no one wished to\n_suffer_ wrong, and the means appropriate to this end had been fully\nemployed. Thus the same line may be drawn from opposite directions, and a\nbeast of prey with a muzzle is as harmless as a graminivorous animal. But\nbeyond this point the state cannot go. It cannot exhibit a phenomenon such\nas would spring from universal mutual well-wishing and love. For just as\nwe found that from its nature it would not forbid the doing of a wrong\nwhich involved no corresponding suffering of wrong on the part of another,\nand prohibits all wrong-doing only because this is impossible; so\nconversely, in accordance with its tendency towards the well-being of all,\nit would very gladly take care that every benevolent action and work of\nhuman love should be _experienced_, if it were not that these also have an\ninevitable correlative in the _performance_ of acts of benevolence and\nworks of love, and every member of the state would wish to assume the\npassive and none the active r\u00f4le, and there would be no reason for\nexacting the latter from one member of the state rather than from another.\nAccordingly only the negative, which is just the _right_, not the\npositive, which has been comprehended under the name of obligations of\nlove, or, less completely, duties, _can be exacted by force_.\n\nLegislation, as we have said, borrows the pure philosophy of right, or the\ndoctrine of the nature and limits of right and wrong, from ethics, in\norder to apply it from the reverse side to its own ends, which are\ndifferent from those of ethics, and to institute positive legislation and\nthe means of supporting it, _i.e._, the state, in accordance with it.\nPositive legislation is thus the inverted application of the purely moral\ndoctrine of right. This application may be made with reference to the\npeculiar relations and circumstances of a particular people. But only if\nthe positive legislation is, in essential matters, throughout determined\nin accordance with the guidance of the pure theory of right, and for each\nof its propositions a ground can be established in the pure theory of\nright, is the legislation which has arisen a _positive right_ and the\nstate a community _based upon right_, a _state_ in the proper meaning of\nthe word, a morally permissible, not immoral institution. Otherwise the\npositive legislation is, on the contrary, the establishment of a _positive\nwrong_; it is itself an openly avowed enforced wrong. Such is every\ndespotism, the constitution of most Mohammedan kingdoms; and indeed\nvarious parts of many constitutions are also of this kind; for example,\nserfdom, vassalage, and many such institutions. The pure theory of right\nor natural right\u2014better, moral right\u2014though always reversed, lies at the\nfoundation of every just positive legislation, as pure mathematics lies at\nthe foundation of every branch of applied mathematics. The most important\npoints of the doctrine of right, as philosophy has to supply it for that\nend to legislation, are the following: 1. The explanation of the inner and\nreal significance both of the origin of the conceptions of wrong and\nright, and of their application and position in ethics. 2. The deduction\nof the law of property. 3. The deduction of the moral validity of\ncontracts; for this is the moral basis of the contract of the state. 4.\nThe explanation of the origin and the aim of the state, of the relation of\nthis aim to ethics, and of the intentional transference of the ethical\ndoctrine of right, by reversing it, to legislation, in consequence of this\nrelation. 5. The deduction of the right of punishment. The remaining\ncontent of the doctrine of right is mere application of these principles,\nmere accurate definition of the limits of right and wrong for all possible\nrelations of life, which are consequently united and distributed under\ncertain points of view and titles. In these special doctrines the books\nwhich treat of pure law are fairly at one; it is only in the principles\nthat they differ much, for these are always connected with some\nphilosophical system. In connection with our system, we have explained the\nfirst four of these principal points shortly and generally, yet definitely\nand distinctly, and it remains for us to speak in the same way of the\nright of punishment.\n\nKant makes the fundamentally false assertion that apart from the state\nthere would be no complete right of property. It follows from our\ndeduction, as given above, that even in a state of nature there is\nproperty with complete natural, _i.e._, moral right, which cannot be\ninjured without wrong, but may without wrong be defended to the uttermost.\nOn the other hand, it is certain that apart from the state there is no\nright of punishment. All right to punish is based upon the positive law\nalone, which _before_ the offence has determined a punishment for it, the\nthreat of which, as a counter-motive, is intended to outweigh all possible\nmotives for the offence. This positive law is to be regarded as sanctioned\nand recognised by all the members of the state. It is thus based upon a\ncommon contract which the members of the state are in duty bound to\nfulfil, and thus, on the one hand, to inflict the punishment, and, on the\nother hand, to endure it; thus the endurance of the punishment may with\nright be enforced. Consequently the immediate _end of punishment_ is, in\nthe particular case, _the fulfilment of the law as a contract_. But the\none end of the _law_ is _deterrence_ from the infringement of the rights\nof others. For, in order that every one may be protected from suffering\nwrong, men have combined to form a state, have renounced the doing of\nwrong, and assumed the task of maintaining the state. Thus the law and the\nfulfilment of it, the punishment, are essentially directed to the\n_future_, not to the _past_. This distinguishes _punishment_ from\n_revenge_; for the motives which instigate the latter are solely concerned\nwith what has happened, and thus with the past as such. All requital of\nwrong by the infliction of pain, without any aim for the future, is\nrevenge, and can have no other end than consolation for the suffering one\nhas borne by the sight of the suffering one has inflicted upon another.\nThis is wickedness and cruelty, and cannot be morally justified. Wrong\nwhich some one has inflicted upon me by no means entitles me to inflict\nwrong upon him. The requital of evil with evil without further intention\nis neither morally nor otherwise through any rational ground to be\njustified, and the _jus talionis_ set up as the absolute, final principle\nof the right of punishment, is meaningless. Therefore Kant\u2019s theory of\npunishment as mere requital for requital\u2019s sake is a completely groundless\nand perverse view. Yet it is always appearing in the writings of many\njurists, under all kinds of lofty phrases, which amount to nothing but\nempty words, as: Through the punishment the crime is expiated or\nneutralised and abolished, and many such. But no man has the right to set\nhimself up as a purely moral judge and requiter, and punish the misdeeds\nof another with pains which he inflicts upon him, and so to impose penance\nupon him for his sins. Nay, this would rather be the most presumptuous\narrogance; and therefore the Bible says, \u201cVengeance is mine; I will repay,\nsaith the Lord.\u201d But man has the right to care for the safety of society;\nand this can only be done by interdicting all actions which are denoted by\nthe word \u201ccriminal,\u201d in order to prevent them by means of counter-motives,\nwhich are the threatened punishments. And this threat can only be made\neffective by carrying it out when a case occurs in spite of it.\nAccordingly that the end of punishment, or more accurately of penal law,\nis the deterrence from crime, is a truth so generally recognised and\nindeed self-evident, that in England it is expressed in the very old form\nof indictment which is still served by the counsel for the Crown in\ncriminal actions, for it concludes with the words, \u201cIf this be proved,\nyou, the said N. N., ought to be punished with pains of law, to deter\nothers from the like crimes in all time coming.\u201d If a prince desires to\nextend mercy to a criminal who has justly been condemned, his Ministers\nwill represent to him that, if he does, this crime will soon be repeated.\nAn end for the future distinguishes punishment from revenge, and\npunishment only has this end when it is inflicted _in fulfilment of a\nlaw_. It thus announces itself as inevitable in every future case, and\nthus the law obtains the power to deter, in which its end really consists.\nNow here a Kantian would inevitably reply that certainly according to this\nview the punished criminal would be used \u201cmerely as a means.\u201d This\nproposition, so unweariedly repeated by all the Kantians, \u201cMan must always\nbe treated as an end, never as a means,\u201d certainly sounds significant, and\nis therefore a very suitable proposition for those who like to have a\nformula which saves them all further thought; but looked at in the light,\nit is an exceedingly vague, indefinite assertion, which reaches its aim\nquite indirectly, requires to be explained, defined, and modified in every\ncase of its application, and, if taken generally, is insufficient, meagre,\nand moreover problematical. The murderer who has been condemned to the\npunishment of death according to law must now, at any rate, and with\ncomplete right, be used as a mere means. For public security, the chief\nend of the state, is disturbed by him; indeed it is abolished if the law\nis not carried out. The murderer, his life, his person, must now be the\nmeans of fulfilling the law, and thereby of re-establishing the public\nsecurity. And he is made such a means with perfect right, in fulfilment of\nthe contract of the state, which was entered into by him because he was a\ncitizen, and in accordance with which, in order to enjoy security for his\nlife, freedom, and property, he has pledged his life, his freedom, and his\nproperty for the security of all, which pledge has now been forfeited.\n\nThis theory of punishment which we have established, the theory which is\ndirectly supported by sound reason, is certainly in the main no new\nthought; but it is a thought which was almost supplanted by new errors,\nand therefore it was necessary to exhibit it as distinctly as possible.\nThe same thing is in its essence contained in what Puffendorf says on the\nsubject, \u201c_De Officio Hominis et Civis_\u201d (Bk. ii. chap. 12). Hobbes also\nagrees with it, \u201cLeviathan\u201d (chaps. 15-28). In our own day Feurbach is\nwell known to have maintained it. Indeed, it occurs even in the utterances\nof the ancient philosophers. Plato expresses it clearly in the\n\u201cProtagoras\u201d (p. 114, edit. Bip.), also in the \u201cGorgias\u201d (p. 168), and\nlastly in the eleventh book of the \u201cLaws\u201d (p. 165). Seneca expresses\nPlato\u2019s opinion and the theory of all punishment in the short sentence,\n\u201c_Nemo prudens punit, quia peccatum est; sed ne peccetur_\u201d (De Ira, i.\n16).\n\nThus we have come to recognise in the state the means by which egoism\nendowed with reason seeks to escape from its own evil consequences which\nturn against itself, and now each promotes the well-being of all because\nhe sees that his own well-being is involved in it. If the state attained\nits end completely, then to a certain extent something approaching to an\nUtopia might finally, by the removal of all kinds of evil, be brought\nabout. For by the human powers united in it, it is able to make the rest\nof nature more and more serviceable. But as yet the state has always\nremained very far from this goal. And even if it attained to it,\ninnumerable evils essential to all life would still keep it in suffering;\nand finally, if they were all removed, ennui would at once occupy every\nplace they left. And besides, the strife of individuals is never\ncompletely abolished by the state, for it vexes in trifles when it is\nprohibited in greater things. Finally, Eris, happily expelled from within,\nturns to what is without; as the conflict of individuals, she is banished\nby the institution of the state; but she reappears from without as the war\nof nations, and now demands in bulk and at once, as an accumulated debt,\nthe bloody sacrifice which by wise precautions has been denied her in the\nparticular. And even supposing that all this were finally overcome and\nremoved, by wisdom founded on the experience of thousands of years, at the\nend the result would be the actual over-population of the whole planet,\nthe terrible evil of which only a bold imagination can now realise.(76)\n\n\u00a7 63. We have recognised _temporal justice_, which has its seat in the\nstate, as requiting and punishing, and have seen that this only becomes\njustice through a reference to the _future_. For without this reference\nall punishing and requiting would be an outrage without justification, and\nindeed merely the addition of another evil to that which has already\noccurred, without meaning or significance. But it is quite otherwise with\n_eternal justice_, which was referred to before, and which rules not the\nstate but the world, is not dependent upon human institutions, is not\nsubject to chance and deception, is not uncertain, wavering, and erring,\nbut infallible, fixed, and sure. The conception of requital implies that\nof time; therefore _eternal justice_ cannot be requital. Thus it cannot,\nlike temporal justice, admit of respite and delay, and require time in\norder to triumph, equalising the evil deed by the evil consequences only\nby means of time. The punishment must here be so bound up with the offence\nthat both are one.\n\n\n    \u0394\u03bf\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c0\u03b7\u03b4\u1fb3\u03bd \u03c4\u1fbd \u03b1\u03b4\u03b9\u03ba\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2\n    \u03a0\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9, \u03ba\u1f00\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03bd \u0394\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b5\u03bb\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c0\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2\n    \u0393\u03c1\u03b1\u03c6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u1fbd \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b1, \u0396\u03b7\u03bd\u03b1 \u03b4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03b9\u03c3\u03bf\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bd\u03b9\u03bd\n    \u0398\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b9\u03ba\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd? \u039f\u03c5\u03b4\u1fbd \u1f41 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1 \u03bf\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2,\n    \u0394\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b3\u03c1\u03b1\u03c6\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c1 \u03b2\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f01\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b9\u03b1\u03c2,\n    \u0395\u03be\u03b1\u03c1\u03ba\u03b5\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03b5\u03bd, \u03bf\u03c5\u03b4\u1fbd \u03b5\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd \u03c3\u03ba\u03bf\u03c0\u03c9\u03bd\n    \u03a0\u03b5\u03bc\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u1f11\u03ba\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u1ff3 \u03b6\u03b7\u03bc\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd; \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u1fbd \u1f21 \u0394\u03b9\u03ba\u03b7\n    \u0395\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c5\u03b8\u03b1 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd \u03b5\u03b3\u03b3\u03c5\u03c2, \u03b5\u03b9 \u03b2\u03bf\u03c5\u03bb\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u1fbd \u1f41\u03c1\u1fb3\u03bd.\n\n    Eurip. ap. Stob. Ecl., i. c. 4.\n\n    (\u201cVolare pennis scelera ad \u00e6therias domus\n    Putatis, illic in Jovis tabularia\n    Scripto referri; tum Jovem lectis super\n    Sententiam proferre?\u2014sed mortalium\n    Facinora c\u0153li, quantaquanta est, regia\n    Nequit tenere: nec legendis Juppiter\n    Et puniendis par est. Est tamen ultio,\n    Et, si intuemur, illa nos habitat prope.\u201d)\n\n\nNow that such an eternal justice really lies in the nature of the world\nwill soon become completely evident to whoever has grasped the whole of\nthe thought which we have hitherto been developing.\n\nThe world, in all the multiplicity of its parts and forms, is the\nmanifestation, the objectivity, of the one will to live. Existence itself,\nand the kind of existence, both as a collective whole and in every part,\nproceeds from the will alone. The will is free, the will is almighty. The\nwill appears in everything, just as it determines itself in itself and\noutside time. The world is only the mirror of this willing; and all\nfinitude, all suffering, all miseries, which it contains, belong to the\nexpression of that which the will wills, are as they are because the will\nso wills. Accordingly with perfect right every being supports existence in\ngeneral, and also the existence of its species and its peculiar\nindividuality, entirely as it is and in circumstances as they are, in a\nworld such as it is, swayed by chance and error, transient, ephemeral, and\nconstantly suffering; and in all that it experiences, or indeed can\nexperience, it always gets its due. For the will belongs to it; and as the\nwill is, so is the world. Only this world itself can bear the\nresponsibility of its own existence and nature\u2014no other; for by what means\ncould another have assumed it? Do we desire to know what men, morally\nconsidered, are worth as a whole and in general, we have only to consider\ntheir fate as a whole and in general. This is want, wretchedness,\naffliction, misery, and death. Eternal justice reigns; if they were not,\nas a whole, worthless, their fate, as a whole, would not be so sad. In\nthis sense we may say, the world itself is the judgment of the world. If\nwe could lay all the misery of the world in one scale of the balance, and\nall the guilt of the world in the other, the needle would certainly point\nto the centre.\n\nCertainly, however, the world does not exhibit itself to the knowledge of\nthe individual as such, developed for the service of the will, as it\nfinally reveals itself to the inquirer as the objectivity of the one and\nonly will to live, which he himself is. But the sight of the uncultured\nindividual is clouded, as the Hindus say, by the veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2. He sees not\nthe thing-in-itself but the phenomenon in time and space, the _principium\nindividuationis_, and in the other forms of the principle of sufficient\nreason. And in this form of his limited knowledge he sees not the inner\nnature of things, which is one, but its phenomena as separated, disunited,\ninnumerable, very different, and indeed opposed. For to him pleasure\nappears as one thing and pain as quite another thing: one man as a\ntormentor and a murderer, another as a martyr and a victim; wickedness as\none thing and evil as another. He sees one man live in joy, abundance, and\npleasure, and even at his door another die miserably of want and cold.\nThen he asks, Where is the retribution? And he himself, in the vehement,\npressure of will which is his origin and his nature, seizes upon the\npleasures and enjoyments of life, firmly embraces them, and knows not that\nby this very act of his will he seizes and hugs all those pains and\nsorrows at the sight of which he shudders. He sees the ills and he sees\nthe wickedness in the world, but far from knowing that both of these are\nbut different sides of the manifestation of the one will to live, he\nregards them as very different, and indeed quite opposed, and often seeks\nto escape by wickedness, _i.e._, by causing the suffering of another, from\nills, from the suffering of his own individuality, for he is involved in\nthe _principium individuationis_, deluded by the veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2. Just as a\nsailor sits in a boat trusting to his frail barque in a stormy sea,\nunbounded in every direction, rising and falling with the howling\nmountainous waves; so in the midst of a world of sorrows the individual\nman sits quietly, supported by and trusting to the _principium\nindividuationis_, or the way in which the individual knows things as\nphenomena. The boundless world, everywhere full of suffering in the\ninfinite past, in the infinite future, is strange to him, indeed is to him\nbut a fable; his ephemeral person, his extensionless present, his\nmomentary satisfaction, this alone has reality for him; and he does all to\nmaintain this, so long as his eyes are not opened by a better knowledge.\nTill then, there lives only in the inmost depths of his consciousness a\nvery obscure presentiment that all that is after all not really so strange\nto him, but has a connection with him, from which the _principium\nindividuationis_ cannot protect him. From this presentiment arises that\nineradicable _awe_ common to all men (and indeed perhaps even to the most\nsensible of the brutes) which suddenly seizes them if by any chance they\nbecome puzzled about the _principium individuationis_, because the\nprinciple of sufficient reason in some one of its forms seems to admit of\nan exception. For example, if it seems as if some change took place\nwithout a cause, or some one who is dead appears again, or if in any other\nway the past or the future becomes present or the distant becomes near.\nThe fearful terror at anything of the kind is founded on the fact that\nthey suddenly become puzzled about the forms of knowledge of the\nphenomenon, which alone separate their own individuality from the rest of\nthe world. But even this separation lies only in the phenomenon, and not\nin the thing-in-itself; and on this rests eternal justice. In fact, all\ntemporal happiness stands, and all prudence proceeds, upon ground that is\nundermined. They defend the person from accidents and supply its\npleasures; but the person is merely phenomenon, and its difference from\nother individuals, and exemption from the sufferings which they endure,\nrests merely in the form of the phenomenon, the _principium\nindividuationis_. According to the true nature of things, every one has\nall the suffering of the world as his own, and indeed has to regard all\nmerely possible suffering as for him actual, so long as he is the fixed\nwill to live, _i.e._, asserts life with all his power. For the knowledge\nthat sees through the _principium individuationis_, a happy life in time,\nthe gift of chance or won by prudence, amid the sorrows of innumerable\nothers, is only the dream of a beggar in which he is a king, but from\nwhich he must awake and learn from experience that only a fleeting\nillusion had separated him from the suffering of his life.\n\nEternal justice withdraws itself from the vision that is involved in the\nknowledge which follows the principle of sufficient reason in the\n_principium individuationis_; such vision misses it altogether unless it\nvindicates it in some way by fictions. It sees the bad, after misdeeds and\ncruelties of every kind, live in happiness and leave the world unpunished.\nIt sees the oppressed drag out a life full of suffering to the end without\nan avenger, a requiter appearing. But that man only will grasp and\ncomprehend eternal justice who raises himself above the knowledge that\nproceeds under the guidance of the principle of sufficient reason, bound\nto the particular thing, and recognises the Ideas, sees through the\n_principium individuationis_, and becomes conscious that the forms of the\nphenomenon do not apply to the thing-in-itself. Moreover, he alone, by\nvirtue of the same knowledge, can understand the true nature of virtue, as\nit will soon disclose itself to us in connection with the present inquiry,\nalthough for the practice of virtue this knowledge in the abstract is by\nno means demanded. Thus it becomes clear to whoever has attained to the\nknowledge referred to, that because the will is the in-itself of all\nphenomena, the misery which is awarded to others and that which he\nexperiences himself, the bad and the evil, always concerns only that one\ninner being which is everywhere the same, although the phenomena in which\nthe one and the other exhibits itself exist as quite different\nindividuals, and are widely separated by time and space. He sees that the\ndifference between him who inflicts the suffering and him who must bear it\nis only the phenomenon, and does not concern the thing-in-itself, for this\nis the will living in both, which here, deceived by the knowledge which is\nbound to its service, does not recognise itself, and seeking an increased\nhappiness in _one_ of its phenomena, produces great suffering in\n_another_, and thus, in the pressure of excitement, buries its teeth in\nits own flesh, not knowing that it always injures only itself, revealing\nin this form, through the medium of individuality, the conflict with\nitself which it bears in its inner nature. The inflicter of suffering and\nthe sufferer are one. The former errs in that he believes he is not a\npartaker in the suffering; the latter, in that he believes he is not a\npartaker in the guilt. If the eyes of both were opened, the inflicter of\nsuffering would see that he lives in all that suffers pain in the wide\nworld, and which, if endowed with reason, in vain asks why it was called\ninto existence for such great suffering, its desert of which it does not\nunderstand. And the sufferer would see that all the wickedness which is or\never was committed in the world proceeds from that will which constitutes\n_his_ own nature also, appears also in _him_, and that through this\nphenomenon and its assertion he has taken upon himself all the sufferings\nwhich proceed from such a will and bears them as his due, so long as he is\nthis will. From this knowledge speaks the profound poet Calderon in \u201cLife\na Dream\u201d\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cPues el delito mayor\n    Del hombre es haber nacido.