{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_70669/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_70669","id":"gutenberg_70669","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/70669","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Philosophy"],"text":"[Illustration: Friedrick Schiller]\n\n\n\n\n                  Aesthetical and Philosophical Essays\n                            INTRODUCING THE\n DISSERTATION ON THE \u201cCONNECTION BETWEEN THE ANIMAL AND SPIRITUAL MAN.\u201d\n\n\n                                   BY\n\n                           FRIEDRICK SCHILLER\n\n\n                            Library Edition\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                               NEW YORK:\n                    The Publishers Plate Renting Co.\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                                   PAGE\n\n INTRODUCTION                                                         5\n\n\n LETTERS ON THE \u00c6STHETICAL EDUCATION OF MAN                          33\n\n\n \u00c6STHETICAL ESSAYS:\u2014\n\n      THE MORAL UTILITY OF \u00c6STHETIC MANNERS                         126\n\n      ON THE SUBLIME                                                135\n\n      THE PATHETIC                                                  149\n\n      ON GRACE AND DIGNITY                                          175\n\n      ON DIGNITY                                                    211\n\n      ON THE NECESSARY LIMITATIONS IN THE USE OF BEAUTY AND FORM    230\n\n      REFLECTIONS ON THE USE OF THE VULGAR AND LOW ELEMENTS IN\n        WORKS OF ART                                                254\n\n      DETACHED REFLECTIONS ON DIFFERENT QUESTIONS OF \u00c6STHETICS      261\n\n      ON SIMPLE AND SENTIMENTAL POETRY                              269\n\n      THE STAGE AS A MORAL INSTITUTION                              339\n\n      ON THE TRAGIC ART                                             346\n\n      OF THE CAUSE OF THE PLEASURE WE DERIVE FROM TRAGIC OBJECTS    367\n\n\n SCHILLER\u2019S PHILOSOPHICAL LETTERS:\u2014\n\n      PREFATORY REMARKS                                             379\n\n      THEOSOPHY OF JULIUS                                           387\n\n      ON THE CONNECTION BETWEEN THE ANIMAL AND THE SPIRITUAL\n        NATURE IN MAN                                               406\n\n      PHYSICAL CONNECTION                                           408\n\n      PHILOSOPHICAL CONNECTION                                      415\n\n\n\n\n                             INTRODUCTION.\n\n\nThe special subject of the greater part of the letters and essays of\nSchiller contained in this volume is \u00c6sthetics; and before passing to\nany remarks on his treatment of the subject it will be useful to offer a\nfew observations on the nature of this topic, and on its treatment by\nthe philosophical spirit of different ages.\n\nFirst, then, \u00e6sthetics has for its object the vast realm of the\nbeautiful, and it may be most adequately defined as the philosophy of\nart or of the fine arts. To some the definition may seem arbitrary, as\nexcluding the beautiful in nature; but it will cease to appear so if it\nis remarked that the beauty which is the work of art is higher than\nnatural beauty, because it is the offspring of the mind. Moreover, if,\nin conformity with a certain school of modern philosophy, the mind be\nviewed as the true being, including all in itself, it must be admitted\nthat beauty is only truly beautiful when it shares in the nature of\nmind, and is mind\u2019s offspring.\n\nViewed in this light, the beauty of nature is only a reflection of the\nbeauty of the mind, only an imperfect beauty, which as to its essence is\nincluded in that of the mind. Nor has it ever entered into the mind of\nany thinker to develop the beautiful in natural objects, so as to\nconvert it into a science and a system. The field of natural beauty is\ntoo uncertain and too fluctuating for this purpose. Moreover, the\nrelation of beauty in nature and beauty in art forms a part of the\nscience of \u00e6sthetics, and finds again its proper place.\n\nBut it may be urged that art is not worthy of a scientific treatment.\nArt is no doubt an ornament of our life and a charm to the fancy; but\nhas it a more serious side? When compared with the absorbing necessities\nof human existence, it might seem a luxury, a superfluity, calculated to\nenfeeble the heart by the assiduous worship of beauty, and thus to be\nactually prejudicial to the true interest of practical life. This view\nseems to be largely countenanced by a dominant party in modern times,\nand practical men, as they are styled, are only too ready to take this\nsuperficial view of the office of art.\n\nMany have indeed undertaken to defend art on this score, and to show\nthat, far from being a mere luxury, it has serious and solid advantages.