\u201d\n\n    (\u201cFor the greatest crime of man\n    Is that he ever was born.\u201d)\n\n\nWhy should it not be a crime, since, according to an eternal law, death\nfollows upon it? Calderon has merely expressed in these lines the\nChristian dogma of original sin.\n\nThe living knowledge of eternal justice, of the balance that inseparably\nbinds together the _malum culp\u00e6_ with the _malum p\u0153n\u00e6_, demands the\ncomplete transcending of individuality and the principle of its\npossibility. Therefore it will always remain unattainable to the majority\nof men, as will also be the case with the pure and distinct knowledge of\nthe nature of all virtue, which is akin to it, and which we are about to\nexplain. Accordingly the wise ancestors of the Hindu people have directly\nexpressed it in the Vedas, which are only allowed to the three regenerate\ncastes, or in their esoteric teaching, so far at any rate as conception\nand language comprehend it, and their method of exposition, which always\nremains pictorial and even rhapsodical, admits; but in the religion of the\npeople, or exoteric teaching, they only communicate it by means of myths.\nThe direct exposition we find in the Vedas, the fruit of the highest human\nknowledge and wisdom, the kernel of which has at last reached us in the\nUpanishads as the greatest gift of this century. It is expressed in\nvarious ways, but especially by making all the beings in the world, living\nand lifeless, pass successively before the view of the student, and\npronouncing over every one of them that word which has become a formula,\nand as such has been called the Mahavakya: Tatoumes,\u2014more correctly, Tat\ntwam asi,\u2014which means, \u201cThis thou art.\u201d(77) But for the people, that great\ntruth, so far as in their limited condition they could comprehend it, was\ntranslated into the form of knowledge which follows the principle of\nsufficient reason. This form of knowledge is indeed, from its nature,\nquite incapable of apprehending that truth pure and in itself, and even\nstands in contradiction to it, yet in the form of a myth it received a\nsubstitute for it which was sufficient as a guide for conduct. For the\nmyth enables the method of knowledge, in accordance with the principle of\nsufficient reason, to comprehend by figurative representation the ethical\nsignificance of conduct, which itself is ever foreign to it. This is the\naim of all systems of religion, for as a whole they are the mythical\nclothing of the truth which is unattainable to the uncultured human\nintellect. In this sense this myth might, in Kant\u2019s language, be called a\npostulate of the practical reason; but regarded as such, it has the great\nadvantage that it contains absolutely no elements but such as lie before\nour eyes in the course of actual experience, and can therefore support all\nits conceptions with perceptions. What is here referred to is the myth of\nthe transmigration of souls. It teaches that all sufferings which in life\none inflicts upon other beings must be expiated in a subsequent life in\nthis world, through precisely the same sufferings; and this extends so\nfar, that he who only kills a brute must, some time in endless time, be\nborn as the same kind of brute and suffer the same death. It teaches that\nwicked conduct involves a future life in this world in suffering and\ndespised creatures, and, accordingly, that one will then be born again in\nlower castes, or as a woman, or as a brute, as Pariah or Tschandala, as a\nleper, or as a crocodile, and so forth. All the pains which the myth\nthreatens it supports with perceptions from actual life, through suffering\ncreatures which do not know how they have merited their misery, and it\ndoes not require to call in the assistance of any other hell. As a reward,\non the other hand, it promises re-birth in better, nobler forms, as\nBrahmans, wise men, or saints. The highest reward, which awaits the\nnoblest deeds and the completest resignation, which is also given to the\nwoman who in seven successive lives has voluntarily died on the funeral\npile of her husband, and not less to the man whose pure mouth has never\nuttered a single lie,\u2014this reward the myth can only express negatively in\nthe language of this world by the promise, which is so often repeated,\nthat they shall never be born again, _Non adsumes iterum existentiam\napparentem_; or, as the Buddhists, who recognise neither Vedas nor castes,\nexpress it, \u201cThou shalt attain to Nirv\u00e2na,\u201d _i.e._, to a state in which\nfour things no longer exist\u2014birth, age, sickness, and death.\n\nNever has a myth entered, and never will one enter, more closely into the\nphilosophical truth which is attainable to so few than this primitive\ndoctrine of the noblest and most ancient nation. Broken up as this nation\nnow is into many parts, this myth yet reigns as the universal belief of\nthe people, and has the most decided influence upon life to-day, as four\nthousand years ago. Therefore Pythagoras and Plato have seized with\nadmiration on that _ne plus ultra_ of mythical representation, received it\nfrom India or Egypt, honoured it, made use of it, and, we know not how\nfar, even believed it. We, on the contrary, now send the Brahmans English\nclergymen and evangelical linen-weavers to set them right out of sympathy,\nand to show them that they are created out of nothing, and ought\nthankfully to rejoice in the fact. But it is just the same as if we fired\na bullet against a cliff. In India our religions will never take root. The\nancient wisdom of the human race will not be displaced by what happened in\nGalilee. On the contrary, Indian philosophy streams back to Europe, and\nwill produce a fundamental change in our knowledge and thought.\n\n\u00a7 64. From our exposition of eternal justice, which is not mythical but\nphilosophical, we will now proceed to the kindred investigation of the\nethical significance of conduct and of conscience, which is the merely\nfelt knowledge of that significance. But first I wish at this point to\ndraw attention to two peculiarities of human nature, that might help to\nmake clear how the nature of that eternal justice, and the unity and\nidentity of the will in all its phenomena upon which it rests, is known to\nevery one, at least as an obscure feeling.\n\nWhen a bad deed has been done, it affords satisfaction not only to the\nsufferer, who for the most part feels the desire of revenge, but also to\nthe perfectly indifferent spectator, to see that he who caused another\npain suffers himself a like measure of pain; and this quite independently\nof the end which we have shown the state has in view in punishment, and\nwhich is the foundation of penal law. It seems to me that what expresses\nitself here is nothing but the consciousness of that eternal justice,\nwhich is, nevertheless, at once misunderstood and falsified by the\nunenlightened mind, for, involved in the _principium individuationis_, it\nproduces an amphiboly of the concepts and demands from the phenomenon what\nonly belongs to the thing in itself. It does not see how far in themselves\nthe offender and the offended are one, and that it is the same being\nwhich, not recognising itself in its own manifestation, bears both the\npain and the guilt, but it desires rather to see the pain also in the\nparticular individual to whom the guilt belongs. Therefore, most persons\nwould demand that a man who had a very high degree of wickedness which\nmight yet occur in many others, only not matched with other qualities such\nas are found in him, a man who also far surpassed others by extraordinary\nintellectual powers, and who inflicted unspeakable sufferings upon\nmillions of others\u2014for example, as a conqueror,\u2014most persons, I say, would\ndemand that such a man should at some time and in some place expiate all\nthese sufferings by a like amount of pain; for they do not recognise how\nin themselves the inflicter of suffering and the sufferers are one, and\nthat it is the same will through which the latter exist and live which\nalso appears in the former, and just through him attains to a distinct\nrevelation of its nature, and which likewise suffers both in the oppressed\nand the oppressor; and indeed in the latter in a greater measure, as the\nconsciousness has attained a higher degree of clearness and distinctness\nand the will has greater vehemence. But that the deeper knowledge, which\nis no longer involved in the _principium individuationis_, from which all\nvirtue and nobleness proceed, no longer retains the disposition which\ndemands requital, is shown by the Christian ethics, which absolutely\nforbids all requital of evil with evil, and allows eternal justice to\nproceed in the sphere of the thing-in-itself, which is different from that\nof the phenomenon. (\u201cVengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the\nLord,\u201d\u2014Rom. xii. 19.)\n\nA much more striking, but also a much rarer, characteristic of human\nnature, which expresses that desire to draw eternal justice into the\nprovince of experience, _i.e._, of individuality, and at the same time\nindicates a felt consciousness that, as I have expressed it above, the\nwill to live conducts at its own cost the great tragedy and comedy, and\nthat the same one will lives in all manifestations,\u2014such a characteristic,\nI say, is the following. We sometimes see a man so deeply moved by a great\ninjury which he has experienced, or, it may be, only witnessed, that he\ndeliberately and irretrievably stakes his own life in order to take\nvengeance on the perpetrator of that wrong. We see him seek for some\nmighty oppressor through long years, murder him at last, and then himself\ndie on the scaffold, as he had foreseen, and often, it may be, did not\nseek to avoid, for his life had value for him only as a means of\nvengeance. We find examples of this especially among the Spaniards.(78)\nIf, now, we consider the spirit of that desire for retribution carefully,\nwe find that it is very different from common revenge, which seeks to\nmitigate the suffering, endured by the sight of the suffering inflicted;\nindeed, we find that what it aims at deserves to be called, not so much\nrevenge as punishment. For in it there really lies the intention of an\neffect upon the future through the example, and that without any selfish\naim, either for the avenging person, for it costs him his life, or for a\nsociety which secures its own safety by laws. For that punishment is\ncarried out by individuals, not by the state, nor is it in fulfilment of a\nlaw, but, on the contrary, always concerns a deed which the state either\nwould not or could not punish, and the punishment of which it condemns. It\nseems to me that the indignation which carries such a man so far beyond\nthe limits of all self-love springs from the deepest consciousness that he\nhimself is the whole will to live, which appears in all beings through all\ntime, and that therefore the most distant future belongs to him just as\nthe present, and cannot be indifferent to him. Asserting this will, he yet\ndesires that in the drama which represents its nature no such fearful\nwrong shall ever appear again, and wishes to frighten ever future\nwrong-doer by the example of a vengeance against which there is no means\nof defence, since the avenger is not deterred by the fear of death. The\nwill to live, though still asserting itself, does not here depend any\nlonger upon the particular phenomenon, the individual, but comprehends the\nIdea of man, and wishes to keep its manifestation pure from such a fearful\nand shocking wrong. It is a rare, very significant, and even sublime trait\nof character through which the individual sacrifices himself by striving\nto make himself the arm of eternal justice, of the true nature of which he\nis yet ignorant.\n\n\u00a7 65. In all the preceding investigations of human action, we have been\nleading up to the final investigation, and have to a considerable extent\nlightened the task of raising to abstract and philosophical clearness, and\nexhibiting as a branch of our central thought that special ethical\nsignificance of action which in life is with perfect understanding denoted\nby the words _good_ and _bad_.\n\nFirst, however, I wish to trace back to their real meaning those\nconceptions of _good_ and _bad_ which have been treated by the\nphilosophical writers of the day, very extraordinarily, as simple\nconceptions, and thus incapable of analysis; so that the reader may not\nremain involved in the senseless delusion that they contain more than is\nactually the case, and express in and for themselves all that is here\nnecessary. I am in a position to do this because in ethics I am no more\ndisposed to take refuge behind the word _good_ than formerly behind the\nwords _beautiful_ and _true_, in order that by the adding a \u201cness,\u201d which\nat the present day is supposed to have a special \u03c3\u03b5\u03bc\u03bd\u03bf\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2, and therefore\nto be of assistance in various cases, and by assuming an air of solemnity,\nI might induce the belief that by uttering three such words I had done\nmore than denote three very wide and abstract, and consequently empty\nconceptions, of very different origin and significance. Who is there,\nindeed, who has made himself acquainted with the books of our own day to\nwhom these three words, admirable as are the things to which they\noriginally refer, have not become an aversion after he has seen for the\nthousandth time how those who are least capable of thinking believe that\nthey have only to utter these three words with open mouth and the air of\nan intelligent sheep, in order to have spoken the greatest wisdom?\n\nThe explanation of the concept _true_ has already been given in the essay\non the principle of sufficient reason, chap. v. \u00a7 29 _et seq._ The content\nof the concept _beautiful_ found for the first time its proper explanation\nthrough the whole of the Third Book of the present work. We now wish to\ndiscover the significance of the concept _good_, which can be done with\nvery little trouble. This concept is essentially relative, and signifies\n_the conformity of an object to any definite effort of the will_.\nAccordingly everything that corresponds to the will in any of its\nexpressions and fulfils its end is thought through the concept _good_,\nhowever different such things may be in other respects. Thus we speak of\ngood eating, good roads, good weather, good weapons, good omens, and so\non; in short, we call everything good that is just as we wish it to be;\nand therefore that may be good in the eyes of one man which is just the\nreverse in those of another. The conception of the good divides itself\ninto two sub-species\u2014that of the direct and present satisfaction of any\nvolition, and that of its indirect satisfaction which has reference to the\nfuture, _i.e._, the agreeable and the useful. The conception of the\nopposite, so long as we are speaking of unconscious existence, is\nexpressed by the word _bad_, more rarely and abstractly by the word\n_evil_, which thus denotes everything that does not correspond to any\neffort of the will. Like all other things that can come into relation to\nthe will, men who are favourable to the ends which happen to be desired,\nwho further and befriend them, are called good, in the same sense, and\nalways with that relative limitation, which shows itself, for example, in\nthe expression, \u201cI find this good, but you don\u2019t.\u201d Those, however, who are\nnaturally disposed not to hinder the endeavours of others, but rather to\nassist them, and who are thus consistently helpful, benevolent, friendly,\nand charitable, are called _good_ men, on account of this relation of\ntheir conduct to the will of others in general. In the case of conscious\nbeings (brutes and men) the contrary conception is denoted in German, and,\nwithin the last hundred years or so, in French also, by a different word\nfrom that which is used in speaking of unconscious existence; in German,\n_b\u00f6se_; in French, _m\u00e9chant_; while in almost all other languages this\ndistinction does not exist; and \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2, _malus_, _cattivo_, _bad_, are used\nof men, as of lifeless things, which are opposed to the ends of a definite\nindividual will. Thus, having started entirely from the passive element in\nthe good, the inquiry could only proceed later to the active element, and\ninvestigate the conduct of the man who is called good, no longer with\nreference to others, but to himself; specially setting itself the task of\nexplaining both the purely objective respect which such conduct produces\nin others, and the peculiar contentment with himself which it clearly\nproduces in the man himself, since he purchases it with sacrifices of\nanother kind; and also, on the other hand, the inner pain which\naccompanies the bad disposition, whatever outward advantages it brings to\nhim who entertains it. It was from this source that the ethical systems,\nboth the philosophical and those which are supported by systems of\nreligion, took their rise. Both seek constantly in some way or other to\nconnect happiness with virtue, the former either by means of the principle\nof contradiction or that of sufficient reason, and thus to make happiness\neither identical with or the consequence of virtue, always sophistically;\nthe latter, by asserting the existence of other worlds than that which\nalone can be known to experience.(79) In our system, on the contrary,\nvirtue will show itself, not as a striving after happiness, that is,\nwell-being and life, but as an effort in quite an opposite direction.\n\nIt follows from what has been said above, that the _good_ is, according to\nits concept, \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03c1\u03c9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b9; thus every good is essentially relative, for its\nbeing consists in its relation to a desiring will. _Absolute good_ is,\ntherefore, a contradiction in terms; highest good, _summum bonum_, really\nsignifies the same thing\u2014a final satisfaction of the will, after which no\nnew desire could arise,\u2014a last motive, the attainment of which would\nafford enduring satisfaction of the will. But, according to the\ninvestigations which have already been conducted in this Fourth Book, such\na consummation is not even thinkable. The will can just as little cease\nfrom willing altogether on account of some particular satisfaction, as\ntime can end or begin; for it there is no such thing as a permanent\nfulfilment which shall completely and for ever satisfy its craving. It is\nthe vessel of the Danaides; for it there is no highest good, no absolute\ngood, but always a merely temporary good. If, however, we wish to give an\nhonorary position, as it were emeritus, to an old expression, which from\ncustom we do not like to discard altogether, we may, metaphorically and\nfiguratively, call the complete self-effacement and denial of the will,\nthe true absence of will, which alone for ever stills and silences its\nstruggle, alone gives that contentment which can never again be disturbed,\nalone redeems the world, and which we shall now soon consider at the close\nof our whole investigation\u2014the absolute good, the _summum bonum_\u2014and\nregard it as the only radical cure of the disease of which all other means\nare only palliations or anodynes. In this sense the Greek \u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 and also\n_finis bonorum_ correspond to the thing still better. So much for the\nwords _good_ and _bad_; now for the thing itself.\n\nIf a man is always disposed to do _wrong_ whenever the opportunity\npresents itself, and there is no external power to restrain him, we call\nhim _bad_. According to our doctrine of wrong, this means that such a man\ndoes not merely assert the will to live as it appears in his own body, but\nin this assertion goes so far that he denies the will which appears in\nother individuals. This is shown by the fact that he desires their powers\nfor the service of his own will, and seeks to destroy their existence when\nthey stand in the way of its efforts. The ultimate source of this is a\nhigh degree of egoism, the nature of which has been already explained. Two\nthings are here apparent. In the first place, that in such a man an\nexcessively vehement will to live expresses itself, extending far beyond\nthe assertion of his own body; and, in the second place, that his\nknowledge, entirely given up to the principle of sufficient reason and\ninvolved in the _principium individuationis_, cannot get beyond the\ndifference which this latter principle establishes between his own person\nand every one else. Therefore he seeks his own well-being alone,\ncompletely indifferent to that of all others, whose existence is to him\naltogether foreign and divided from his own by a wide gulf, and who are\nindeed regarded by him as mere masks with no reality behind them. And\nthese two qualities are the constituent elements of the bad character.\n\nThis great intensity of will is in itself and directly a constant source\nof suffering. In the first place, because all volition as such arises from\nwant; that is, suffering. (Therefore, as will be remembered, from the\nThird Book, the momentary cessation of all volition, which takes place\nwhenever we give ourselves up to \u00e6sthetic contemplation, as pure will-less\nsubject of knowledge, the correlative of the Idea, is one of the principal\nelements in our pleasure in the beautiful.) Secondly, because, through the\ncausal connection of things, most of our desires must remain unfulfilled,\nand the will is oftener crossed than satisfied, and therefore much intense\nvolition carries with it much intense suffering. For all suffering is\nsimply unfulfilled and crossed volition; and even the pain of the body\nwhen it is injured or destroyed is as such only possible through the fact\nthat the body is nothing but the will itself become object. Now on this\naccount, because much intense suffering is inseparable from much intense\nvolition, very bad men bear the stamp of inward suffering in the very\nexpression of the countenance; even when they have attained every external\nhappiness, they always look unhappy so long as they are not transported by\nsome momentary ecstasy and are not dissembling. From this inward torment,\nwhich is absolutely and directly essential to them, there finally proceeds\nthat delight in the suffering of others which does not spring from mere\negoism, but is disinterested, and which constitutes _wickedness_ proper,\nrising to the pitch of _cruelty_. For this the suffering of others is not\na means for the attainment of the ends of its own will, but an end in\nitself. The more definite explanation of this phenomenon is as\nfollows:\u2014Since man is a manifestation of will illuminated by the clearest\nknowledge, he is always contrasting the actual and felt satisfaction of\nhis will with the merely possible satisfaction of it which knowledge\npresents to him. Hence arises envy: every privation is infinitely\nincreased by the enjoyment of others, and relieved by the knowledge that\nothers also suffer the same privation. Those ills which are common to all\nand inseparable from human life trouble us little, just as those which\nbelong to the climate, to the whole country. The recollection of greater\nsufferings than our own stills our pain; the sight of the sufferings of\nothers soothes our own. If, now, a man is filled with an exceptionally\nintense pressure of will,\u2014if with burning eagerness he seeks to accumulate\neverything to slake the thirst of his egoism, and thus experiences, as he\ninevitably must, that all satisfaction is merely apparent, that the\nattained end never fulfils the promise of the desired object, the final\nappeasing of the fierce pressure of will, but that when fulfilled the wish\nonly changes its form, and now torments him in a new one; and indeed that\nif at last all wishes are exhausted, the pressure of will itself remains\nwithout any conscious motive, and makes itself known to him with fearful\npain as a feeling of terrible desolation and emptiness; if from all this,\nwhich in the case of the ordinary degrees of volition is only felt in a\nsmall measure, and only produces the ordinary degree of melancholy, in the\ncase of him who is a manifestation of will reaching the point of\nextraordinary wickedness, there necessarily springs an excessive inward\nmisery, an eternal unrest, an incurable pain; he seeks indirectly the\nalleviation which directly is denied him,\u2014seeks to mitigate his own\nsuffering by the sight of the suffering of others, which at the same time\nhe recognises as an expression of his power. The suffering of others now\nbecomes for him an end in itself, and is a spectacle in which he delights;\nand thus arises the phenomenon of pure cruelty, blood-thirstiness, which\nhistory exhibits so often in the Neros and Domitians, in the African Deis,\nin Robespierre, and the like.\n\nThe desire of revenge is closely related to wickedness. It recompenses\nevil with evil, not with reference to the future, which is the character\nof punishment, but merely on account of what has happened, what is past,\nas such, thus disinterestedly, not as a means, but as an end, in order to\nrevel in the torment which the avenger himself has inflicted on the\noffender. What distinguishes revenge from pure wickedness, and to some\nextent excuses it, is an appearance of justice. For if the same act, which\nis now revenge, were to be done legally, that is, according to a\npreviously determined and known rule, and in a society which had\nsanctioned this rule, it would be punishment, and thus justice.\n\nBesides the suffering which has been described, and which is inseparable\nfrom wickedness, because it springs from the same root, excessive\nvehemence of will, another specific pain quite different from this is\nconnected with wickedness, which is felt in the case of every bad action,\nwhether it be merely injustice proceeding from egoism or pure wickedness,\nand according to the length of its duration is called _the sting of\nconscience_ or _remorse_. Now, whoever remembers and has present in his\nmind the content of the preceding portion of this Fourth Book, and\nespecially the truth explained at the beginning of it, that life itself is\nalways assured to the will to live, as its mere copy or mirror, and also\nthe exposition of eternal justice, will find that the sting of conscience\ncan have no other meaning than the following, _i.e._, its content,\nabstractly expressed, is what follows, in which two parts are\ndistinguished, which again, however, entirely coincide, and must be\nthought as completely united.\n\nHowever closely the veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2 may envelop the mind of the bad man,\n_i.e._, however firmly he may be involved in the _principium\nindividuationis_, according to which he regards his person as absolutely\ndifferent and separated by a wide gulf from all others, a knowledge to\nwhich he clings with all his might, as it alone suits and supports his\negoism, so that knowledge is almost always corrupted by will, yet there\narises in the inmost depths of his consciousness the secret presentiment\nthat such an order of things is only phenomenal, and that their real\nconstitution is quite different. He has a dim foreboding that, however\nmuch time and space may separate him from other individuals and the\ninnumerable miseries which they suffer, and even suffer through him, and\nmay represent them as quite foreign to him, yet in themselves, and apart\nfrom the idea and its forms, it is the one will to live appearing in them\nall, which here failing to recognise itself, turns its weapons against\nitself, and, by seeking increased happiness in one of its phenomena,\nimposes the greatest suffering upon another. He dimly sees that he, the\nbad man, is himself this whole will; that consequently he is not only the\ninflicter of pain but also the endurer of it, from whose suffering he is\nonly separated and exempted by an illusive dream, the form of which is\nspace and time, which, however, vanishes away; that he must in reality pay\nfor the pleasure with the pain, and that all suffering which he only knows\nas possible really concerns him as the will to live, inasmuch as the\npossible and actual, the near and the distant in time and space, are only\ndifferent for the knowledge of the individual, only by means of the\n_principium individuationis_, not in themselves. This is the truth which\nmythically, _i.e._, adapted to the principle of sufficient reason, and so\ntranslated into the form of the phenomenal, is expressed in the\ntransmigration of souls. Yet it has its purest expression, free from all\nforeign admixture, in that obscurely felt yet inconsolable misery called\nremorse. But this springs also from a second immediate knowledge, which is\nclosely bound to the first\u2014the knowledge of the strength with which the\nwill to live asserts itself in the wicked individual, which extends far\nbeyond his own individual phenomenon, to the absolute denial of the same\nwill appearing in other individuals. Consequently the inward horror of the\nwicked man at his own deed, which he himself tries to conceal, contains,\nbesides that presentment of the nothingness, the mere illusiveness of the\n_principium individuationis_, and of the distinction established by it\nbetween him and others; also the knowledge of the vehemence of his own\nwill, the intensity with which he has seized upon life and attached\nhimself closely to it, even that life whose terrible side he sees before\nhim in the misery of those who are oppressed by him, and with which he is\nyet so firmly united, that just on this account the greatest atrocity\nproceeds from him himself, as a means for the fuller assertion of his own\nwill. He recognises himself as the concentrated manifestation of the will\nto live, feels to what degree he is given up to life, and with it also to\ninnumerable sufferings which are essential to it, for it has infinite time\nand infinite space to abolish the distinction between the possible and the\nactual, and to change all the sufferings which as yet are merely _known_\nto him into sufferings he has _experienced_. The millions of years of\nconstant rebirth certainly exist, like the whole past and future, only in\nconception; occupied time, the form of the phenomenon of the will, is only\nthe present, and for the individual time is ever new: it seems to him\nalways as if he had newly come into being. For life is inseparable from\nthe will to live, and the only form of life is the present. Death (the\nrepetition of the comparison must be excused) is like the setting of the\nsun, which is only apparently swallowed up by the night, but in reality,\nitself the source of all light, burns without intermission, brings new\ndays to new worlds, is always rising and always setting. Beginning and end\nonly concern the individual through time, the form of the phenomenon for\nthe idea. Outside time lies only the will, Kant\u2019s thing-in-itself, and its\nadequate objectification, the Idea of Plato. Therefore suicide affords no\nescape; what every one in his inmost consciousness _wills_, that must he\n_be_; and what every one _is_, that he _wills_. Thus, besides the merely\nfelt knowledge of the illusiveness and nothingness of the forms of the\nidea which separate individuals, it is the self-knowledge of one\u2019s own\nwill and its degree that gives the sting to conscience. The course of life\ndraws the image of the empirical character, whose original is the\nintelligible character, and horrifies the wicked man by this image. He is\nhorrified all the same whether the image is depicted in large characters,\nso that the world shares his horror, or in such small ones that he alone\nsees it, for it only concerns him directly. The past would be a matter of\nindifference, and could not pain the conscience if the character did not\nfeel itself free from all time and unalterable by it, so long as it does\nnot deny itself. Therefore things which are long past still weigh on the\nconscience. The prayer, \u201cLead me not into temptation,\u201d means, \u201cLet me not\nsee what manner of person I am.\u201d In the might with which the bad man\nasserts life, and which exhibits itself to him in the sufferings which he\ninflicts on others, he measures how far he is from the surrender and\ndenial of that will, the only possible deliverance from the world and its\nmiseries. He sees how far he belongs to it, and how firmly he is bound to\nit; the _known_ suffering of others has no power to move him; he is given\nup to life and _felt_ suffering. It remains hidden whether this will ever\nbreak and overcome the vehemence of his will.\n\nThis exposition of the significance and inner nature of the _bad_, which\nas mere feeling, _i.e._, not as distinct, abstract knowledge, is the\ncontent of _remorse_, will gain distinctness and completeness by the\nsimilar consideration of the _good_ as a quality of human will, and\nfinally of absolute resignation and holiness, which proceeds from it when\nit has attained its highest grade. For opposites always throw light upon\neach other, and the day at once reveals both itself and the night, as\nSpinoza admirably remarks.\n\n\u00a7 66. A theory of morals without proof, that is, mere moralising, can\neffect nothing, because it does not act as a motive. A theory of morals\nwhich does act as a motive can do so only by working on self-love. But\nwhat springs from this source has no moral worth. It follows from this\nthat no genuine virtue can be produced through moral theory or abstract\nknowledge in general, but that such virtue must spring from that intuitive\nknowledge which recognises in the individuality of others the same nature\nas in our own.\n\nFor virtue certainly proceeds from knowledge, but not from the abstract\nknowledge that can be communicated through words. If it were so, virtue\ncould be taught, and by here expressing in abstract language its nature\nand the knowledge which lies at its foundation, we should make every one\nwho comprehends this even ethically better. But this is by no means the\ncase. On the contrary, ethical discourses and preaching will just as\nlittle produce a virtuous man as all the systems of \u00e6sthetics from\nAristotle downwards have succeeded in producing a poet. For the real inner\nnature of virtue the concept is unfruitful, just as it is in art, and it\nis only in a completely subordinate position that it can be of use as a\ntool in the elaboration and preserving of what has been ascertained and\ninferred by other means. _Velle non discitur._ Abstract dogmas are, in\nfact, without influence upon virtue, _i.e._, upon the goodness of the\ndisposition. False dogmas do not disturb it; true ones will scarcely\nassist it. It would, in fact, be a bad look-out if the cardinal fact in\nthe life of man, his ethical worth, that worth which counts for eternity,\nwere dependent upon anything the attainment of which is so much a matter\nof chance as is the case with dogmas, religious doctrines, and\nphilosophical theories. For morality dogmas have this value only: The man\nwho has become virtuous from knowledge of another kind, which is presently\nto be considered, possesses in them a scheme or formula according to which\nhe accounts to his own reason, for the most part fictitiously, for his\nnon-egoistical action, the nature of which it, _i.e._, he himself, does\nnot comprehend, and with which account he has accustomed it to be content.\n\nUpon conduct, outward action, dogmas may certainly exercise a powerful\ninfluence, as also custom and example (the last because the ordinary man\ndoes not trust his judgment, of the weakness of which he is conscious, but\nonly follows his own or some one else\u2019s experience), but the disposition\nis not altered in this way.(80) All abstract knowledge gives only motives;\nbut, as was shown above, motives can only alter the direction of the will,\nnot the will itself. All communicable knowledge, however, can only affect\nthe will as a motive. Thus when dogmas lead it, what the man really and in\ngeneral wills remains still the same. He has only received different\nthoughts as to the ways in which it is to be attained, and imaginary\nmotives guide him just like real ones. Therefore, for example, it is all\none, as regards his ethical worth, whether he gives large gifts to the\npoor, firmly persuaded that he will receive everything tenfold in a future\nlife, or expends the same sum on the improvement of an estate which will\nyield interest, certainly late, but all the more surely and largely. And\nhe who for the sake of orthodoxy commits the heretic to the flames is as\nmuch a murderer as the bandit who does it for gain; and indeed, as regards\ninward circumstances, so also was he who slaughtered the Turks in the Holy\nLand, if, like the burner of heretics, he really did so because he thought\nthat he would thereby gain a place in heaven. For these are careful only\nfor themselves, for their own egoism, just like the bandit, from whom they\nare only distinguished by the absurdity of their means. From without, as\nhas been said, the will can only be reached through motives, and these\nonly alter the way in which it expresses itself, never the will itself.\n_Velle non discitur._\n\nIn the case of good deeds, however, the doer of which appeals to dogmas,\nwe must always distinguish whether these dogmas really are the motives\nwhich lead to the good deeds, or whether, as was said above, they are\nmerely the illusive account of them with which he seeks to satisfy his own\nreason with regard to a good deed which really flows from quite a\ndifferent source, a deed which he does because he is good, though he does\nnot understand how to explain it rightly, and yet wishes to think\nsomething with regard to it. But this distinction is very hard to make,\nbecause it lies in the heart of a man. Therefore we can scarcely ever pass\na correct moral judgment on the action of others, and very seldom on our\nown. The deeds and conduct of an individual and of a nation may be very\nmuch modified through dogmas, example, and custom. But in themselves all\ndeeds (_opera operata_) are merely empty forms, and only the disposition\nwhich leads to them gives them moral significance. This disposition,\nhowever, may be quite the same when its outward manifestation is very\ndifferent. With an equal degree of wickedness, one man may die on the\nwheel, and another in the bosom of his family. It may be the same grade of\nwickedness which expresses itself in one nation in the coarse\ncharacteristics of murder and cannibalism, and in another finely and\nsoftly in miniature, in court intrigues, oppressions, and delicate plots\nof every kind; the inner nature remains the same. It is conceivable that a\nperfect state, or perhaps indeed a complete and firmly believed doctrine\nof rewards and punishments after death, might prevent every crime;\npolitically much would be gained thereby; morally, nothing; only the\nexpression of the will in life would be restricted.\n\nThus genuine goodness of disposition, disinterested virtue, and pure\nnobility do not proceed from abstract knowledge. Yet they do proceed from\nknowledge; but it is a direct intuitive knowledge, which can neither be\nreasoned away, nor arrived at by reasoning, a knowledge which, just\nbecause it is not abstract, cannot be communicated, but must arise in each\nfor himself, which therefore finds its real and adequate expression not in\nwords, but only in deeds, in conduct, in the course of the life of man. We\nwho here seek the theory of virtue, and have therefore also to express\nabstractly the nature of the knowledge which lies at its foundation, will\nyet be unable to convey that knowledge itself in this expression. We can\nonly give the concept of this knowledge, and thus always start from action\nin which alone it becomes visible, and refer to action as its only\nadequate expression. We can only explain and interpret action, _i.e._,\nexpress abstractly what really takes place in it.\n\nBefore we speak of the _good_ proper, in opposition to the _bad_, which\nhas been explained, we must touch on an intermediate grade, the mere\nnegation of the bad: this is _justice_. The nature of right and wrong has\nbeen fully explained above; therefore we may briefly say here, that he who\nvoluntarily recognises and observes those merely moral limits between\nwrong and right, even where this is not secured by the state or any other\nexternal power, thus he who, according to our explanation, never carries\nthe assertion of his own will so far as to deny the will appearing in\nanother individual, is _just_. Thus, in order to increase his own\nwell-being, he will not inflict suffering upon others, _i.e._, he will\ncommit no crime, he will respect the rights and the property of others. We\nsee that for such a just man the _principium individuationis_ is no\nlonger, as in the case of the bad man, an absolute wall of partition. We\nsee that he does not, like the bad man, merely assert his own\nmanifestation of will and deny all others; that other persons are not for\nhim mere masks, whose nature is quite different from his own; but he shows\nin his conduct that he also recognises his own nature\u2014the will to live as\na thing-in-itself, in the foreign manifestation which is only given to him\nas idea. Thus he finds himself again in that other manifestation, up to a\ncertain point, that of doing no wrong, _i.e._, abstaining from injury. To\nthis extent, therefore, he sees through the _principium individuationis_,\nthe veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2; so far he sets the being external to him on a level with\nhis own\u2014he does it no injury.\n\nIf we examine the inmost nature of this justice, there already lies in it\nthe resolution not to go so far in the assertion of one\u2019s own will as to\ndeny the manifestations of will of others, by compelling them to serve\none\u2019s own. One will therefore wish to render to others as much as one\nreceives from them. The highest degree of this justice of disposition,\nwhich is, however, always united with goodness proper, whose character is\nno longer merely negative, extends so far that a man doubts his right to\ninherited property, wishes to support his body only by his own powers,\nmental and physical, feels every service of others and every luxury a\nreproach, and finally embraces voluntary poverty. Thus we see how Pascal,\nwhen he became an ascetic, would no longer permit any services to be\nrendered him, although he had servants enough; in spite of his constant\nbad health he made his bed himself, brought his own food from the kitchen,\n&c. (\u201cVie de Pascal, par sa S\u0153ur,\u201d p. 19). Quite in keeping with this, it\nis reported that many Hindus, even Rajas with great wealth, expend it\nmerely on the maintenance of their position, their court and attendants,\nand themselves observe with the greatest scrupulousness the maxim that a\nman should eat nothing that he has not himself both sowed and reaped. Yet\na certain misunderstanding lies at the bottom of this; for one man, just\nbecause he is rich and powerful, can render such signal services to the\nwhole of human society that they counterbalance the wealth he has\ninherited, for the secure possession of which he is indebted to society.\nIn reality that excessive justice of such Hindus is already more than\njustice; it is actual renunciation, denial of the will to\nlive,\u2014asceticism, of which we shall speak last. On the other hand, pure\nidleness and living through the exertions of others, in the case of\ninherited wealth, without accomplishing anything, may be regarded as\nmorally wrong, even if it must remain right according to positive laws.\n\nWe have found that voluntary justice has its inmost source in a certain\ndegree of penetration of the _principium individuationis_, while the\nunjust remain entirely involved in this principle. This penetration may\nexist not only in the degree which is required for justice, but also in\nthe higher degree which leads to benevolence and well-doing, to love of\nmankind. And this may take place however strong and energetic in itself\nthe will which appears in such an individual may be. Knowledge can always\ncounterbalance it in him, teach him to resist the tendency to wrong, and\neven produce in him every degree of goodness, and indeed of resignation.\nThus the good man is by no means to be regarded as originally a weaker\nmanifestation of will than the bad man, but it is knowledge which in him\nmasters the blind striving of will. There are certainly individuals who\nmerely seem to have a good disposition on account of the weakness of the\nwill appearing in them, but what they are soon appears from the fact that\nthey are not capable of any remarkable self-conquest in order to perform a\njust or good deed.\n\nIf, however, as a rare exception, we meet a man who possesses a\nconsiderable income, but uses very little of it for himself and gives all\nthe rest to the poor, while he denies himself many pleasures and comforts,\nand we seek to explain the action of this man, we shall find, apart\naltogether from the dogmas through which he tries to make his action\nintelligible to his reason, that the simplest general expression and the\nessential character of his conduct is that _he makes less distinction than\nis usually made between himself and others_. This distinction is so great\nin the eyes of many that the suffering of others is a direct pleasure to\nthe wicked and a welcome means of happiness to the unjust. The merely just\nman is content not to cause it; and, in general, most men know and are\nacquainted with innumerable sufferings of others in their vicinity, but do\nnot determine to mitigate them, because to do so would involve some\nself-denial on their part. Thus, in each of all these a strong distinction\nseems to prevail between his own ego and that of others; on the other\nhand, to the noble man we have imagined, this distinction is not so\nsignificant. The _principium individuationis_, the form of the phenomenon,\nno longer holds him so tightly in its grasp, but the suffering which he\nsees in others touches him almost as closely as his own. He therefore\ntries to strike a balance between them, denies himself pleasures,\npractises renunciation, in order to mitigate the sufferings of others. He\nsees that the distinction between himself and others, which to the bad man\nis so great a gulf, only belongs to a fleeting and illusive phenomenon. He\nrecognises directly and without reasoning that the in-itself of his own\nmanifestation is also that of others, the will to live, which constitutes\nthe inner nature of everything and lives in all; indeed, that this applies\nalso to the brutes and the whole of nature, and therefore he will not\ncause suffering even to a brute.(81)\n\nHe is now just as little likely to allow others to starve, while he\nhimself has enough and to spare, as any one would be to suffer hunger one\nday in order to have more the next day than he could enjoy. For to him who\ndoes works of love the veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2 has become transparent, the illusion\nof the _principium individuationis_ has left him. He recognises himself,\nhis will, in every being, and consequently also in the sufferer. He is now\nfree from the perversity with which the will to live, not recognising\nitself, here in one individual enjoys a fleeting and precarious pleasure,\nand there in another pays for it with suffering and starvation, and thus\nboth inflicts and endures misery, not knowing that, like Thyestes, it\neagerly devours its own flesh; and then, on the one hand, laments its\nundeserved suffering, and on the other hand transgresses without fear of\nNemesis, always merely because, involved in the _principium\nindividuationis_, thus generally in the kind of knowledge which is\ngoverned by the principle of sufficient reason, it does not recognise\nitself in the foreign phenomenon, and therefore does not perceive eternal\njustice. To be cured of this illusion and deception of M\u00e2y\u00e2, and to do\nworks of love, are one and the same. But the latter is the necessary and\ninevitable symptom of that knowledge.\n\nThe opposite of the sting of conscience, the origin and significance of\nwhich is explained above, is the _good conscience_, the satisfaction which\nwe experience after every disinterested deed. It arises from the fact that\nsuch a deed, as it proceeds from the direct recognition of our own inner\nbeing in the phenomenon of another, affords us also the verification of\nthis knowledge, the knowledge that our true self exists not only in our\nown person, this particular manifestation, but in everything that lives.\nBy this the heart feels itself enlarged, as by egoism it is contracted.\nFor as the latter concentrates our interest upon the particular\nmanifestation of our own individuality, upon which knowledge always\npresents to us the innumerable dangers which constantly threaten this\nmanifestation, and anxiety and care becomes the key-note of our\ndisposition; the knowledge that everything living is just as much our own\ninner nature, as is our own person, extends our interest to everything\nliving; and in this way the heart is enlarged. Thus through the diminished\ninterest in our own self, the anxious care for the self is attacked at its\nvery root and limited; hence the peace, the unbroken serenity, which a\nvirtuous disposition and a good conscience affords, and the more distinct\nappearance of this with every good deed, for it proves to ourselves the\ndepth of that disposition. The egoist feels himself surrounded by strange\nand hostile individuals, and all his hope is centred in his own good. The\ngood man lives in a world of friendly individuals, the well-being of any\nof whom he regards as his own. Therefore, although the knowledge of the\nlot of mankind generally does not make his disposition a joyful one, yet\nthe permanent knowledge of his own nature in all living beings, gives him\na certain evenness, and even serenity of disposition. For the interest\nwhich is extended to innumerable manifestations cannot cause such anxiety\nas that which is concentrated upon one. The accidents which concern\nindividuals collectively, equalise themselves, while those which happen to\nthe particular individual constitute good or bad fortune.