\nIt has been even apparently exaggerated in this respect, and represented\nas a kind of mediator between reason and sense, between inclination and\nduty, having as its mission the work of reconciling the conflicting\nelements in the human heart. A strong trace of this view will be found\nin Schiller, especially in all that he says about the play instinct in\nhis \u201c\u00c6sthetical Letters.\u201d\n\nNevertheless, art is worthy of science; \u00e6sthetics is a true science, and\nthe office of art is as high as that assigned to it in the pages of\nSchiller. We admit that art viewed only as an ornament and a charm is no\nlonger free, but a slave. But this is a perversion of its proper end.\nScience has to be considered as free in its aim and in its means, and it\nis only free when liberated from all other considerations; it rises up\nto truth, which is its only real object, and can alone fully satisfy it.\nArt in like manner is alone truly art when it is free and independent,\nwhen it solves the problem of its high destination\u2014that problem whether\nit has to be placed beside religion and philosophy as being nothing else\nthan a particular mode or a special form of revealing God to\nconsciousness, and of expressing the deepest interests of human nature\nand the widest truths of the human mind.\n\nFor it is in their works of art that the nations have imprinted their\nfavorite thoughts and their richest intuitions, and not unfrequently the\nfine arts are the only means by which we can penetrate into the secrets\nof their wisdom and the mysteries of their religion.\n\nIt is made a reproach to art that it produces its effects by appearance\nand illusion; but can it be established that appearance is\nobjectionable? The phenomena of nature and the acts of human life are\nnothing more than appearances, and are yet looked upon as constituting a\ntrue reality; for this reality must be sought for beyond the objects\nperceived immediately by the sense, the substance and speech and\nprinciple underlying all things manifesting itself in time and space\nthrough these real existences, but preserving its absolute existence in\nitself. Now, the very special object and aim of art is to represent the\naction and development of this universal force. In nature this force or\nprinciple appears confounded with particular interests and transitory\ncircumstances, mixed up with what is arbitrary in the passions and in\nindividual wills. Art sets the truth free from the illusory and\nmendacious forms of this coarse, imperfect world, and clothes it in a\nnobler, purer form created by the mind itself. Thus the forms of art,\nfar from being mere appearances, perfectly illusory, contain more\nreality and truth than the phenomenal existences of the real world. The\nworld of art is truer than that of history or nature.\n\nNor is this all: the representations of art are more expressive and\ntransparent than the phenomena of the real world or the events of\nhistory. The mind finds it harder to pierce through the hard envelop of\nnature and common life than to penetrate into works of art.\n\nTwo more reflections appear completely to meet the objection that art or\n\u00e6sthetics is not entitled to the name of science.\n\nIt will be generally admitted that the mind of man has the power of\nconsidering itself, of making itself its own object and all that issues\nfrom its activity; for thought constitutes the essence of the mind. Now\nart and its work, as creations of the mind, are themselves of a\nspiritual nature. In this respect art is much nearer to the mind than\nnature. In studying the works of art the mind has to do with itself,\nwith what proceeds from itself, and is itself.\n\nThus art finds its highest confirmation in science.\n\nNor does art refuse a philosophical treatment because it is dependent on\ncaprice, and subject to no law. If its highest aim be to reveal to the\nhuman consciousness the highest interest of the mind, it is evident that\nthe substance or contents of the representations are not given up to the\ncontrol of a wild and irregular imagination. It is strictly determined\nby the ideas that concern our intelligence and by the laws of their\ndevelopment, whatever may be the inexhaustible variety of forms in which\nthey are produced. Nor are these forms arbitrary, for every form is not\nfitted to express every idea. The form is determined by the substance\nwhich it has to suit.\n\nA further consideration of the true nature of beauty, and therefore of\nthe vocation of the artist, will aid us still more in our endeavor to\nshow the high dignity of art and of \u00e6sthetics. The history of philosophy\npresents us with many theories on the nature of the beautiful; but as it\nwould lead us too far to examine them all, we shall only consider the\nmost important among them. The coarsest of these theories defines the\nbeautiful as that which pleases the senses. This theory, issuing from\nthe philosophy of sensation of the school of Locke and Condillac, only\nexplains the idea and the feeling of the beautiful by disfiguring it. It\nis entirely contradicted by facts. For it converts it into desire, but\ndesire is egotistical and insatiable, while admiration is respectful,\nand is its own satisfaction without seeking possession.