\n\nThus, though others have set up moral principles which they give out as\nprescriptions for virtue, and laws which it was necessary to follow, I, as\nhas already been said, cannot do this because I have no \u201cought\u201d or law to\nprescribe to the eternally free-will. Yet on the other hand, in the\nconnection of my system, what to a certain extent corresponds and is\nanalogous to that undertaking is the purely theoretical truth, of which my\nwhole exposition may be regarded as merely an elaboration, that the will\nis the in-itself of every phenomenon but itself, as such, is free from the\nforms of the phenomenal, and consequently from multiplicity; a truth,\nwhich, with reference to action, I do not know how to express better than\nby the formula of the Vedas already quoted: \u201cTat twam asi!\u201d (This thou\nart!) Whoever is able to say this to himself, with regard to every being\nwith whom he comes in contact, with clear knowledge and firm inward\nconviction, is certain of all virtue and blessedness, and is on the direct\nroad to salvation.\n\nBut before I go further, and, as the conclusion of my exposition, show how\nlove, the origin and nature of which we recognised as the penetration of\nthe _principium individuationis_, leads to salvation, to the entire\nsurrender of the will to live, _i.e._, of all volition, and also how\nanother path, less soft but more frequented, leads men to the same goal, a\nparadoxical proposition must first be stated and explained; not because it\nis paradoxical, but because it is true, and is necessary to the\ncompleteness of the thought I have present. It is this: \u201cAll love (\u03b1\u03b3\u03b1\u03c0\u03b7,\n_caritas_) is sympathy.\u201d\n\n\u00a7 67. We have seen how justice proceeds from the penetration of the\n_principium individuationis_ in a less degree, and how from its\npenetration in a higher degree there arises goodness of disposition\nproper, which shows itself as pure, _i.e._, disinterested love towards\nothers. When now the latter becomes perfect, it places other individuals\nand their fate completely on a level with itself and its own fate. Further\nthan this it cannot go, for there exists no reason for preferring the\nindividuality of another to its own. Yet the number of other individuals\nwhose whole happiness or life is in danger may outweigh the regard for\none\u2019s own particular well-being. In such a case, the character that has\nattained to the highest goodness and perfect nobility will entirely\nsacrifice its own well-being, and even its life, for the well-being of\nmany others. So died Codrus, and Leonidas, and Regulus, and Decius Mus,\nand Arnold von Winkelried; so dies every one who voluntarily and\nconsciously faces certain death for his friends or his country. And they\nalso stand on the same level who voluntarily submit to suffering and death\nfor maintaining what conduces and rightly belongs to the welfare of all\nmankind; that is, for maintaining universal and important truths and\ndestroying great errors. So died Socrates and Giordano Bruno, and so many\na hero of the truth suffered death at the stake at the hands of the\npriests.\n\nNow, however, I must remind the reader, with reference to the paradox\nstated above, that we found before that suffering is essential to life as\na whole, and inseparable from it. And that we saw that every wish proceeds\nfrom a need, from a want, from suffering, and that therefore every\nsatisfaction is only the removal of a pain, and brings no positive\nhappiness; that the joys certainly lie to the wish, presenting themselves\nas a positive good, but in truth they have only a negative nature, and are\nonly the end of an evil. Therefore what goodness, love, and nobleness do\nfor others, is always merely an alleviation of their suffering, and\nconsequently all that can influence them to good deeds and works of love,\nis simply the _knowledge of the suffering of others_, which is directly\nunderstood from their own suffering and placed on a level with it. But it\nfollows from this that pure love (\u03b1\u03b3\u03b1\u03c0\u03b7, _caritas_) is in its nature\nsympathy; whether the suffering it mitigates, to which every unsatisfied\nwish belongs, be great or small. Therefore we shall have no hesitation, in\ndirect contradiction to Kant, who will only recognise all true goodness\nand all virtue to be such, if it has proceeded from abstract reflection,\nand indeed from the conception of duty and of the categorical imperative,\nand explains felt sympathy as weakness, and by no means virtue, we shall\nhave no hesitation, I say, in direct contradiction to Kant, in saying: the\nmere concept is for genuine virtue just as unfruitful as it is for genuine\nart: all true and pure love is sympathy, and all love which is not\nsympathy is selfishness. \u0395\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 is selfishness, \u03b1\u03b3\u03b1\u03c0\u03b7 is sympathy.\nCombinations of the two frequently occur. Indeed genuine friendship is\nalways a mixture of selfishness and sympathy; the former lies in the\npleasure experienced in the presence of the friend, whose individuality\ncorresponds to our own, and this almost always constitutes the greatest\npart; sympathy shows itself in the sincere participation in his joy and\ngrief, and the disinterested sacrifices made in respect of the latter.\nThus Spinoza says: _Benevolentia nihil aliud est, quam cupiditas ex\ncommiseratione orta_ (Eth. iii. pr. 27, cor. 3, schol.) As a confirmation\nof our paradoxical proposition it may be observed that the tone and words\nof the language and caresses of pure love, entirely coincide with the\ntones of sympathy; and we may also remark in passing that in Italian\nsympathy and true love are denoted by the same word _piet\u00e0_.\n\nThis is also the place to explain one of the most striking peculiarities\nof human nature, _weeping_, which, like laughter, belongs to those\nqualities which distinguish man from the brutes. Weeping is by no means a\ndirect expression of pain, for it occurs where there is very little pain.\nIn my opinion, indeed, we never weep directly on account of the pain we\nexperience, but always merely on account of its repetition in reflection.\nWe pass from the felt pain, even when it is physical, to a mere idea of\nit, and then find our own state so deserving of sympathy that we are\nfirmly and sincerely convinced that if another were the sufferer, we would\nbe full of sympathy, and love to relieve him. But now we ourselves are the\nobject of our own sympathy; with the most benevolent disposition we are\nourselves most in need of help; we feel that we suffer more than we could\nsee another suffer; and in this very complex frame of mind, in which the\ndirectly felt suffering only comes to perception by a doubly circuitous\nroute, imagined as the suffering of another, sympathised with as such, and\nthen suddenly perceived again as directly our own,\u2014in this complex frame\nof mind, I say, Nature relieves itself through that remarkable physical\nconflict. _Weeping_ is accordingly _sympathy with our own selves_, or\nsympathy directed back on its source. It is therefore conditional upon the\ncapacity for love and sympathy, and also upon imagination. Therefore men\nwho are either hard-hearted or unimaginative do not weep easily, and\nweeping is even always regarded as a sign of a certain degree of goodness\nof character, and disarms anger, because it is felt that whoever can still\nweep, must necessarily always be capable of love, _i.e._, sympathy towards\nothers, for this enters in the manner described into the disposition that\nleads to weeping. The description which Petrarch gives of the rising of\nhis own tears, na\u00efvely and truly expressing his feeling, entirely agrees\nwith the explanation we have given\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cI vo pensando: e nel pensar m\u2019 assale\n    _Una piet\u00e0 si forte di me stesso_,\n    Che mi conduce spesso,\n    Ad alto lagrimar, ch\u2019i non soleva.\u201d(82)\n\n\nWhat has been said is also confirmed by the fact that children who have\nbeen hurt generally do not cry till some one commiserates them; thus not\non account of the pain, but on account of the idea of it. When we are\nmoved to tears, not through our own suffering but through that of another,\nthis happens as follows. Either we vividly put ourselves in the place of\nthe sufferer by imagination, or see in his fate the lot of humanity as a\nwhole, and consequently, first of all, our own lot; and thus, in a very\nroundabout way, it is yet always about ourselves that we weep, sympathy\nwith ourselves which we feel. This seems to be the principal reason of the\nuniversal, and thus natural, weeping in the case of death. The mourner\ndoes not weep for his loss; he would be ashamed of such egotistical tears,\ninstead of which he is sometimes ashamed of not weeping. First of all he\ncertainly weeps for the fate of the dead, but he also weeps when, after\nlong, heavy, and incurable suffering, death was to this man a wished-for\ndeliverance. Thus, principally, he is seized with sympathy for the lot of\nall mankind, which is necessarily finite, so that every life, however\naspiring, and often rich in deeds, must be extinguished and become\nnothing. But in this lot of mankind the mourner sees first of all his own,\nand this all the more, the more closely he is related to him who has died,\nthus most of all if it is his father. Although to his father his life was\nmisery through age and sickness, and though his helplessness was a heavy\nburden to his son, yet that son weeps bitterly over the death of his\nfather for the reason which has been given.(83)\n\n\u00a7 68. After this digression about the identity of pure love and sympathy,\nthe final return of which upon our own individuality has, as its symptom,\nthe phenomenon of weeping, I now take up the thread of our discussion of\nthe ethical significance of action, in order to show how, from the same\nsource from which all goodness, love, virtue, and nobility of character\nspring, there finally arises that which I call the denial of the will to\nlive.\n\nWe saw before that hatred and wickedness are conditioned by egoism, and\negoism rests on the entanglement of knowledge in the _principium\nindividuationis_. Thus we found that the penetration of that _principium\nindividuationis_ is the source and the nature of justice, and when it is\ncarried further, even to its fullest extent, it is the source and nature\nof love and nobility of character. For this penetration alone, by\nabolishing the distinction between our own individuality and that of\nothers, renders possible and explains perfect goodness of disposition,\nextending to disinterested love and the most generous self-sacrifice for\nothers.\n\nIf, however, this penetration of the _principium individuationis_, this\ndirect knowledge of the identity of will in all its manifestations, is\npresent in a high degree of distinctness, it will at once show an\ninfluence upon the will which extends still further. If that veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2,\nthe _principium individuationis_, is lifted from the eyes of a man to such\nan extent that he no longer makes the egotistical distinction between his\nperson and that of others, but takes as much interest in the sufferings of\nother individuals as in his own, and therefore is not only benevolent in\nthe highest degree, but even ready to sacrifice his own individuality\nwhenever such a sacrifice will save a number of other persons, then it\nclearly follows that such a man, who recognises in all beings his own\ninmost and true self, must also regard the infinite suffering of all\nsuffering beings as his own, and take on himself the pain of the whole\nworld. No suffering is any longer strange to him. All the miseries of\nothers which he sees and is so seldom able to alleviate, all the miseries\nhe knows directly, and even those which he only knows as possible, work\nupon his mind like his own. It is no longer the changing joy and sorrow of\nhis own person that he has in view, as is the case with him who is still\ninvolved in egoism; but, since he sees through the _principium\nindividuationis_, all lies equally near him. He knows the whole,\ncomprehends its nature, and finds that it consists in a constant passing\naway, vain striving, inward conflict, and continual suffering. He sees\nwherever he looks suffering humanity, the suffering brute creation, and a\nworld that passes away. But all this now lies as near him as his own\nperson lies to the egoist. Why should he now, with such knowledge of the\nworld, assert this very life through constant acts of will, and thereby\nbind himself ever more closely to it, press it ever more firmly to\nhimself? Thus he who is still involved in the _principium\nindividuationis_, in egoism, only knows particular things and their\nrelation to his own person, and these constantly become new _motives_ of\nhis volition. But, on the other hand, that knowledge of the whole, of the\nnature of the thing-in-itself which has been described, becomes a\n_quieter_ of all and every volition. The will now turns away from life; it\nnow shudders at the pleasures in which it recognises the assertion of\nlife. Man now attains to the state of voluntary renunciation, resignation,\ntrue indifference, and perfect will-lessness. If at times, in the hard\nexperience of our own suffering, or in the vivid recognition of that of\nothers, the knowledge of the vanity and bitterness of life draws nigh to\nus also who are still wrapt in the veil of M\u00e2y\u00e2, and we would like to\ndestroy the sting of the desires, close the entrance against all\nsuffering, and purify and sanctify ourselves by complete and final\nrenunciation; yet the illusion of the phenomenon soon entangles us again,\nand its motives influence the will anew; we cannot tear ourselves free.\nThe allurement of hope, the flattery of the present, the sweetness of\npleasure, the well-being which falls to our lot, amid the lamentations of\na suffering world governed by chance and error, draws us back to it and\nrivets our bonds anew. Therefore Jesus says: \u201cIt is easier for a camel to\ngo through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the\nkingdom of God.\u201d\n\nIf we compare life to a course or path through which we must unceasingly\nrun\u2014a path of red-hot coals, with a few cool places here and there; then\nhe who is entangled in delusion is consoled by the cool places, on which\nhe now stands, or which he sees near him, and sets out to run through the\ncourse. But he who sees through the _principium individuationis_, and\nrecognises the real nature of the thing-in-itself, and thus the whole, is\nno longer susceptible of such consolation; he sees himself in all places\nat once, and withdraws. His will turns round, no longer asserts its own\nnature, which is reflected in the phenomenon, but denies it. The\nphenomenon by which this change is marked, is the transition from virtue\nto asceticism. That is to say, it no longer suffices for such a man to\nlove others as himself, and to do as much for them as for himself; but\nthere arises within him a horror of the nature of which his own phenomenal\nexistence is an expression, the will to live, the kernel and inner nature\nof that world which is recognised as full of misery. He therefore disowns\nthis nature which appears in him, and is already expressed through his\nbody, and his action gives the lie to his phenomenal existence, and\nappears in open contradiction to it. Essentially nothing else but a\nmanifestation of will, he ceases to will anything, guards against\nattaching his will to anything, and seeks to confirm in himself the\ngreatest indifference to everything. His body, healthy and strong,\nexpresses through the genitals, the sexual impulse; but he denies the will\nand gives the lie to the body; he desires no sensual gratification under\nany condition. Voluntary and complete chastity is the first step in\nasceticism or the denial of the will to live. It thereby denies the\nassertion of the will which extends beyond the individual life, and gives\nthe assurance that with the life of this body, the will, whose\nmanifestation it is, ceases. Nature, always true and na\u00efve, declares that\nif this maxim became universal, the human race would die out; and I think\nI may assume, in accordance with what was said in the Second Book about\nthe connection of all manifestations of will, that with its highest\nmanifestation, the weaker reflection of it would also pass away, as the\ntwilight vanishes along with the full light. With the entire abolition of\nknowledge, the rest of the world would of itself vanish into nothing; for\nwithout a subject there is no object. I should like here to refer to a\npassage in the Vedas, where it is said: \u201cAs in this world hungry infants\npress round their mother; so do all beings await the holy oblation.\u201d\n(Asiatic Researches, vol. viii.; Colebrooke, On the Vedas, Abstract of the\nSama-Veda; also in Colebrooke\u2019s Miscellaneous Essays, vol. i. p. 79.)\nSacrifice means resignation generally, and the rest of nature must look\nfor its salvation to man who is at once the priest and the sacrifice.\nIndeed it deserves to be noticed as very remarkable, that this thought has\nalso been expressed by the admirable and unfathomably profound Angelus\nSilesius, in the little poem entitled, \u201cMan brings all to God;\u201d it runs,\n\u201cMan! all loves thee; around thee great is the throng. All things flee to\nthee that they may attain to God.\u201d But a yet greater mystic, Meister\nEckhard, whose wonderful writings are at last accessible (1857) through\nthe edition of Franz Pfeiffer, says the same thing (p. 459) quite in the\nsense explained here: \u201cI bear witness to the saying of Christ. I, if I be\nlifted up from the earth, will draw all things unto me (John xii. 32). So\nshall the good man draw all things up to God, to the source whence they\nfirst came. The Masters certify to us that all creatures are made for the\nsake of man. This is proved in all created things, by the fact that the\none makes the use of the other; the ox makes use of the grass, the fish of\nthe water, the bird of the air, the wild beast of the forest. Thus, all\ncreated things become of use to the good man. A good man brings to God the\none created thing in the other.\u201d He means to say, that man makes use of\nthe brutes in this life because, in and with himself, he saves them also.\nIt also seems to me that that difficult passage in the Bible, Rom. viii.\n21-24, must be interpreted in this sense.\n\nIn Buddhism also, there is no lack of expressions of this truth. For\nexample, when Buddha, still as Bodisatwa, has his horse saddled for the\nlast time, for his flight into the wilderness from his father\u2019s house, he\nsays these lines to the horse: \u201cLong hast thou existed in life and in\ndeath, but now thou shalt cease from carrying and drawing. Bear me but\nthis once more, O Kantakana, away from here, and when I have attained to\nthe Law (have become Buddha) I will not forget thee\u201d (Foe Koue Ki, trad.\np. Abel R\u00e9musat, p. 233).\n\nAsceticism then shows itself further in voluntary and intentional poverty,\nwhich not only arises _per accidens_, because the possessions are given\naway to mitigate the sufferings of others, but is here an end in itself,\nis meant to serve as a constant mortification of will, so that the\nsatisfaction of the wishes, the sweet of life, shall not again arouse the\nwill, against which self-knowledge has conceived a horror. He who has\nattained to this point, still always feels, as a living body, as concrete\nmanifestation of will, the natural disposition for every kind of volition;\nbut he intentionally suppresses it, for he compels himself to refrain from\ndoing all that he would like to do, and to do all that he would like not\nto do, even if this has no further end than that of serving as a\nmortification of will. Since he himself denies the will which appears in\nhis own person, he will not resist if another does the same, _i.e._,\ninflicts wrongs upon him. Therefore every suffering coming to him from\nwithout, through chance or the wickedness of others, is welcome to him,\nevery injury, ignominy, and insult; he receives them gladly as the\nopportunity of learning with certainty that he no longer asserts the will,\nbut gladly sides with every enemy of the manifestation of will which is\nhis own person. Therefore he bears such ignominy and suffering with\ninexhaustible patience and meekness, returns good for evil without\nostentation, and allows the fire of anger to rise within him just as\nlittle as that of the desires. And he mortifies not only the will itself,\nbut also its visible form, its objectivity, the body. He nourishes it\nsparingly, lest its excessive vigour and prosperity should animate and\nexcite more strongly the will, of which it is merely the expression and\nthe mirror. So he practises fasting, and even resorts to chastisement and\nself-inflicted torture, in order that, by constant privation and\nsuffering, he may more and more break down and destroy the will, which he\nrecognises and abhors as the source of his own suffering existence and\nthat of the world. If at last death comes, which puts an end to this\nmanifestation of that will, whose existence here has long since perished\nthrough free-denial of itself, with the exception of the weak residue of\nit which appears as the life of this body; it is most welcome, and is\ngladly received as a longed-for deliverance. Here it is not, as in the\ncase of others, merely the manifestation which ends with death; but the\ninner nature itself is abolished, which here existed only in the\nmanifestation, and that in a very weak degree;(84) this last slight bond\nis now broken. For him who thus ends, the world has ended also.\n\nAnd what I have here described with feeble tongue and only in general\nterms, is no philosophical fable, invented by myself, and only of to-day;\nno, it was the enviable life of so many saints and beautiful souls among\nChristians, and still more among Hindus and Buddhists, and also among the\nbelievers of other religions. However different were the dogmas impressed\non their reason, the same inward, direct, intuitive knowledge, from which\nalone all virtue and holiness proceed, expressed itself in precisely the\nsame way in the conduct of life. For here also the great distinction\nbetween intuitive and abstract knowledge shows itself; a distinction which\nis of such importance and universal application in our whole\ninvestigation, and which has hitherto been too little attended to. There\nis a wide gulf between the two, which can only be crossed by the aid of\nphilosophy, as regards the knowledge of the nature of the world.\nIntuitively or _in concreto_, every man is really conscious of all\nphilosophical truths, but to bring them to abstract knowledge, to\nreflection, is the work of philosophy, which neither ought nor is able to\ndo more than this.\n\nThus it may be that the inner nature of holiness, self-renunciation,\nmortification of our own will, asceticism, is here for the first time\nexpressed abstractly, and free from all mythical elements, as _denial of\nthe will to live_, appearing after the complete knowledge of its own\nnature has become a quieter of all volition. On the other hand, it has\nbeen known directly and realised in practice by saints and ascetics, who\nhad all the same inward knowledge, though they used very different\nlanguage with regard to it, according to the dogmas which their reason had\naccepted, and in consequence of which an Indian, a Christian, or a Lama\nsaint must each give a very different account of his conduct, which is,\nhowever, of no importance as regards the fact. A saint may be full of the\nabsurdest superstition, or, on the contrary, he may be a philosopher, it\nis all the same. His conduct alone certifies that he is a saint, for, in a\nmoral regard, it proceeds from knowledge of the world and its nature,\nwhich is not abstractly but intuitively and directly apprehended, and is\nonly expressed by him in any dogma for the satisfaction of his reason. It\nis therefore just as little needful that a saint should be a philosopher\nas that a philosopher should be a saint; just as it is not necessary that\na perfectly beautiful man should be a great sculptor, or that a great\nsculptor should himself be a beautiful man. In general, it is a strange\ndemand upon a moralist that he should teach no other virtue than that\nwhich he himself possesses. To repeat the whole nature of the world\nabstractly, universally, and distinctly in concepts, and thus to store up,\nas it were, a reflected image of it in permanent concepts always at the\ncommand of the reason; this and nothing else is philosophy. I refer the\nreader to the passage quoted from Bacon in the First Book.\n\nBut the description I have given above of the denial of the will to live,\nof the conduct of a beautiful soul, of a resigned and voluntarily\nexpiating saint, is merely abstract and general, and therefore cold. As\nthe knowledge from which the denial of the will proceeds is intuitive and\nnot abstract, it finds its most perfect expression, not in abstract\nconceptions, but in deeds and conduct. Therefore, in order to understand\nfully what we philosophically express as denial of the will to live, one\nmust come to know examples of it in experience and actual life. Certainly\nthey are not to be met with in daily experience: _Nam omnia pr\u00e6clara tam\ndifficilia quam rara sunt_, Spinoza admirably says. Therefore, unless by a\nspecially happy fate we are made eye-witnesses, we have to content\nourselves with descriptions of the lives of such men. Indian literature,\nas we see from the little that we as yet know through translations, is\nvery rich in descriptions of the lives of saints, penitents, Samanas or\nascetics, Sanny\u00e2sis or mendicants, and whatever else they may be called.\nEven the well-known \u201cMythologie des Indous, par Mad. de Polier,\u201d though by\nno means to be commended in every respect, contains many excellent\nexamples of this kind (especially in ch. 13, vol. ii.) Among Christians\nalso there is no lack of examples which afford us the illustrations we\ndesire. See the biographies, for the most part badly written, of those\npersons who are sometimes called saintly souls, sometimes pietists,\nquietists, devout enthusiasts, and so forth. Collections of such\nbiographies have been made at various times, such as Tersteegen\u2019s \u201cLeben\nheiliger Seelen,\u201d Reiz\u2019s \u201cGeschichte der Wiedergeborennen,\u201d in our own\nday, a collection by Kanne, which, with much that is bad, yet contains\nsome good, and especially the \u201cLeben der Beata Sturmin.\u201d To this category\nvery properly belongs the life of St. Francis of Assisi, that true\npersonification of the ascetic, and prototype of all mendicant friars. His\nlife, described by his younger contemporary, St. Bonaventura, also famous\nas a scholastic, has recently been republished. \u201cVita S. Francisci a S.\nBonaventura concinnata\u201d (Soest, 1847), though shortly before a painstaking\nand detailed biography, making use of all sources of information, appeared\nin France, \u201cHistoire de S. Fran\u00e7ois d\u2019Assise, par Chavin de Mallan\u201d\n(1845). As an Oriental parallel of these monastic writings we have the\nvery valuable work of Spence Hardy, \u201cEastern Monachism; an Account of the\nOrder of Mendicants founded by Gotama Budha\u201d (1850). It shows us the same\nthing in another dress. We also see what a matter of indifference it is\nwhether it proceeds from a theistical or an atheistical religion. But as a\nspecial and exceedingly full example and practical illustration of the\nconceptions I have established, I can thoroughly recommend the\n\u201cAutobiography of Madame de Guion.\u201d To become acquainted with this great\nand beautiful soul, the very thought of whom always fills me with\nreverence, and to do justice to the excellence of her disposition while\nmaking allowance for the superstition of her reason, must be just as\ndelightful to every man of the better sort as with vulgar thinkers,\n_i.e._, the majority, that book will always stand in bad repute. For it is\nthe case with regard to everything, that each man can only prize that\nwhich to a certain extent is analogous to him and for which he has at\nleast a slight inclination. This holds good of ethical concerns as well as\nof intellectual. We might to a certain extent regard the well-known French\nbiography of Spinoza as a case in point, if we used as a key to it that\nnoble introduction to his very insufficient essay, \u201cDe Emendatione\nIntellectus,\u201d a passage which I can also recommend as the most effectual\nmeans I know of stilling the storm of the passions. Finally, even the\ngreat Goethe, Greek as he is, did not think it below his dignity to show\nus this most beautiful side of humanity in the magic mirror of poetic art,\nfor he represented the life of Fr\u00e4ulein Klettenberg in an idealised form\nin his \u201cConfessions of a Beautiful Soul,\u201d and later, in his own biography,\ngave us also an historical account of it. Besides this, he twice told the\nstory of the life of St. Philippo Neri. The history of the world, will,\nand indeed must, keep silence about the men whose conduct is the best and\nonly adequate illustration of this important point of our investigation,\nfor the material of the history of the world is quite different, and\nindeed opposed to this. It is not the denial of the will to live, but its\nassertion and its manifestation in innumerable individuals in which its\nconflict with itself at the highest grade of its objectification appears\nwith perfect distinctness, and brings before our eyes, now the ascendancy\nof the individual through prudence, now the might of the many through\ntheir mass, now the might of chance personified as fate, always the vanity\nand emptiness of the whole effort. We, however, do not follow here the\ncourse of phenomena in time, but, as philosophers, we seek to investigate\nthe ethical significance of action, and take this as the only criterion of\nwhat for us is significant and important. Thus we will not be withheld by\nany fear of the constant numerical superiority of vulgarity and dulness\nfrom acknowledging that the greatest, most important, and most significant\nphenomenon that the world can show is not the conqueror of the world, but\nthe subduer of it; is nothing but the quiet, unobserved life of a man who\nhas attained to the knowledge in consequence of which he surrenders and\ndenies that will to live which fills everything and strives and strains in\nall, and which first gains freedom here in him alone, so that his conduct\nbecomes the exact opposite of that of other men. In this respect,\ntherefore, for the philosopher, these accounts of the lives of holy,\nself-denying men, badly as they are generally written, and mixed as they\nare with superstition and nonsense, are, because of the significance of\nthe material, immeasurably more instructive and important than even\nPlutarch and Livy.\n\nIt will further assist us much in obtaining a more definite and full\nknowledge of what we have expressed abstractly and generally, according to\nour method of exposition, as the denial of the will to live, if we\nconsider the moral teaching that has been imparted with this intention,\nand by men who were full of this spirit; and this will also show how old\nour view is, though the pure philosophical expression of it may be quite\nnew. The teaching of this kind which lies nearest to hand is Christianity,\nthe ethics of which are entirely in the spirit indicated, and lead not\nonly to the highest degrees of human love, but also to renunciation. The\ngerm of this last side of it is certainly distinctly present in the\nwritings of the Apostles, but it was only fully developed and expressed\nlater. We find the Apostles enjoining the love of our neighbour as\nourselves, benevolence, the requital of hatred with love and well-doing,\npatience, meekness, the endurance of all possible injuries without\nresistance, abstemiousness in nourishment to keep down lust, resistance to\nsensual desire, if possible, altogether. We already see here the first\ndegrees of asceticism, or denial of the will proper. This last expression\ndenotes that which in the Gospels is called denying ourselves and taking\nup the cross (Matt. xvi. 24, 25; Mark viii. 34, 35; Luke ix. 23, 24, xiv.\n26, 27, 33). This tendency soon developed itself more and more, and was\nthe origin of hermits, anchorites, and monasticism\u2014an origin which in\nitself was pure and holy, but for that very reason unsuitable for the\ngreat majority of men; therefore what developed out of it could only be\nhypocrisy and wickedness, for _abusus optimi pessimus_. In more developed\nChristianity, we see that seed of asceticism unfold into the full flower\nin the writings of the Christian saints and mystics. These preach, besides\nthe purest love, complete resignation, voluntary and absolute poverty,\ngenuine calmness, perfect indifference to all worldly things, dying to our\nown will and being born again in God, entire forgetting of our own person,\nand sinking ourselves in the contemplation of God. A full exposition of\nthis will be found in F\u00e9n\u00e9lon\u2019s \u201cExplication des Maximes des Saints sur la\nVie Interieure.\u201d But the spirit of this development of Christianity is\ncertainly nowhere so fully and powerfully expressed as in the writings of\nthe German mystics, in the works of Meister Eckhard, and in that justly\nfamous book \u201cDie Deutsche Theologie,\u201d of which Luther says in the\nintroduction to it which he wrote, that with the exception of the Bible\nand St. Augustine, he had learnt more from it of what God, Christ, and man\nare than from any other book. Yet we only got the genuine and correct text\nof it in the year 1851, in the Stuttgart edition by Pfeiffer. The precepts\nand doctrines which are laid down there are the most perfect exposition,\nsprung from deep inward conviction of what I have presented as the denial\nof the will. It should therefore be studied more closely in that form\nbefore it is dogmatised about with Jewish-Protestant assurance. Tauler\u2019s\n\u201cNachfolgung des armen Leben Christi,\u201d and also his \u201cMedulla Anim\u00e6,\u201d are\nwritten in the same admirable spirit, though not quite equal in value to\nthat work. In my opinion the teaching of these genuine Christian mystics,\nwhen compared with the teaching of the New Testament, is as alcohol to\nwine, or what becomes visible in the New Testament as through a veil and\nmist appears to us in the works of the mystics without cloak or disguise,\nin full clearness and distinctness. Finally, the New Testament might be\nregarded as the first initiation, the mystics as the second,\u2014\u03c3\u03bc\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\n\u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1 \u03bc\u03c5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1\u03b9\u03b1.\n\nWe find, however, that which we have called the denial of the will to live\nmore fully developed, more variously expressed, and more vividly\nrepresented in the ancient Sanscrit writings than could be the case in the\nChristian Church and the Western world. That this important ethical view\nof life could here attain to a fuller development and a more distinct\nexpression is perhaps principally to be ascribed to the fact that it was\nnot confined by an element quite foreign to it, as Christianity is by the\nJewish theology, to which its sublime author had necessarily to adopt and\naccommodate it, partly consciously, partly, it may be, unconsciously. Thus\nChristianity is made up of two very different constituent parts, and I\nshould like to call the purely ethical part especially and indeed\nexclusively Christian, and distinguish it from the Jewish dogmatism with\nwhich it is combined. If, as has often been feared, and especially at the\npresent time, that excellent and salutary religion should altogether\ndecline, I should look for the reason of this simply in the fact that it\ndoes not consist of one single element, but of two originally different\nelements, which have only been combined through the accident of history.\nIn such a case dissolution had to follow through the separation of these\nelements, arising from their different relationship to and reaction\nagainst the progressive spirit of the age. But even after this dissolution\nthe purely ethical part must always remain uninjured, because it is\nindestructible. Our knowledge of Hindu literature is still very imperfect.\nYet, as we find their ethical teaching variously and powerfully expressed\nin the Vedas, Puranas, poems, myths, legends of their saints, maxims and\nprecepts,(85) we see that it inculcates love of our neighbour with\ncomplete renunciation of self-love; love generally, not confined to\nmankind, but including all living creatures; benevolence, even to the\ngiving away of the hard-won wages of daily toil; unlimited patience\ntowards all who injure us; the requital of all wickedness, however base,\nwith goodness and love; voluntary and glad endurance of all ignominy;\nabstinence from all animal food; perfect chastity and renunciation of all\nsensual pleasure for him who strives after true holiness; the surrender of\nall possessions, the forsaking of every dwelling-place and of all\nrelatives; deep unbroken solitude, spent in silent contemplation, with\nvoluntary penance and terrible slow self-torture for the absolute\nmortification of the will, torture which extends to voluntary death by\nstarvation, or by men giving themselves up to crocodiles, or flinging\nthemselves over the sacred precipice in the Himalayas, or being buried\nalive, or, finally, by flinging themselves under the wheels of the huge\ncar of an idol drawn along amid the singing, shouting, and dancing of\nbayaderes. And even yet these precepts, whose origin reaches back more\nthan four thousand years, are carried out in practice, in some cases even\nto the utmost extreme,(86) and this notwithstanding the fact that the\nHindu nation has been broken up into so many parts. A religion which\ndemands the greatest sacrifices, and which has yet remained so long in\npractice in a nation that embraces so many millions of persons, cannot be\nan arbitrarily invented superstition, but must have its foundation in the\nnature of man. But besides this, if we read the life of a Christian\npenitent or saint, and also that of a Hindu saint, we cannot sufficiently\nwonder at the harmony we find between them. In the case of such radically\ndifferent dogmas, customs, and circumstances, the inward life and effort\nof both is the same. And the same harmony prevails in the maxims\nprescribed for both of them. For example, Tauler speaks of the absolute\npoverty which one ought to seek, and which consists in giving away and\ndivesting oneself completely of everything from which one might draw\ncomfort or worldly pleasure, clearly because all this constantly affords\nnew nourishment to the will, which it is intended to destroy entirely. And\nas an Indian counterpart of this, we find in the precepts of Fo that the\nSaniassi, who ought to be without a dwelling and entirely without\nproperty, is further finally enjoined not to lay himself down often under\nthe same tree, lest he should acquire a preference or inclination for it\nabove other trees. The Christian mystic and the teacher of the Vedanta\nphilosophy agree in this respect also, they both regard all outward works\nand religious exercises as superfluous for him who has attained to\nperfection. So much agreement in the case of such different ages and\nnations is a practical proof that what is expressed here is not, as\noptimistic dulness likes to assert, an eccentricity and perversity of the\nmind, but an essential side of human nature, which only appears so rarely\nbecause of its excellence.\n\nI have now indicated the sources from which there may be obtained a direct\nknowledge, drawn from life itself, of the phenomena in which the denial of\nthe will to live exhibits itself. In some respects this is the most\nimportant point of our whole work; yet I have only explained it quite\ngenerally, for it is better to refer to those who speak from direct\nexperience, than to increase the size of this book unduly by weak\nrepetitions of what is said by them.\n\nI only wish to add a little to the general indication of the nature of\nthis state. We saw above that the wicked man, by the vehemence of his\nvolition, suffers constant, consuming, inward pain, and finally, if all\nobjects of volition are exhausted, quenches the fiery thirst of his\nself-will by the sight of the suffering of others. He, on the contrary,\nwho has attained to the denial of the will to live, however poor, joyless,\nand full of privation his condition may appear when looked at externally,\nis yet filled with inward joy and the true peace of heaven. It is not the\nrestless strain of life, the jubilant delight which has keen suffering as\nits preceding or succeeding condition, in the experience of the man who\nloves life; but it is a peace that cannot be shaken, a deep rest and\ninward serenity, a state which we cannot behold without the greatest\nlonging when it is brought before our eyes or our imagination, because we\nat once recognise it as that which alone is right, infinitely surpassing\neverything else, upon which our better self cries within us the great\n_sapere aude_. Then we feel that every gratification of our wishes won\nfrom the world is merely like the alms which the beggar receives from life\nto-day that he may hunger again on the morrow; resignation, on the\ncontrary, is like an inherited estate, it frees the owner for ever from\nall care.\n\nIt will be remembered from the Third Book that the \u00e6sthetic pleasure in\nthe beautiful consists in great measure in the fact that in entering the\nstate of pure contemplation we are lifted for the moment above all\nwilling, _i.e._, all wishes and cares; we become, as it were, freed from\nourselves. We are no longer the individual whose knowledge is subordinated\nto the service of its constant willing, the correlative of the particular\nthing to which objects are motives, but the eternal subject of knowing\npurified from will, the correlative of the Platonic Idea. And we know that\nthese moments in which, delivered from the ardent strain of will, we seem\nto rise out of the heavy atmosphere of earth, are the happiest which we\nexperience. From this we can understand how blessed the life of a man must\nbe whose will is silenced, not merely for a moment, as in the enjoyment of\nthe beautiful, but for ever, indeed altogether extinguished, except as\nregards the last glimmering spark that retains the body in life, and will\nbe extinguished with its death. Such a man, who, after many bitter\nstruggles with his own nature, has finally conquered entirely, continues\nto exist only as a pure, knowing being, the undimmed mirror of the world.\nNothing can trouble him more, nothing can move him, for he has cut all the\nthousand cords of will which hold us bound to the world, and, as desire,\nfear, envy, anger, drag us hither and thither in constant pain. He now\nlooks back smiling and at rest on the delusions of this world, which once\nwere able to move and agonise his spirit also, but which now stand before\nhim as utterly indifferent to him, as the chess-men when the game is\nended, or as, in the morning, the cast-off masquerading dress which\nworried and disquieted us in a night in Carnival. Life and its forms now\npass before him as a fleeting illusion, as a light morning dream before\nhalf-waking eyes, the real world already shining through it so that it can\nno longer deceive; and like this morning dream, they finally vanish\naltogether without any violent transition. From this we can understand the\nmeaning of Madame Guion when towards the end of her autobiography she\noften expresses herself thus: \u201cEverything is alike to me; I _cannot_ will\nanything more: often I know not whether I exist or not.\u201d In order to\nexpress how, after the extinction of the will, the death of the body\n(which is indeed only the manifestation of the will, and therefore loses\nall significance when the will is abolished) can no longer have any\nbitterness, but is very welcome, I may be allowed to quote the words of\nthat holy penitent, although they are not very elegantly turned: \u201c_Midi de\nla gloire; jour o\u00f9 il n\u2019y a plus de nuit; vie qui ne craint plus la mort,\ndans la mort m\u00eame: parceque la mort a vaincu la mort, et que celui qui a\nsouffert la premi\u00e8re mort, ne goutera plus la seconde mort_\u201d (Vie de Mad.\nde Guion, vol. ii. p. 13).\n\nWe must not, however, suppose that when, by means of the knowledge which\nacts as a quieter of will, the denial of the will to live has once\nappeared, it never wavers or vacillates, and that we can rest upon it as\non an assured possession. Rather, it must ever anew be attained by a\nconstant battle. For since the body is the will itself only in the form of\nobjectivity or as manifestation in the world as idea, so long as the body\nlives, the whole will to live exists potentially, and constantly strives\nto become actual, and to burn again with all its ardour. Therefore that\npeace and blessedness in the life of holy men which we have described is\nonly found as the flower which proceeds from the constant victory over the\nwill, and the ground in which it grows is the constant battle with the\nwill to live, for no one can have lasting peace upon earth. We therefore\nsee the histories of the inner life of saints full of spiritual conflicts,\ntemptations, and absence of grace, _i.e._, the kind of knowledge which\nmakes all motives ineffectual, and as an universal quieter silences all\nvolition, gives the deepest peace and opens the door of freedom. Therefore\nalso we see those who have once attained to the denial of the will to live\nstrive with all their might to keep upon this path, by enforced\nrenunciation of every kind, by penance and severity of life, and by\nselecting whatever is disagreeable to them, all in order to suppress the\nwill, which is constantly springing up anew. Hence, finally, because they\nalready know the value of salvation, their anxious carefulness to retain\nthe hard-won blessing, their scruples of conscience about every innocent\npleasure, or about every little excitement of their vanity, which here\nalso dies last, the most immovable, the most active, and the most foolish\nof all the inclinations of man. By the term _asceticism_, which I have\nused so often, I mean in its narrower sense this _intentional_ breaking of\nthe will by the refusal of what is agreeable and the selection of what is\ndisagreeable, the voluntarily chosen life of penance and self-chastisement\nfor the continual mortification of the will.\n\nWe see this practised by him who has attained to the denial of the will in\norder to enable him to persist in it; but suffering in general, as it is\ninflicted by fate, is a second way (\u03b4\u03b5\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2(87)) of attaining to\nthat denial. Indeed, we may assume that most men only attain to it in this\nway, and that it is the suffering which is personally experienced, not\nthat which is merely known, which most frequently produces complete\nresignation, often only at the approach of death. For only in the case of\na few is the mere knowledge which, seeing through the _principium\nindividuationis_, first produces perfect goodness of disposition and\nuniversal love of humanity, and finally enables them to regard all the\nsuffering of the world as their own; only in the case of a few, I say, is\nthis knowledge sufficient to bring about the denial of the will. Even with\nhim who approaches this point, it is almost invariably the case that the\ntolerable condition of his own body, the flattery of the moment, the\ndelusion of hope, and the satisfaction of the will, which is ever\npresenting itself anew, _i.e._, lust, is a constant hindrance to the\ndenial of the will, and a constant temptation to the renewed assertion of\nit. Therefore in this respect all these illusions have been personified as\nthe devil. Thus in most cases the will must be broken by great personal\nsuffering before its self-conquest appears. Then we see the man who has\npassed through all the increasing degrees of affliction with the most\nvehement resistance, and is finally brought to the verge of despair,\nsuddenly retire into himself, know himself and the world, change his whole\nnature, rise above himself and all suffering, as if purified and\nsanctified by it, in inviolable peace, blessedness, and sublimity,\nwillingly renounce everything he previously desired with all his might,\nand joyfully embrace death. It is the refined silver of the denial of the\nwill to live that suddenly comes forth from the purifying flame of\nsuffering. It is salvation. Sometimes we see even those who were very\nwicked purified to this degree by great grief; they have become new beings\nand are completely changed. Therefore their former misdeeds trouble their\nconsciences no more, yet they willingly atone for them by death, and\ngladly see the end of the manifestation of that will which is now foreign\nto them and abhorred by them. The great Goethe has given us a distinct and\nvisible representation of this denial of the will, brought about by great\nmisfortunes and despair of all deliverance, in his immortal masterpiece\n\u201cFaust,\u201d in the story of the sufferings of Gretchen. I know no parallel to\nthis in poetry. It is a perfect example of the second path that leads to\nthe denial of the will, not, as the first, through the mere knowledge of\nthe sufferings of a whole world which one has voluntarily acquired, but\nthrough excessive suffering experienced in one\u2019s own person. Many\ntragedies certainly end by conducting their strong-willed heroes to the\npoint of entire resignation, and then generally the will to live and its\nmanifestation end together, but no representation that is known to me\nbrings what is essential to that change so distinctly before us, free from\nall that is extraneous, as the part of \u201cFaust\u201d I have referred to.