\n\nOthers have thought the beautiful consists in proportion, and no doubt\nthis is one of the conditions of beauty, but only one. An\nill-proportioned object cannot be beautiful, but the exact\ncorrespondence of parts, as in geometrical figures, does not constitute\nbeauty.\n\nA noted ancient theory makes beauty consist in the perfect suitableness\nof means to their end. In this case the beautiful is not the useful, it\nis the suitable; and the latter idea is more akin to that of beauty. But\nit has not the true character of the beautiful. Again, order is a less\nmathematical idea than proportion, but it does not explain what is free\nand flowing in certain beauties.\n\nThe most plausible theory of beauty is that which makes it consist in\ntwo contrary and equally necessary elements\u2014unity and variety. A\nbeautiful flower has all the elements we have named; it has unity,\nsymmetry, and variety of shades of color. There is no beauty without\nlife, and life is movement, diversity. These elements are found in\nbeautiful and also in sublime objects. A beautiful object is complete,\nfinished, limited with symmetrical parts. A sublime object whose forms,\nthough not out of proportion, are less determined, ever awakens in us\nthe feeling of the infinite. In objects of sense all qualities that can\nproduce the feeling of the beautiful come under one class called\nphysical beauty. But above and beyond this in the region of mind we have\nfirst intellectual beauty, including the laws that govern intelligence\nand the creative genius of the artist, the poet, and the philosopher.\nAgain, the moral world has beauty in its ideas of liberty, of virtue, of\ndevotion, the justice of Aristides, the heroism of Leonidas.\n\nWe have now ascertained that there is beauty and sublimity in nature, in\nideas, in feelings, and in actions. After all this it might be supposed\nthat a unity could be found amidst these different kinds of beauty. The\nsight of a statue, as the Apollo of Belvedere, of a man, of Socrates\nexpiring, are adduced as producing impressions of the beautiful; but the\nform cannot be a form by itself, it must be the form of something.\nPhysical beauty is the sign of an interior beauty, a spiritual and moral\nbeauty which is the basis, the principle, and the unity of the\nbeautiful.\n\nPhysical beauty is an envelop to intellectual and to moral beauty.\n\nIntellectual beauty, the splendor of the true, can only have for\nprinciple that of all truth.\n\nMoral beauty comprehends two distinct elements, equally beautiful,\njustice and charity. Thus God is the principle of the three orders of\nbeauty, physical, intellectual, and moral. He also construes the two\ngreat powers distributed over the three orders, the beautiful and the\nsublime. God is beauty par excellence; He is therefore perfectly\nbeautiful; He is equally sublime. He is to us the type and sense of the\ntwo great forms of beauty. In short, the Absolute Being as absolute\nunity and absolute variety is necessarily the ultimate principle, the\nextreme basis, the finished ideal of all beauty. This was the marvellous\nbeauty which Diotimus had seen, and which is described in the Banquet of\nSocrates.\n\nIt is our purpose after the previous discussion to attempt to elucidate\nstill further the idea of art by following its historic development.\n\nMany questions bearing on art and relating to the beautiful had been\npropounded before, seen as far back as Plotinus, Plato, and Socrates;\nbut recent times have been the real cradle of \u00e6sthetics as a science.\nModern philosophy was the first to recognize that beauty in art is one\nof the means by which the contradictions can be removed between mind\nconsidered in its abstract and absolute existence and nature\nconstituting the world of sense, bringing back these two factors to\nunity.\n\nKant was the first who felt the want of this union and expressed it, but\nwithout determining its conditions or expressing it scientifically. He\nwas impeded in his efforts to effect this union by the opposition\nbetween the subjective and the objective, by his placing practical\nreason above theoretical reason, and he set up the opposition found in\nthe moral sphere as the highest principle of morality. Reduced to this\ndifficulty, all that Kant could do was to express the union under the\nform of the subjective ideas of reason, or as postulates to be deduced\nfrom the practical reason, without their essential character being\nknown, and representing their realization as nothing more than a simple\n_you ought_, or imperative \u201cDu sollst.