\n\nIn actual life we see that those unfortunate persons who have to drink to\nthe dregs the greatest cup of suffering, since when all hope is taken from\nthem they have to face with full consciousness a shameful, violent, and\noften painful death on the scaffold, are very frequently changed in this\nway. We must not indeed assume that there is so great a difference between\ntheir character and that of most men as their fate would seem to indicate,\nbut must attribute the latter for the most part to circumstances; yet they\nare guilty and to a considerable degree bad. We see, however, many of\nthem, when they have entirely lost hope, changed in the way referred to.\nThey now show actual goodness and purity of disposition, true abhorrence\nof doing any act in the least degree bad or unkind. They forgive their\nenemies, even if it is through them that they innocently suffer; and not\nwith words merely and a sort of hypocritical fear of the judges of the\nlower world, but in reality and with inward earnestness and no desire for\nrevenge. Indeed, their sufferings and death at last becomes dear to them,\nfor the denial of the will to live has appeared; they often decline the\ndeliverance when it is offered, and die gladly, peacefully, and happily.\nTo them the last secret of life has revealed itself in their excessive\npain; the secret that misery and wickedness, sorrow and hate, the sufferer\nand the inflicter of suffering, however different they may appear to the\nknowledge which follows the principle of sufficient reason, are in\nthemselves one, the manifestation of that one will to live which\nobjectifies its conflict with itself by means of the _principium\nindividuationis_. They have learned to know both sides in full measure,\nthe badness and the misery; and since at last they see the identity of the\ntwo, they reject them both at once; they deny the will to live. In what\nmyths and dogmas they account to their reason for this intuitive and\ndirect knowledge and for their own change is, as has been said, a matter\nof no importance.\n\nMatthias Claudius must without doubt have witnessed a change of mind of\nthis description when he wrote the remarkable essay in the \u201cWandsbecker\nBoten\u201d (pt. i. p. 115) with the title \u201cBekehrungsgeschichte des ***\u201d\n(\u201cHistory of the Conversion of ***\u201d), which concludes thus: \u201cMan\u2019s way of\nthinking may pass from one point of the periphery to the opposite point,\nand again back to the former point, if circumstances mark out for him the\npath. And these changes in a man are really nothing great or interesting,\nbut that _remarkable, catholic, transcendental change_ in which the whole\ncircle is irreparably broken up and all the laws of psychology become vain\nand empty when the coat is stripped from the shoulders, or at least turned\noutside in, and as it were scales fall from a man\u2019s eyes, is such that\nevery one who has breath in his nostrils forsakes father and mother if he\ncan hear or experience something certain about it.\u201d\n\nThe approach of death and hopelessness are in other respects not\nabsolutely necessary for such a purification through suffering. Even\nwithout them the knowledge of the contradiction of the will to live with\nitself can, through great misfortune and pain, force an entrance, and the\nvanity of all striving become recognised. Hence it has often happened that\nmen who have led a very restless life in the full strain of the passions,\nkings, heroes, and adventurers, suddenly change, betake themselves to\nresignation and penance, become hermits or monks. To this class belong all\ntrue accounts of conversions; for example, that of Raymond Lully, who had\nlong wooed a fair lady, and was at last admitted to her chamber,\nanticipating the fulfilment of all his wishes, when she, opening her\nbodice, showed him her bosom frightfully eaten with cancer. From that\nmoment, as if he had looked into hell, he was changed; he forsook the\ncourt of the king of Majorca, and went into the desert to do penance.(88)\nThis conversion is very like that of the Abb\u00e9 Ranc\u00e9, which I have briefly\nrelated in the 48th chapter of the Supplement. If we consider how in both\ncases the transition from the pleasure to the horror of life was the\noccasion of it, this throws some light upon the remarkable fact that it is\namong the French, the most cheerful, gay, sensuous, and frivolous nation\nin Europe, that by far the strictest of all monastic orders, the\nTrappists, arose, was re-established by Ranc\u00e9 after its fall, and has\nmaintained itself to the present day in all its purity and strictness, in\nspite of revolutions, Church reformations, and encroachments of\ninfidelity.\n\nBut a knowledge such as that referred to above of the nature of this\nexistence may leave us again along with the occasion of it and the will to\nlive, and with it the previous character may reappear. Thus we see that\nthe passionate Benvenuto Cellini was changed in this way, once when he was\nin prison, and again when very ill; but when the suffering passed over, he\nfell back again into his old state. In general, the denial of the will to\nlive by no means proceeds from suffering with the necessity of an effect\nfrom its cause, but the will remains free; for this is indeed the one\npoint at which its freedom appears directly in the phenomenon; hence the\nastonishment which Asmus expresses so strongly at the \u201ctranscendental\nchange.\u201d In the case of every suffering, it is always possible to conceive\na will which exceeds it in intensity and is therefore unconquered by it.\nThus Plato speaks in the \u201cPh\u00e6don\u201d of men who up to the moment of their\nexecution feast, drink, and indulge in sensuous pleasure, asserting life\neven to the death. Shakespeare shows us in Cardinal Beaufort the fearful\nend of a profligate, who dies full of despair, for no suffering or death\ncan break his will, which is vehement to the extreme of wickedness.(89)\n\nThe more intense the will is, the more glaring is the conflict of its\nmanifestation, and thus the greater is the suffering. A world which was\nthe manifestation of a far more intense will to live than this world\nmanifests would produce so much the greater suffering; would thus be a\nhell.\n\nAll suffering, since it is a mortification and a call to resignation, has\npotentially a sanctifying power. This is the explanation of the fact that\nevery great misfortune or deep pain inspires a certain awe. But the\nsufferer only really becomes an object of reverence when, surveying the\ncourse of his life as a chain of sorrows, or mourning some great and\nincurable misfortune, he does not really look at the special combination\nof circumstances which has plunged his own life into suffering, nor stops\nat the single great misfortune that has befallen him; for in so doing his\nknowledge still follows the principle of sufficient reason, and clings to\nthe particular phenomenon; he still wills life only not under the\nconditions which have happened to him; but only then, I say, he is truly\nworthy of reverence when he raises his glance from the particular to the\nuniversal, when he regards his suffering as merely an example of the\nwhole, and for him, since in a moral regard he partakes of genius, one\ncase stands for a thousand, so that the whole of life conceived as\nessentially suffering brings him to resignation. Therefore it inspires\nreverence when in Goethe\u2019s \u201cTorquato Tasso\u201d the princess speaks of how her\nown life and that of her relations has always been sad and joyless, and\nyet regards the matter from an entirely universal point of view.\n\nA very noble character we always imagine with a certain trace of quiet\nsadness, which is anything but a constant fretfulness at daily annoyances\n(this would be an ignoble trait, and lead us to fear a bad disposition),\nbut is a consciousness derived from knowledge of the vanity of all\npossessions, of the suffering of all life, not merely of his own. But such\nknowledge may primarily be awakened by the personal experience of\nsuffering, especially some one great sorrow, as a single unfulfilled wish\nbrought Petrarch to that state of resigned sadness concerning the whole of\nlife which appeals to us so pathetically in his works; for the Daphne he\npursued had to flee from his hands in order to leave him, instead of\nherself, the immortal laurel. When through some such great and irrevocable\ndenial of fate the will is to some extent broken, almost nothing else is\ndesired, and the character shows itself mild, just, noble, and resigned.\nWhen, finally, grief has no definite object, but extends itself over the\nwhole of life, then it is to a certain extent a going into itself, a\nwithdrawal, a gradual disappearance of the will, whose visible\nmanifestation, the body, it imperceptibly but surely undermines, so that a\nman feels a certain loosening of his bonds, a mild foretaste of that death\nwhich promises to be the abolition at once of the body and of the will.\nTherefore a secret pleasure accompanies this grief, and it is this, as I\nbelieve, which the most melancholy of all nations has called \u201cthe joy of\ngrief.\u201d But here also lies the danger of _sentimentality_, both in life\nitself and in the representation of it in poetry; when a man is always\nmourning and lamenting without courageously rising to resignation. In this\nway we lose both earth and heaven, and retain merely a watery\nsentimentality. Only if suffering assumes the form of pure knowledge, and\nthis, acting as a _quieter of the will_, brings about resignation, is it\nworthy of reverence. In this regard, however, we feel a certain respect at\nthe sight of every great sufferer which is akin to the feeling excited by\nvirtue and nobility of character, and also seems like a reproach of our\nown happy condition. We cannot help regarding every sorrow, both our own\nand those of others, as at least a potential advance towards virtue and\nholiness, and, on the contrary, pleasures and worldly satisfactions as a\nretrogression from them. This goes so far, that every man who endures a\ngreat bodily or mental suffering, indeed every one who merely performs\nsome physical labour which demands the greatest exertion, in the sweat of\nhis brow and with evident exhaustion, yet with patience and without\nmurmuring, every such man, I say, if we consider him with close attention,\nappears to us like a sick man who tries a painful cure, and who willingly,\nand even with satisfaction, endures the suffering it causes him, because\nhe knows that the more he suffers the more the cause of his disease is\naffected, and that therefore the present suffering is the measure of his\ncure.\n\nAccording to what has been said, the denial of the will to live, which is\njust what is called absolute, entire resignation, or holiness, always\nproceeds from that quieter of the will which the knowledge of its inner\nconflict and essential vanity, expressing themselves in the suffering of\nall living things, becomes. The difference, which we have represented as\ntwo paths, consists in whether that knowledge is called up by suffering\nwhich is merely and purely _known_, and is freely appropriated by means of\nthe penetration of the _principium individuationis_, or by suffering which\nis directly _felt_ by a man himself. True salvation, deliverance from life\nand suffering, cannot even be imagined without complete denial of the\nwill. Till then, every one is simply this will itself, whose manifestation\nis an ephemeral existence, a constantly vain and empty striving, and the\nworld full of suffering we have represented, to which all irrevocably and\nin like manner belong. For we found above that life is always assured to\nthe will to live, and its one real form is the present, from which they\ncan never escape, since birth and death reign in the phenomenal world. The\nIndian mythus expresses this by saying \u201cthey are born again.\u201d The great\nethical difference of character means this, that the bad man is infinitely\nfar from the attainment of the knowledge from which the denial of the will\nproceeds, and therefore he is in truth _actually_ exposed to all the\nmiseries which appear in life as _possible_; for even the present\nfortunate condition of his personality is merely a phenomenon produced by\nthe _principium individuationis_, and a delusion of M\u00e2y\u00e2, the happy dream\nof a beggar. The sufferings which in the vehemence and ardour of his will\nhe inflicts upon others are the measure of the suffering, the experience\nof which in his own person cannot break his will, and plainly lead it to\nthe denial of itself. All true and pure love, on the other hand, and even\nall free justice, proceed from the penetration of the _principium\nindividuationis_, which, if it appears with its full power, results in\nperfect sanctification and salvation, the phenomenon of which is the state\nof resignation described above, the unbroken peace which accompanies it,\nand the greatest delight in death.(90)\n\n\u00a7 69. Suicide, the actual doing away with the individual manifestation of\nwill, differs most widely from the denial of the will to live, which is\nthe single outstanding act of free-will in the manifestation, and is\ntherefore, as Asmus calls it, the transcendental change. This last has\nbeen fully considered in the course of our work. Far from being denial of\nthe will, suicide is a phenomenon of strong assertion of will; for the\nessence of negation lies in this, that the joys of life are shunned, not\nits sorrows. The suicide wills life, and is only dissatisfied with the\nconditions under which it has presented itself to him. He therefore by no\nmeans surrenders the will to live, but only life, in that he destroys the\nindividual manifestation. He wills life\u2014wills the unrestricted existence\nand assertion of the body; but the complication of circumstances does not\nallow this, and there results for him great suffering. The very will to\nlive finds itself so much hampered in this particular manifestation that\nit cannot put forth its energies. It therefore comes to such a\ndetermination as is in conformity with its own nature, which lies outside\nthe conditions of the principle of sufficient reason, and to which,\ntherefore, all particular manifestations are alike indifferent, inasmuch\nas it itself remains unaffected by all appearing and passing away, and is\nthe inner life of all things; for that firm inward assurance by reason of\nwhich we all live free from the constant dread of death, the assurance\nthat a phenomenal existence can never be wanting to the will, supports our\naction even in the case of suicide. Thus the will to live appears just as\nmuch in suicide (Siva) as in the satisfaction of self-preservation\n(Vishnu) and in the sensual pleasure of procreation (Brahma). This is the\ninner meaning of the unity of the Trimurtis, which is embodied in its\nentirety in every human being, though in time it raises now one, now\nanother, of its three heads. Suicide stands in the same relation to the\ndenial of the will as the individual thing does to the Idea. The suicide\ndenies only the individual, not the species. We have already seen that as\nlife is always assured to the will to live, and as sorrow is inseparable\nfrom life, suicide, the wilful destruction of the single phenomenal\nexistence, is a vain and foolish act; for the thing-in-itself remains\nunaffected by it, even as the rainbow endures however fast the drops which\nsupport it for the moment may change. But, more than this, it is also the\nmasterpiece of M\u00e2y\u00e2, as the most flagrant example of the contradiction of\nthe will to live with itself. As we found this contradiction in the case\nof the lowest manifestations of will, in the permanent struggle of all the\nforces of nature, and of all organic individuals for matter and time and\nspace; and as we saw this antagonism come ever more to the front with\nterrible distinctness in the ascending grades of the objectification of\nthe will, so at last in the highest grade, the Idea of man, it reaches the\npoint at which, not only the individuals which express the same Idea\nextirpate each other, but even the same individual declares war against\nitself. The vehemence with which it wills life, and revolts against what\nhinders it, namely, suffering, brings it to the point of destroying\nitself; so that the individual will, by its own act, puts an end to that\nbody which is merely its particular visible expression, rather than permit\nsuffering to break the will. Just because the suicide cannot give up\nwilling, he gives up living. The will asserts itself here even in putting\nan end to its own manifestation, because it can no longer assert itself\notherwise. As, however, it was just the suffering which it so shuns that\nwas able, as mortification of the will, to bring it to the denial of\nitself, and hence to freedom, so in this respect the suicide is like a\nsick man, who, after a painful operation which would entirely cure him has\nbeen begun, will not allow it to be completed, but prefers to retain his\ndisease. Suffering approaches and reveals itself as the possibility of the\ndenial of will; but the will rejects it, in that it destroys the body, the\nmanifestation of itself, in order that it may remain unbroken. This is the\nreason why almost all ethical teachers, whether philosophical or\nreligious, condemn suicide, although they themselves can only give\nfar-fetched sophistical reasons for their opinion. But if a human being\nwas ever restrained from committing suicide by purely moral motives, the\ninmost meaning of this self-conquest (in whatever ideas his reason may\nhave clothed it) was this: \u201cI will not shun suffering, in order that it\nmay help to put an end to the will to live, whose manifestation is so\nwretched, by so strengthening the knowledge of the real nature of the\nworld which is already beginning to dawn upon me, that it may become the\nfinal quieter of my will, and may free me for ever.\u201d\n\nIt is well known that from time to time cases occur in which the act of\nsuicide extends to the children. The father first kills the children he\nloves, and then himself. Now, if we consider that conscience, religion,\nand all influencing ideas teach him to look upon murder as the greatest of\ncrimes, and that, in spite of this, he yet commits it, in the hour of his\nown death, and when he is altogether uninfluenced by any egotistical\nmotive, such a deed can only be explained in the following manner: in this\ncase, the will of the individual, the father, recognises itself\nimmediately in the children, though involved in the delusion of mistaking\nthe appearance for the true nature; and as he is at the same time deeply\nimpressed with the knowledge of the misery of all life, he now thinks to\nput an end to the inner nature itself, along with the appearance, and thus\nseeks to deliver from existence and its misery both himself and his\nchildren, in whom he discerns himself as living again. It would be an\nerror precisely analogous to this to suppose that one may reach the same\nend as is attained through voluntary chastity by frustrating the aim of\nnature in fecundation; or indeed if, in consideration of the unendurable\nsuffering of life, parents were to use means for the destruction of their\nnew-born children, instead of doing everything possible to ensure life to\nthat which is struggling into it. For if the will to live is there, as it\nis the only metaphysical reality, or the thing-in-itself, no physical\nforce can break it, but can only destroy its manifestation at this place\nand time. It itself can never be transcended except through knowledge.\nThus the only way of salvation is, that the will shall manifest itself\nunrestrictedly, in order that in this individual manifestation it may come\nto apprehend its own nature. Only as the result of this knowledge can the\nwill transcend itself, and thereby end the suffering which is inseparable\nfrom its manifestation. It is quite impossible to accomplish this end by\nphysical force, as by destroying the germ, or by killing the new-born\nchild, or by committing suicide. Nature guides the will to the light, just\nbecause it is only in the light that it can work out its salvation.\nTherefore the aims of Nature are to be promoted in every way as soon as\nthe will to live, which is its inner being, has determined itself.\n\nThere is a species of suicide which seems to be quite distinct from the\ncommon kind, though its occurrence has perhaps not yet been fully\nestablished. It is starvation, voluntarily chosen on the ground of extreme\nasceticism. All instances of it, however, have been accompanied and\nobscured by much religious fanaticism, and even superstition. Yet it seems\nthat the absolute denial of will may reach the point at which the will\nshall be wanting to take the necessary nourishment for the support of the\nnatural life. This kind of suicide is so far from being the result of the\nwill to live, that such a completely resigned ascetic only ceases to live\nbecause he has already altogether ceased to will. No other death than that\nby starvation is in this case conceivable (unless it were the result of\nsome special superstition); for the intention to cut short the torment\nwould itself be a stage in the assertion of will. The dogmas which satisfy\nthe reason of such a penitent delude him with the idea that a being of a\nhigher nature has inculcated the fasting to which his own inner tendency\ndrives him. Old examples of this may be found in the \u201cBreslauer Sammlung\nvon Natur- und Medicin-Geschichten,\u201d September 1799, p. 363; in Bayle\u2019s\n\u201cNouvelles de la R\u00e9publique des Lettres,\u201d February 1685, p. 189; in\nZimmermann, \u201cUeber die Einsamkeit,\u201d vol. i. p. 182; in the \u201cHistoire de\nl\u2019Acad\u00e9mie des Sciences\u201d for 1764, an account by Houttuyn, which is quoted\nin the \u201cSammlung f\u00fcr praktische Aerzte,\u201d vol. i. p. 69. More recent\naccounts may be found in Hufeland\u2019s \u201cJournal f\u00fcr praktische Heilkunde,\u201d\nvol. x. p. 181, and vol. xlviii. p. 95; also in Nasse\u2019s \u201cZeitschrift f\u00fcr\npsychische Aerzte,\u201d 1819, part iii. p. 460; and in the \u201cEdinburgh Medical\nand Surgical Journal,\u201d 1809, vol. v. p. 319. In the year 1833 all the\npapers announced that the English historian, Dr. Lingard, had died in\nJanuary at Dover of voluntary starvation; according to later accounts, it\nwas not he himself, but a relation of his who died. Still in these\naccounts the persons were generally described as insane, and it is no\nlonger possible to find out how far this was the case. But I will give\nhere a more recent case of this kind, if it were only to ensure the\npreservation of one of the rare instances of this striking and\nextraordinary phenomenon of human nature, which, to all appearance at any\nrate, belongs to the category to which I wish to assign it and could\nhardly be explained in any other way. This case is reported in the\n\u201cN\u00fcrnberger Correspondenten\u201d of the 29th July 1813, in these words:\u2014\u201cWe\nhear from Bern that in a thick wood near Thurnen a hut has been discovered\nin which was lying the body of a man who had been dead about a month. His\nclothes gave little or no clue to his social position. Two very fine\nshirts lay beside him. The most important article, however, was a Bible\ninterleaved with white paper, part of which had been written upon by the\ndeceased. In this writing he gives the date of his departure from home\n(but does not mention where his home was). He then says that he was driven\nby the Spirit of God into the wilderness to pray and fast. During his\njourney he had fasted seven days and then he had again taken food. After\nthis he had begun again to fast, and continued to do so for the same\nnumber of days as before. From this point we find each day marked with a\nstroke, and of these there are five, at the expiration of which the\npilgrim presumably died. There was further found a letter to a clergyman\nabout a sermon which the deceased heard him preach, but the letter was not\naddressed.\u201d Between this voluntary death arising from extreme asceticism\nand the common suicide resulting from despair there may be various\nintermediate species and combinations, though this is hard to find out.\nBut human nature has depths, obscurities, and perplexities, the analysis\nand elucidation of which is a matter of the very greatest difficulty.\n\n\u00a7 70. It might be supposed that the entire exposition (now terminated) of\nthat which I call the denial of the will is irreconcilable with the\nearlier explanation of necessity, which belongs just as much to motivation\nas to every other form of the principle of sufficient reason, and\naccording to which, motives, like all causes, are only occasional causes,\nupon which the character unfolds its nature and reveals it with the\nnecessity of a natural law, on account of which we absolutely denied\nfreedom as _liberum arbitrium indifferenti\u00e6_. But far from suppressing\nthis here, I would call it to mind. In truth, real freedom, _i.e._,\nindependence of the principle of sufficient reason, belongs to the will\nonly as a thing-in-itself, not to its manifestation, whose essential form\nis everywhere the principle of sufficient reason, the element or sphere of\nnecessity. But the one case in which that freedom can become directly\nvisible in the manifestation is that in which it makes an end of what\nmanifests itself, and because the mere manifestation, as a link in the\nchain of causes, the living body in time, which contains only phenomena,\nstill continues to exist, the will which manifests itself through this\nphenomenon then stands in contradiction to it, for it denies what the\nphenomenon expresses. In such a case the organs of generation, for\nexample, as the visible form of the sexual impulse, are there and in\nhealth; but yet, in the inmost consciousness, no sensual gratification is\ndesired; and although the whole body is only the visible expression of the\nwill to live, yet the motives which correspond to this will no longer act;\nindeed, the dissolution of the body, the end of the individual, and in\nthis way the greatest check to the natural will, is welcome and desired.\nNow, the contradiction between our assertions of the necessity of the\ndetermination of the will by motives, in accordance with the character, on\nthe one hand, and of the possibility of the entire suppression of the will\nwhereby the motives become powerless, on the other hand, is only the\nrepetition in the reflection of philosophy of this _real_ contradiction\nwhich arises from the direct encroachment of the freedom of the\nwill-in-itself, which knows no necessity, into the sphere of the necessity\nof its manifestation. But the key to the solution of these contradictions\nlies in the fact that the state in which the character is withdrawn from\nthe power of motives does not proceed directly from the will, but from a\nchanged form of knowledge. So long as the knowledge is merely that which\nis involved in the _principium individuationis_ and exclusively follows\nthe principle of sufficient reason, the strength of the motives is\nirresistible. But when the _principium individuationis_ is seen through,\nwhen the Ideas, and indeed the inner nature of the thing-in-itself, as the\nsame will in all, are directly recognised, and from this knowledge an\nuniversal quieter of volition arises, then the particular motives become\nineffective, because the kind of knowledge which corresponds to them is\nobscured and thrown into the background by quite another kind. Therefore\nthe character can never partially change, but must, with the consistency\nof a law of Nature, carry out in the particular the will which it\nmanifests as a whole. But this whole, the character itself, may be\ncompletely suppressed or abolished through the change of knowledge\nreferred to above. It is this suppression or abolition which Asmus, as\nquoted above, marvels at and denotes the \u201ccatholic, transcendental\nchange;\u201d and in the Christian Church it has very aptly been called the\n_new birth_, and the knowledge from which it springs, the _work of grace_.\nTherefore it is not a question of a change, but of an entire suppression\nof the character; and hence it arises that, however different the\ncharacters which experience the suppression may have been before it, after\nit they show a great similarity in their conduct, though every one still\nspeaks very differently according to his conceptions and dogmas.\n\nIn this sense, then, the old philosophical doctrine of the freedom of the\nwill, which has constantly been contested and constantly maintained, is\nnot without ground, and the dogma of the Church of the work of grace and\nthe new birth is not without meaning and significance. But we now\nunexpectedly see both united in one, and we can also now understand in\nwhat sense the excellent Malebranche could say, \u201c_La libert\u00e9 est un\nmyst\u00e8re_,\u201d and was right. For precisely what the Christian mystics call\n_the work of grace_ and _the new birth_, is for us the single direct\nexpression of _the freedom of the will_. It only appears if the will,\nhaving attained to a knowledge of its own real nature, receives from this\na _quieter_, by means of which the motives are deprived of their effect,\nwhich belongs to the province of another kind of knowledge, the objects of\nwhich are merely phenomena. The possibility of the freedom which thus\nexpresses itself is the greatest prerogative of man, which is for ever\nwanting to the brute, because the condition of it is the deliberation of\nreason, which enables him to survey the whole of life independent of the\nimpression of the present. The brute is entirely without the possibility\nof freedom, as, indeed, it is without the possibility of a proper or\ndeliberate choice following upon a completed conflict of motives, which\nfor this purpose would have to be abstract ideas. Therefore with the same\nnecessity with which the stone falls to the earth, the hungry wolf buries\nits fangs in the flesh of its prey, without the possibility of the\nknowledge that it is itself the destroyed as well as the destroyer.\n_Necessity is the kingdom of nature; freedom is the kingdom of grace._\n\nNow because, as we have seen, that _self-suppression of the will_ proceeds\nfrom knowledge, and all knowledge is involuntary, that denial of will\nalso, that entrance into freedom, cannot be forcibly attained to by\nintention or design, but proceeds from the inmost relation of knowing and\nvolition in the man, and therefore comes suddenly, as if spontaneously\nfrom without. This is why the Church has called it _the work of grace_;\nand that it still regards it as independent of the acceptance of grace\ncorresponds to the fact that the effect of the quieter is finally a free\nact of will. And because, in consequence of such a work of grace, the\nwhole nature of man is changed and reversed from its foundation, so that\nhe no longer wills anything of all that he previously willed so intensely,\nso that it is as if a new man actually took the place of the old, the\nChurch has called this consequence of the work of grace the _new birth_.\nFor what it calls the _natural man_, to which it denies all capacity for\ngood, is just the will to live, which must be denied if deliverance from\nan existence such as ours is to be attained. Behind our existence lies\nsomething else, which is only accessible to us if we have shaken off this\nworld.\n\nHaving regard, not to the individuals according to the principle of\nsufficient reason, but to the Idea of man in its unity, Christian theology\nsymbolises _nature_, the _assertion of the will to live_ in Adam, whose\nsin, inherited by us, _i.e._, our unity with him in the Idea, which is\nrepresented in time by the bond of procreation, makes us all partakers of\nsuffering and eternal death. On the other hand, it symbolises _grace_, the\n_denial of the will_, _salvation_, in the incarnate God, who, as free from\nall sin, that is, from all willing of life, cannot, like us, have\nproceeded from the most pronounced assertion of the will, nor can he, like\nus, have a body which is through and through simply concrete will,\nmanifestation of the will; but born of a pure virgin, he has only a\nphantom body. This last is the doctrine of the Docet\u00e6, _i.e._, certain\nChurch Fathers, who in this respect are very consistent. It is especially\ntaught by Apelles, against whom and his followers Tertullian wrote. But\neven Augustine comments thus on the passage, Rom. viii. 3, \u201cGod sent his\nSon in the likeness of sinful flesh:\u201d \u201c_Non enim caro peccati erat, qu\u00e6\nnon de carnali delectatione nata erat: sed tamen inerat ei similitudo\ncarnis peccati, quia mortalis caro erat_\u201d (Liber 83, _qu\u00e6st. qu._ 66). He\nalso teaches in his work entitled \u201c_Opus Imperfectum_,\u201d i. 47, that\ninherited sin is both sin and punishment at once. It is already present in\nnew-born children, but only shows itself if they grow up. Yet the origin\nof this sin is to be referred to the will of the sinner. This sinner was\nAdam, but we all existed in him; Adam became miserable, and in him we have\nall become miserable. Certainly the doctrine of original sin (assertion of\nthe will) and of salvation (denial of the will) is the great truth which\nconstitutes the essence of Christianity, while most of what remains is\nonly the clothing of it, the husk or accessories. Therefore Jesus Christ\nought always to be conceived in the universal, as the symbol or\npersonification of the denial of the will to live, but never as an\nindividual, whether according to his mythical history given in the\nGospels, or according to the probably true history which lies at the\nfoundation of this. For neither the one nor the other will easily satisfy\nus entirely. It is merely the vehicle of that conception for the people,\nwho always demand something actual. That in recent times Christianity has\nforgotten its true significance, and degenerated into dull optimism, does\nnot concern us here.\n\nIt is further an original and evangelical doctrine of Christianity\u2014which\nAugustine, with the consent of the leaders of the Church, defended against\nthe platitudes of the Pelagians, and which it was the principal aim of\nLuther\u2019s endeavour to purify from error and re-establish, as he expressly\ndeclares in his book, \u201c_De Servo Arbitrio_,\u201d\u2014the doctrine that _the will\nis not free_, but originally subject to the inclination to evil. Therefore\naccording to this doctrine the deeds of the will are always sinful and\nimperfect, and can never fully satisfy justice; and, finally, these works\ncan never save us, but faith alone, a faith which itself does not spring\nfrom resolution and free will, but from the work of grace, without our\nco-operation, comes to us as from without.\n\nNot only the dogmas referred to before, but also this last genuine\nevangelical dogma belongs to those which at the present day an ignorant\nand dull opinion rejects as absurd or hides. For, in spite of Augustine\nand Luther, it adheres to the vulgar Pelagianism, which the rationalism of\nthe day really is, and treats as antiquated those deeply significant\ndogmas which are peculiar and essential to Christianity in the strictest\nsense; while, on the other hand, it holds fast and regards as the\nprincipal matter only the dogma that originates in Judaism, and has been\nretained from it, and is merely historically connected with\nChristianity.(91) We, however, recognise in the doctrine referred to above\nthe truth completely agreeing with the result of our own investigations.\nWe see that true virtue and holiness of disposition have their origin not\nin deliberate choice (works), but in knowledge (faith); just as we have in\nlike manner developed it from our leading thought. If it were works, which\nspring from motives and deliberate intention, that led to salvation, then,\nhowever one may turn it, virtue would always be a prudent, methodical,\nfar-seeing egoism. But the faith to which the Christian Church promises\nsalvation is this: that as through the fall of the first man we are all\npartakers of sin and subject to death and perdition, through the divine\nsubstitute, through grace and the taking upon himself of our fearful\nguilt, we are all saved, without any merit of our own (of the person);\nsince that which can proceed from the intentional (determined by motives)\naction of the person, works, can never justify us, from its very nature,\njust because it is _intentional_, action induced by motives, _opus\noperatum_. Thus in this faith there is implied, first of all, that our\ncondition is originally and essentially an incurable one, from which we\nneed _salvation_; then, that we ourselves essentially belong to evil, and\nare so firmly bound to it that our works according to law and precept,\n_i.e._, according to motives, can never satisfy justice nor save us; but\nsalvation is only obtained through faith, _i.e._, through a changed mode\nof knowing, and this faith can only come through grace, thus as from\nwithout. This means that the salvation is one which is quite foreign to\nour person, and points to a denial and surrender of this person necessary\nto salvation. Works, the result of the law as such, can never justify,\nbecause they are always action following upon motives. Luther demands (in\nhis book \u201c_De Libertate Christiana_\u201d) that after the entrance of faith the\ngood works shall proceed from it entirely of themselves, as symptoms, as\nfruits of it; yet by no means as constituting in themselves a claim to\nmerit, justification, or reward, but taking place quite voluntarily and\ngratuitously. So we also hold that from the ever-clearer penetration of\nthe _principium individuationis_ proceeds, first, merely free justice,\nthen love, extending to the complete abolition of egoism, and finally\nresignation or denial of the will.\n\nI have here introduced these dogmas of Christian theology, which in\nthemselves are foreign to philosophy, merely for the purpose of showing\nthat the ethical doctrine which proceeds from our whole investigation, and\nis in complete agreement and connection with all its parts, although new\nand unprecedented in its expression, is by no means so in its real nature,\nbut fully agrees with the Christian dogmas properly so called, and indeed,\nas regards its essence, was contained and present in them. It also agrees\nquite as accurately with the doctrines and ethical teachings of the sacred\nbooks of India, which in their turn are presented in quite different\nforms. At the same time the calling to mind of the dogmas of the Christian\nChurch serves to explain and illustrate the apparent contradiction between\nthe necessity of all expressions of character when motives are presented\n(the kingdom of Nature) on the one hand, and the freedom of the will in\nitself, to deny itself, and abolish the character with all the necessity\nof the motives based upon it (the kingdom of grace) on the other hand.\n\n\u00a7 71. I now end the general account of ethics, and with it the whole\ndevelopment of that one thought which it has been my object to impart; and\nI by no means desire to conceal here an objection which concerns this last\npart of my exposition, but rather to point out that it lies in the nature\nof the question, and that it is quite impossible to remove it. It is this,\nthat after our investigation has brought us to the point at which we have\nbefore our eyes perfect holiness, the denial and surrender of all\nvolition, and thus the deliverance from a world whose whole existence we\nhave found to be suffering, this appears to us as a passing away into\nempty nothingness.\n\nOn this I must first remark, that the conception of nothing is essentially\nrelative, and always refers to a definite something which it negatives.\nThis quality has been attributed (by Kant) merely to the _nihil\nprivativum_, which is indicated by - as opposed to +, which -, from an\nopposite point of view, might become +, and in opposition to this _nihil\nprivativum_ the _nihil negativum_ has been set up, which would in every\nreference be nothing, and as an example of this the logical contradiction\nwhich does away with itself has been given. But more closely considered,\nno absolute nothing, no proper _nihil negativum_ is even thinkable; but\neverything of this kind, when considered from a higher standpoint or\nsubsumed under a wider concept, is always merely a _nihil privativum_.\nEvery nothing is thought as such only in relation to something, and\npresupposes this relation, and thus also this something. Even a logical\ncontradiction is only a relative nothing. It is no thought of the reason,\nbut it is not on that account an absolute nothing; for it is a combination\nof words; it is an example of the unthinkable, which is necessary in logic\nin order to prove the laws of thought. Therefore if for this end such an\nexample is sought, we will stick to the nonsense as the positive which we\nare in search of, and pass over the sense as the negative. Thus every\n_nihil negativum_, if subordinated to a higher concept, will appear as a\nmere _nihil privativum_ or relative nothing, which can, moreover, always\nexchange signs with what it negatives, so that that would then be thought\nas negation, and it itself as assertion. This also agrees with the result\nof the difficult dialectical investigation of the meaning of nothing which\nPlato gives in the \u201cSophist\u201d (pp. 277-287): \u03a4\u03b7\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u1f11\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd\n\u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03be\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b5\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03ba\u03b5\u03ba\u03b5\u03c1\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b7\u03bb\u03b1, \u03c4\u03bf \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf \u03bf\u03bd \u1f11\u03ba\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5 \u03bc\u03bf\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9\u03c4\u03b9\u03b8\u03b5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd, \u03b5\u03c4\u03bf\u03bb\u03bc\u03b7\u03c3\u03b1\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\n\u03b5\u03b9\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, \u1f61\u03c2 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd \u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf \u03bc\u03b7 \u03bf\u03bd (_Cum enim ostenderemus,\nalterius ipsius naturam esse perque omnia entia divisam atque dispersam in\nvicem; tunc partem ejus oppositam ei, quod cujusque ens est, esse ipsum\nrevera non ens asseruimus_).\n\nThat which is generally received as positive, which we call the real, and\nthe negation of which the concept nothing in its most general significance\nexpresses, is just the world as idea, which I have shown to be the\nobjectivity and mirror of the will. Moreover, we ourselves are just this\nwill and this world, and to them belongs the idea in general, as one\naspect of them. The form of the idea is space and time, therefore for this\npoint of view all that is real must be in some place and at some time.\nDenial, abolition, conversion of the will, is also the abolition and the\nvanishing of the world, its mirror. If we no longer perceive it in this\nmirror, we ask in vain where it has gone, and then, because it has no\nlonger any where and when, complain that it has vanished into nothing.\n\nA reversed point of view, if it were possible for us, would reverse the\nsigns and show the real for us as nothing, and that nothing as the real.\nBut as long as we ourselves are the will to live, this last\u2014nothing as the\nreal\u2014can only be known and signified by us negatively, because the old\nsaying of Empedocles, that like can only be known by like, deprives us\nhere of all knowledge, as, conversely, upon it finally rests the\npossibility of all our actual knowledge, _i.e._, the world as idea; for\nthe world is the self-knowledge of the will.\n\nIf, however, it should be absolutely insisted upon that in some way or\nother a positive knowledge should be attained of that which philosophy can\nonly express negatively as the denial of the will, there would be nothing\nfor it but to refer to that state which all those who have attained to\ncomplete denial of the will have experienced, and which has been variously\ndenoted by the names ecstasy, rapture, illumination, union with God, and\nso forth; a state, however, which cannot properly be called knowledge,\nbecause it has not the form of subject and object, and is, moreover, only\nattainable in one\u2019s own experience and cannot be further communicated.\n\nWe, however, who consistently occupy the standpoint of philosophy, must be\nsatisfied here with negative knowledge, content to have reached the utmost\nlimit of the positive. We have recognised the inmost nature of the world\nas will, and all its phenomena as only the objectivity of will; and we\nhave followed this objectivity from the unconscious working of obscure\nforces of Nature up to the completely conscious action of man. Therefore\nwe shall by no means evade the consequence, that with the free denial, the\nsurrender of the will, all those phenomena are also abolished; that\nconstant strain and effort without end and without rest at all the grades\nof objectivity, in which and through which the world consists; the\nmultifarious forms succeeding each other in gradation; the whole\nmanifestation of the will; and, finally, also the universal forms of this\nmanifestation, time and space, and also its last fundamental form, subject\nand object; all are abolished. No will: no idea, no world.\n\nBefore us there is certainly only nothingness. But that which resists this\npassing into nothing, our nature, is indeed just the will to live, which\nwe ourselves are as it is our world. That we abhor annihilation so\ngreatly, is simply another expression of the fact that we so strenuously\nwill life, and are nothing but this will, and know nothing besides it. But\nif we turn our glance from our own needy and embarrassed condition to\nthose who have overcome the world, in whom the will, having attained to\nperfect self-knowledge, found itself again in all, and then freely denied\nitself, and who then merely wait to see the last trace of it vanish with\nthe body which it animates; then, instead of the restless striving and\neffort, instead of the constant transition from wish to fruition, and from\njoy to sorrow, instead of the never-satisfied and never-dying hope which\nconstitutes the life of the man who wills, we shall see that peace which\nis above all reason, that perfect calm of the spirit, that deep rest, that\ninviolable confidence and serenity, the mere reflection of which in the\ncountenance, as Raphael and Correggio have represented it, is an entire\nand certain gospel; only knowledge remains, the will has vanished. We look\nwith deep and painful longing upon this state, beside which the misery and\nwretchedness of our own is brought out clearly by the contrast. Yet this\nis the only consideration which can afford us lasting consolation, when,\non the one hand, we have recognised incurable suffering and endless misery\nas essential to the manifestation of will, the world; and, on the other\nhand, see the world pass away with the abolition of will, and retain\nbefore us only empty nothingness. Thus, in this way, by contemplation of\nthe life and conduct of saints, whom it is certainly rarely granted us to\nmeet with in our own experience, but who are brought before our eyes by\ntheir written history, and, with the stamp of inner truth, by art, we must\nbanish the dark impression of that nothingness which we discern behind all\nvirtue and holiness as their final goal, and which we fear as children\nfear the dark; we must not even evade it like the Indians, through myths\nand meaningless words, such as reabsorption in Brahma or the Nirvana of\nthe Buddhists. Rather do we freely acknowledge that what remains after the\nentire abolition of will is for all those who are still full of will\ncertainly nothing; but, conversely, to those in whom the will has turned\nand has denied itself, this our world, which is so real, with all its suns\nand milky-ways\u2014is nothing.(92)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n    1 F. H. Jacobi.\n\n    2 The Hegelian Philosophy.\n\n    3 Fichte and Schelling.\n\n    4 Hegel.\n\n    5 Kant is the only writer who has confused this idea of reason, and in\n      this connection I refer the reader to the Appendix, and also to my\n      \u201cGrundprobleme der Ethik\u201d: Grundl. dd. Moral. \u00a7 6, pp. 148-154,\n      first and second editions.\n\n    6 Mira in quibusdam rebus verborum proprietas est, et consuetudo\n      sermonis antiqui qu\u00e6dam efficacissimis notis signat. _Seneca_,\n      epist. 81.\n\n    7 It is shown in the Appendix that matter and substance are one.\n\n    8 This shows the ground of the Kantian explanation of matter, that it\n      is \u201cthat which is movable in space,\u201d for motion consists simply in\n      the union of space and time.\n\n    9 Not, as Kant holds, from the knowledge of time, as will be explained\n      in the Appendix.\n\n   10 On this see \u201cThe Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient\n      Reason,\u201d \u00a7 49.\n\n   11 The first four chapters of the first of the supplementary books\n      belong to these seven paragraphs.\n\n   12 Compare with this paragraph \u00a7\u00a7 26 and 27 of the third edition of the\n      essay on the principle of sufficient reason.\n\n   13 Cf. Ch. 5 and 6 of the Supplement.\n\n   14 Cf. Ch. 9 and 10 of the Supplement.\n\n   15 Cf. Ch. 11 of Supplement.\n\n   16 I am therefore of opinion that a science of physiognomy cannot, with\n      certainty, go further than to lay down a few quite general rules.\n      For example, the intellectual qualities are to be read in the\n      forehead and the eyes; the moral qualities, the expression of will,\n      in the mouth and lower part of the face. The forehead and the eyes\n      interpret each other; either of them seen alone can only be half\n      understood. Genius is never without a high, broad, finely-arched\n      brow; but such a brow often occurs where there is no genius. A\n      clever-looking person may the more certainly be judged to be so the\n      uglier the face is; and a stupid-looking person may the more\n      certainly be judged to be stupid the more beautiful the face is; for\n      beauty, as the approximation to the type of humanity, carries in and\n      for itself the expression of mental clearness; the opposite is the\n      case with ugliness, and so forth.\n\n   17 Cf. Ch. 7 of the Supplement.\n\n   18 Cf. Ch. 8 of Supplement.\n\n   19 Suarez, Disput. Metaphysic\u00e6, disp. iii. sect. 3, tit. 3.\n\n   20 Cf. Ch. 12 of Supplement.\n\n   21 The reader must not think here of Kant\u2019s misuse of these Greek\n      terms, which is condemned in the Appendix.\n\n   22 Spinoza, who always boasts that he proceeds _more geometrico_, has\n      actually done so more than he himself was aware. For what he knew\n      with certainty and decision from the immediate, perceptive\n      apprehension of the nature of the world, he seeks to demonstrate\n      logically without reference to this knowledge. He only arrives at\n      the intended and predetermined result by starting from arbitrary\n      concepts framed by himself (_substantia causa sui_, &c.), and in the\n      demonstrations he allows himself all the freedom of choice for which\n      the nature of the wide concept-spheres afford such convenient\n      opportunity. That his doctrine is true and excellent is therefore in\n      his case, as in that of geometry, quite independent of the\n      demonstrations of it. Cf. ch. 13 of supplementary volume.\n\n   23 Cf. Ch. 17 of Supplement.\n\n   24 Omnes perturbationes judicio censent fieri et opinione. Cic. Tusc.,\n      4, 6. \u03a4\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03bf\u03c5 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1, \u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\n      \u03c0\u03c1\u03b1\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b4\u03bf\u03b3\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 (Perturbant homines non res ips\u00e6, sed de rebus\n      opiniones). Epictet., c. v.\n\n   25 \u03a4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf \u03b3\u03b1\u03c1 \u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf \u03b1\u03b9\u03c4\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd, \u03c4\u03bf \u03c4\u03b1\u03c2\n      \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03bb\u03b7\u03c8\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03ba\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u03b1\u03c2 \u03bc\u03b7 \u03b4\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b5\u03c6\u03b1\u03c1\u03bc\u03bf\u03be\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b5\u03c0\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 (H\u00e6c est\n      causa mortalibus omnium malorum, non posse communes notiones aptare\n      singularibus). Epict. dissert., ii., 26.\n\n   26 Cf. Ch. 16 of Supplement.\n\n   27 Cf. Ch. xviii. of the Supplement.\n\n   28 We can thus by no means agree with Bacon if he (De Augm. Scient., L.\n      iv. in fine.) thinks that all mechanical and physical movement of\n      bodies has always been preceded by perception in these bodies;\n      though a glimmering of truth lies at the bottom of this false\n      proposition. This is also the case with Kepler\u2019s opinion, expressed\n      in his essay _De Planeta Martis_, that the planets must have\n      knowledge in order to keep their elliptical courses so correctly,\n      and to regulate the velocity of their motion so that the triangle of\n      the plane of their course always remains proportional to the time in\n      which they pass through its base.\n\n   29 Cf. Ch. xix. of the Supplement.\n\n   30 Cf. Ch. xx. of the Supplement, and also in my work, \u201c_Ueber den\n      Willen in der Natur_,\u201d the chapters on Physiology and Comparative\n      Anatomy, where the subject I have only touched upon here is fully\n      discussed.\n\n   31 This is specially treated in the 27th Ch. of the Supplement.\n\n   32 This subject is fully worked out in my prize essay on the freedom of\n      the will, in which therefore (pp. 29-44 of the \u201cGrundprobleme der\n      Ethik\u201d) the relation of _cause_, _stimulus_, and _motive_ has also\n      been fully explained.\n\n   33 Cf. Ch. xxiii. of the Supplement, and also the Ch. on the physiology\n      of plants in my work \u201cUeber den Willen in der Natur,\u201d and the Ch. on\n      physical astronomy, which is of great importance with regard to the\n      kernel of my metaphysic.\n\n   34 Wenzel, De Structura Cerebri Hominis et Brutorum, 1812, ch. iii.;\n      Cuvier, Le\u00e7ons d\u2019Anat., comp. le\u00e7on 9, arts. 4 and 5; Vic. d\u2019Azyr,\n      Hist. de l\u2019Acad. de Sc. de Paris, 1783, pp. 470 and 483.\n\n   35 On the 16th of September 1840, at a lecture upon Egyptian Arch\u00e6ology\n      delivered by Mr. Pettigrew at the Literary and Scientific Institute\n      of London, he showed some corns of wheat which Sir G. Wilkinson had\n      found in a grave at Thebes, in which they must have lain for three\n      thousand years. They were found in an hermetically sealed vase. Mr.\n      Pettigrew had sowed twelve grains, and obtained a plant which grew\n      five feet high, and the seeds of which were now quite ripe.\u2014_Times_,\n      21st September 1840. In the same way in 1830 Mr. Haulton produced in\n      the Medical Botanical Society of London a bulbous root which was\n      found in the hand of an Egyptian mummy, in which it was probably put\n      in observance of some religious rite, and which must have been at\n      least two thousand years old. He had planted it in a flower-pot, in\n      which it grew up and flourished. This is quoted from the Medical\n      Journal of 1830 in the Journal of the Royal Institute of Great\n      Britain, October 1830, p. 196.\u2014\u201cIn the garden of Mr. Grimstone of\n      the Herbarium, Highgate, London, is a pea in full fruit, which has\n      sprung from a pea that Mr. Pettigrew and the officials of the\n      British Museum took out of a vase which had been found in an\n      Egyptian sarcophagus, where it must have lain 2844 years.\u201d\u2014_Times_,\n      16th August 1844. Indeed, the living toads found in limestone lead\n      to the conclusion that even animal life is capable of such a\n      suspension for thousands of years, if this is begun in the dormant\n      period and maintained by special circumstances.\n\n   36 Cf. Chap. xxii. of the Supplement, and also my work \u201cUeber den\n      Willen in der Natur,\u201d p. 54 _et seq._, and pp. 70-79 of the first\n      edition, or p. 46 _et seq._, and pp. 63-72 of the second, or p. 48\n      _et seq._, and pp. 69-77 of the third edition.\n\n   37 The Scholastics therefore said very truly: _Causa finalis movet non\n      secundum suum esse reale, sed secundum esse cognitum._ Cf. Suarez,\n      Disp. Metaph. disp. xxiii., sec. 7 and 8.\n\n   38 Cf. \u201cCritique of Pure Reason. Solution of the Cosmological Ideas of\n      the Totality of the Deduction of the Events in the Universe,\u201d pp.\n      560-586 of the fifth, and p. 532 and following of first edition; and\n      \u201cCritique of Practical Reason,\u201d fourth edition, pp. 169-179;\n      Rosenkranz\u2019 edition, p. 224 and following. Cf. my Essay on the\n      Principle of Sufficient Reason, \u00a7 43.\n\n   39 Cf. \u201cUeber den Willen in der Natur,\u201d at the end of the section on\n      Comparative Anatomy.\n\n   40 Cf. \u201cUeber den Willen in der Natur,\u201d the section on Comparative\n      Anatomy.\n\n   41 Chatin, Sur la Valisneria Spiralis, in the Comptes Rendus de l\u2019Acad.\n      de Sc., No. 13, 1855.\n\n   42 Cf. Chaps. xxvi. and xxvii. of the Supplement.\n\n   43 Cf. Chap. xxviii. of the Supplement.\n\n   44 F. H. Jacobi.\n\n   45 See for example, \u201cImmanuel Kant, a Reminiscence, by Fr. Bouterweck,\u201d\n      pg. 49, and Buhle\u2019s \u201cHistory of Philosophy,\u201d vol. vi. pp. 802-815\n      and 823.\n\n   46 Cf. Chap. xxix. of Supplement.\n\n   47 I also recommend the perusal of what Spinoza says in his Ethics\n      (Book II., Prop. 40, Schol. 2, and Book V., Props. 25-38),\n      concerning the _cognitio tertii generis, sive intuitiva_, in\n      illustration of the kind of knowledge we are considering, and very\n      specially Prop. 29, Schol.; prop. 36, Schol., and Prop. 38, Demonst.\n      et Schol.\n\n   48 Cf. Chap. xxx. of the Supplement.\n\n   49 This last sentence cannot be understood without some acquaintance\n      with the next book.\n\n   50 Cf. Chap. xxxi. of the Supplement.\n\n   51 I am all the more delighted and astonished, forty years after I so\n      timidly and hesitatingly advanced this thought, to discover that it\n      has already been expressed by St. Augustine: _Arbusta formas suas\n      varias, quibus mundi hujus visibilis structura formosa est,\n      sentiendas sensibus praebent; ut, pro eo quod_ NOSSE _non possunt,\n      quasi_ INNOTESCERE _velle videantur_.\u2014_De civ. Dei, xi._ 27.\n\n   52 Cf. Chap. 35 of Supplement.\n\n   53 Jakob B\u00f6hm in his book, \u201cde Signatura Rerum,\u201d ch. i., \u00a7 13-15, says,\n      \u201cThere is nothing in nature that does not manifest its internal form\n      externally; for the internal continually labours to manifest\n      itself.... Everything has its language by which to reveal itself....\n      And this is the language of nature when everything speaks out of its\n      own property, and continually manifests and declares itself, ... for\n      each thing reveals its mother, which thus gives _the essence and the\n      will_ to the form.\u201d\n\n   54 The last sentence is the German of the _il n\u2019y a que l\u2019esprit qui\n      sente l\u2019esprit_, of Helvetius. In the first edition there was no\n      occasion to point this out, but since then the age has become so\n      degraded and ignorant through the stupefying influence of the\n      Hegelian sophistry, that some might quite likely say that an\n      antithesis was intended here between \u201cspirit and nature.\u201d I am\n      therefore obliged to guard myself in express terms against the\n      suspicion of such vulgar sophisms.\n\n   55 This digression is worked out more fully in the 36th Chapter of the\n      Supplement.\n\n   56 In order to understand this passage it is necessary to have read the\n      whole of the next book.\n\n_   57 Apparent rari, nantes in gurgite vasto._\n\n   58 Cf. Ch. xxxiv. of Supplement.\n\n   59 It is scarcely necessary to say that wherever I speak of poets I\n      refer exclusively to that rare phenomenon the great true poet. I\n      mean no one else; least of all that dull insipid tribe, the mediocre\n      poets, rhymsters, and inventors of fables, that flourishes so\n      luxuriantly at the present day in Germany. They ought rather to have\n      the words shouted in their ears unceasingly from all sides\u2014\n\n      _Mediocribus esse po\u00ebtis_\n      _ Non homines, non D\u00ee, non concessere column\u00e6._\n\n      It is worthy of serious consideration what an amount of time\u2014both\n      their own and other people\u2019s\u2014and paper is lost by this swarm of\n      mediocre poets, and how injurious is their influence. For the public\n      always seizes on what is new, and has naturally a greater proneness\n      to what is perverse and dull as akin to itself. Therefore these\n      works of the mediocre poets draw it away and hold it back from the\n      true masterpieces and the education they afford, and thus working in\n      direct antagonism to the benign influence of genius, they ruin taste\n      more and more, and retard the progress of the age. Such poets should\n      therefore be scourged with criticism and satire without indulgence\n      or sympathy till they are induced, for their own good, to apply\n      their muse rather to reading what is good than to writing what is\n      bad. For if the bungling of the incompetent so raised the wrath of\n      the gentle Apollo that he could flay Marsyas, I do not see on what\n      the mediocre poets will base their claim to tolerance.\n\n   60 Cf. Ch. xxxviii. of Supplement.\n\n   61 Cf. Ch. xxxvii. of the Supplement.\n\n   62 Leibnitii epistol\u00e6, collectio Kortholti, ep. 154.\n\n   63 Cf. Ch. xxxix. of Supplement.\n\n   64 The following remark may assist those for whom it is not too subtle\n      to understand clearly that the individual is only the phenomenon,\n      not the thing in itself. Every individual is, on the one hand, the\n      subject of knowing, _i.e._, the complemental condition of the\n      possibility of the whole objective world, and, on the other hand, a\n      particular phenomenon of will, the same will which objectifies\n      itself in everything. But this double nature of our being does not\n      rest upon a self-existing unity, otherwise it would be possible for\n      us to be conscious of ourselves _in ourselves, and independent of\n      the objects of knowledge and will_. Now this is by no means\n      possible, for as soon as we turn into ourselves to make the attempt,\n      and seek for once to know ourselves fully by means of introspective\n      reflection, we are lost in a bottomless void; we find ourselves like\n      the hollow glass globe, from out of which a voice speaks whose cause\n      is not to be found in it, and whereas we desired to comprehend\n      ourselves, we find, with a shudder, nothing but a vanishing spectre.\n\n   65 \u201cScholastici docuerunt, quod \u00e6ternitas non sit temporis sine fine\n      aut principio successio; sed _Nunc stans_, _i.e._, idem nobis _Nunc\n      esse_, quod erat _Nunc Adamo_, _i.e._, inter _nunc_ et _tunc_ nullam\n      esse differentiam.\u201d\u2014Hobbes, Leviathan, c. 46.\n\n   66 In Eckermann\u2019s \u201cConversations of Goethe\u201d (vol. i. p. 161), Goethe\n      says: \u201cOur spirit is a being of a nature quite indestructible, and\n      its activity continues from eternity to eternity. It is like the\n      sun, which seems to set only to our earthly eyes, but which, in\n      reality, never sets, but shines on unceasingly.\u201d Goethe has taken\n      the simile from me; not I from him. Without doubt he used it in this\n      conversation, which was held in 1824, in consequence of a (possibly\n      unconscious) reminiscence of the above passage, for it occurs in the\n      first edition, p. 401, in exactly the same words, and it is also\n      repeated at p. 528 of that edition, as at the close of \u00a7 65 of the\n      present work. The first edition was sent to him in December 1818,\n      and in March 1819, when I was at Naples, he sent me his\n      congratulations by letter, through my sister, and enclosed a piece\n      of paper upon which he had noted the places of certain passages\n      which had specially pleased him. Thus he had read my book.\n\n   67 This is expressed in the Veda by saying, that when a man dies his\n      sight becomes one with the sun, his smell with the earth, his taste\n      with water, his hearing with the air, his speech with fire, &c., &c.\n      (Oupnek\u2019hat, vol. i. p. 249 _et seq._) And also by the fact that, in\n      a special ceremony, the dying man gives over his senses and all his\n      faculties singly to his son, in whom they are now supposed to live\n      on (Oupnek\u2019hat, vol. ii. p. 82 _et seq._)\n\n   68 Cf. Chap. xli.-xliv. of Supplement.\n\n   69 \u201cCritique of Pure Reason,\u201d first edition, pp. 532-558; fifth\n      edition, pp. 560-586; and \u201cCritique of Practical Reason,\u201d fourth\n      edition, pp. 169-179; Rosenkranz\u2019s edition, pp. 224-231.\n\n   70 Cart. Medit. 4.\u2014Spin. Eth., pt. ii. prop. 48 et 49, c\u00e6t.\n\n   71 Herodot. vii. 46.\n\n   72 Cf. Ch. xlvi. of Supplement.\n\n   73 Cf. Ch. xlv. of the Supplement.\n\n   74 Thus the basis of natural right of property does not require the\n      assumption of two grounds of right beside each other, that based on\n      _detention_ and that based on _formation_; but the latter is itself\n      sufficient. Only the name _formation_ is not very suitable, for the\n      spending of any labour upon a thing does not need to be a forming or\n      fashioning of it.\n\n   75 The further exposition of the philosophy of law here laid down will\n      be found in my prize-essay, \u201cUeber das Fundament der Moral,\u201d \u00a7 17,\n      pp. 221-230 of 1st ed., pp. 216-226 of 2d ed.\n\n   76 Cf. Ch. xlvii. of Supplement.\n\n   77 Oupnek\u2019hat, vol. i. p. 60 et seq.\n\n   78 That Spanish bishop who, in the last war, poisoned both himself and\n      the French generals at his own table, is an instance of this; and\n      also various incidents in that war. Examples are also to be found in\n      Montaigne, Bk. ii. ch. 12.\n\n   79 Observe, in passing, that what gives every positive system of\n      religion its great strength, the point of contact through which it\n      takes possession of the soul, is entirely its ethical side. Not,\n      however, the ethical side directly as such, but as it appears firmly\n      united and interwoven with the element of mythical dogma which is\n      present in every system of religion, and as intelligible only by\n      means of this. So much is this the case, that although the ethical\n      significance of action cannot be explained in accordance with the\n      principle of sufficient reason, yet since every mythus follows this\n      principle, believers regard the ethical significance of action as\n      quite inseparable, and indeed as absolutely identical, and regard\n      every attack upon the mythus as an attack upon right and virtue.\n      This goes so far that among monotheistic nations atheism or\n      godlessness has become synonymous with the absence of all morality.\n      To the priests such confusions of conceptions are welcome, and only\n      in consequence of them could that horrible monstrosity fanaticism\n      arise and govern, not merely single individuals who happen to be\n      specially perverse and bad, but whole nations, and finally embody\n      itself in the Western world as the Inquisition (to the honour of\n      mankind be it said that this only happened once in their history),\n      which, according to the latest and most authentic accounts, in\n      Madrid alone (in the rest of Spain there were many more such\n      ecclesiastical dens of murderers) in 300 years put 300,000 human\n      beings to a painful death at the stake on theological grounds\u2014a fact\n      of which every zealot ought to be reminded whenever he begins to\n      make himself heard.\n\n   80 The Church would say that these are merely _opera operata_, which do\n      not avail unless grace gives the faith which leads to the new birth.\n      But of this farther on.\n\n   81 The right of man over the life and powers of the brutes rests on the\n      fact that, because with the growing clearness of consciousness\n      suffering increases in like measure; the pain which the brute\n      suffers through death or work is not so great as man would suffer by\n      merely denying himself the flesh, or the powers of the brutes.\n      Therefore man may carry the assertion of his existence to the extent\n      of denying the existence of the brute, and the will to live as a\n      whole endures less suffering in this way than if the opposite course\n      were adopted. This at once determines the extent of the use man may\n      make of the powers of the brutes without wrong; a limit, however,\n      which is often transgressed, especially in the case of beasts of\n      burden and dogs used in the chase; to which the activity of\n      societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals is principally\n      devoted. In my opinion, that right does not extend to vivisection,\n      particularly of the higher animals. On the other hand, the insect\n      does not suffer so much through its death as a man suffers from its\n      sting. The Hindus do not understand this.\n\n   82 As I wander sunk in thought, so strong a sympathy with myself comes\n      over me that I must often weep aloud, which otherwise I am not wont\n      to do.\n\n   83 Cf. Ch. xlvii. of Supplement. It is scarcely necessary to remind the\n      reader that the whole ethical doctrine given in outline in \u00a7\u00a7 61-67\n      has been explained fully and in detail in my prize-essay on the\n      foundation of morals.\n\n   84 This thought is expressed by a beautiful simile in the ancient\n      philosophical Sanscrit writing, \u201cSankhya Karica:\u201d \u201cYet the soul\n      remains a while invested with body; as the potter\u2019s wheel continues\n      whirling after the pot has been fashioned, by force of the impulse\n      previously given to it. When separation of the informed soul from\n      its corporeal frame at length takes place and nature in respect of\n      it ceases, then is absolute and final deliverance accomplished.\u201d\n      Colebrooke, \u201cOn the Philosophy of the Hindus: Miscellaneous Essays,\u201d\n      vol i. p. 271. Also in the \u201cSankhya Karica by Horace Wilson,\u201d \u00a7 67,\n      p. 184.\n\n   85 See, for example, \u201cOupnek\u2019hat, studio Anquetil du Perron,\u201d vol. ii.,\n      Nos. 138, 144, 145, 146. \u201cMythologie des Indous,\u201d par Mad. de\n      Polier, vol. ii., ch. 13, 14, 15, 16, 17. \u201cAsiatisches Magazin,\u201d by\n      Klaproth: in the first volume, \u201cUeber die Fo-Religion,\u201d also\n      \u201cBaghnat Geeta\u201d or \u201cGespr\u00e4che zwischen Krishna und Arjoon;\u201d in the\n      second volume, \u201cMoha-Mudgava.\u201d Also, \u201cInstitutes of Hindu Law, or\n      the Ordinances of Manu,\u201d from the Sanscrit, by Sir William Jones\n      (German by H\u00fcttner, 1797), especially the sixth and twelfth\n      chapters. Finally, many passages in the \u201cAsiatic Researches.\u201d (In\n      the last forty years Indian literature has grown so much in Europe,\n      that if I were now to complete this note to the first edition, it\n      would occupy several pages.)\n\n   86 At the procession of Jagganath in June 1840, eleven Hindus threw\n      themselves under the wheels, and were instantly killed. (Letter of\n      an East Indian proprietor in the _Times_ of 30th December 1840.)\n\n   87 On \u03b4\u03b5\u03c5\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 cf. Stob. Floril., vol. ii. p. 374.\n\n   88 Bruckeri Hist. Philos., tomi iv. pars. i. p. 10.\n\n   89 Henry VI., Part ii. act 3, sc. 3.\n\n   90 Cf. Ch. xlviii. of the Supplement.\n\n   91 How truly this is the case may be seen from the fact that all the\n      contradictions and inconceivabilities contained in the Christian\n      dogmatics, consistently systematised by Augustine, which have led to\n      the Pelagian insipidity which is opposed to them, vanish as soon as\n      we abstract from the fundamental Jewish dogma, and recognize that\n      man is not the work of another, but of his own will. Then all is at\n      once clear and correct: then there is no need of freedom in the\n      _operari_, for it lies in the _esse_; and there also lies the sin as\n      original sin. The work of grace is, however, our own. To the\n      rationalistic point of view of the day, on the contrary, many\n      doctrines of the Augustinian dogmatics, founded on the New\n      Testament, appear quite untenable, and indeed revolting; for\n      example, predestination. Accordingly Christianity proper is\n      rejected, and a return is made to crude Judaism. But the\n      miscalculation or the original weakness of Christian dogmatics\n      lies\u2014where it is never sought\u2014precisely in that which is withdrawn\n      from all investigation as established and certain. Take this away\n      and the whole of dogmatics is rational; for this dogma destroys\n      theology as it does all other sciences. If any one studies the\n      Augustinian theology in the books \u201c_De Civitate Dei_\u201d (especially in\n      the Fourteenth Book), he experiences something analogous to the\n      feeling of one who tries to make a body stand whose centre of\n      gravity falls outside it; however he may turn it and place it, it\n      always tumbles over again. So here, in spite of all the efforts and\n      sophisms of Augustine, the guilt and misery of the world always\n      falls back on God, who made everything and everything that is in\n      everything, and also knew how all things would go. That Augustine\n      himself was conscious of the difficulty, and puzzled by it, I have\n      already shown in my prize-essay on the Freedom of the Will (ch. iv.\n      pp. 66-68 of the first and second editions). In the same way, the\n      contradiction between the goodness of God and the misery of the\n      world, and also between the freedom of the will and the\n      foreknowledge of God, is the inexhaustible theme of a controversy\n      which lasted nearly a hundred years between the Cartesians,\n      Malebranche, Leibnitz, Bayle, Clarke, Arnauld, and many others. The\n      only dogma which was regarded as fixed by all parties was the\n      existence and attributes of God, and they all unceasingly move in a\n      circle, because they seek to bring these things into harmony,\n      _i.e._, to solve a sum that will not come right, but always shows a\n      remainder at some new place whenever we have concealed it elsewhere.\n      But it does not occur to any one to seek for the source of the\n      difficulty in the fundamental assumption, although it palpably\n      obtrudes itself. Bayle alone shows that he saw this.\n\n   92 This is also just the Prajna\u2014Paramita of the Buddhists, the \u201cbeyond\n      all knowledge,\u201d _i.e._, the point at which subject and object are no\n      more. (Cf. J. J. Schmidt, \u201cUeber das Mahajana und\n      Pratschna-Paramita.\u201d)","title":"The World as Will and Idea (Vol. 1 of 3)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":190615}