\u201d\n\nIn his teleological judgment applied to living beings, Kant comes, on\nthe contrary, to consider the living organism in such wise that, the\ngeneral including the particular, and determining it as an end,\nconsequently the idea also determines the external, the compound of the\norgans, not by an act springing from without but issuing from within. In\nthis way the end and the means, the interior and exterior, the general\nand particular, are confounded in unity. But this judgment only\nexpresses a subjective act of reflection, and does not throw any light\non the object in itself. Kant has the same view of the \u00e6sthetic\njudgment. According to him the judgment does not proceed either from\nreason, as the faculty of general ideas, or from sensuous perception,\nbut from the free play of the reason and of the imagination. In this\nanalysis of the cognitive faculty, the object only exists relatively to\nthe subject and to the feeling of pleasure or the enjoyment that it\nexperiences.\n\nThe characteristics of the beautiful are, according to Kant:\u2014\n\n1. The pleasure it procures is free from interest.\n\n2. Beauty appears to us as an object of general enjoyment, without\nawakening in us the consciousness of an abstract idea and of a category\nof reason to which we might refer our judgment.\n\n3. Beauty ought to embrace in itself the relation of conformity to its\nend, but in such a way that this conformity may be grasped without the\nidea of the end being offered to our mind.\n\n4. Though it be not accompanied by an abstract idea, beauty ought be to\nacknowledged as the object of a necessary enjoyment.\n\nA special feature of all this system is the indissoluble unity of what\nis supposed to be separated in consciousness. This distinction\ndisappears in the beautiful, because in it the general and the\nparticular, the end and the means, the idea and the object, mentally\npenetrate each other completely. The particular in itself, whether it be\nopposed to itself or to what is general, is something accidental. But\nhere what may be considered as an accidental form is so intimately\nconnected with the general that it is confounded and identified with it.\nBy this means the beautiful in art presents thought to us as incarnate.\nOn the other hand, matter, nature, the sensuous as themselves possessing\nmeasure, end, and harmony, are raised to the dignity of spirit and share\nin its general character. Thought not only abandons its hostility\nagainst nature, but smiles in her. Sensation and enjoyment are justified\nand sanctified, so that nature and liberty, sense and ideas, find their\njustification and their sanctification in this union. Nevertheless this\nreconciliation, though seemingly perfect, is stricken with the character\nof subjectiveness. It cannot constitute the absolutely true and real.\n\nSuch is an outline of the principal results of Kant\u2019s criticism, and\nHegel passes high praise on the profoundly philosophic mind of Schiller,\nwho demanded the union and reconciliation of the two principles, and who\ntried to give a scientific explanation of it before the problem had been\nsolved by philosophy. In his \u201cLetters on \u00c6sthetic Education,\u201d Schiller\nadmits that man carries in himself the germ of the ideal man which is\nrealized and represented by the state. There are two ways for the\nindividual man to approach the ideal man; first, when the state,\nconsidered as morality, justice, and general reason, absorbs the\nindividualities in its unity; secondly, when the individual rises to the\nideal of his species by the perfecting of himself. Reason demands unity,\nconformity to the species; nature, on the other hand, demands plurality\nand individuality; and man is at once solicited by two contrary laws. In\nthis conflict, \u00e6sthetic education must come in to effect the\nreconciliation of the two principles; for, according to Schiller, it has\nas its end to fashion and polish the inclinations and passions so that\nthey may become reasonable, and that, on the other hand, reason and\nfreedom may issue from their abstract character, may unite with nature,\nmay spiritualize it, become incarnate, and take a body in it. Beauty is\nthus given as the simultaneous development of the rational and of the\nsensuous, fused together, and interpenetrated one by the other, an union\nthat constitutes in fact true reality.\n\nThis unity of the general and of the particular, of liberty and\nnecessity of the spiritual and material, which Schiller understood\nscientifically as the spirit of art, and which he tried to make appear\nin real life by \u00e6sthetic art and education, was afterwards put forward\nunder the name of idea as the principle of all knowledge and existence.\nIn this way, through the agency of Schelling, science raised itself to\nan absolute point of view. It was thus that art began to claim its\nproper nature and dignity. From that time its proper place was finally\nmarked out for it in science, though the mode of viewing it still\nlabored under certain defects. Its high and true distinction were at\nlength understood.\n\nIn viewing the higher position to which recent philosophical systems\nhave raised the theory of art in Germany, we must not overlook the\nadvantages contributed by the study of the ideal of the ancients by such\nmen as Winckelmann, who, by a kind of inspiration, raised art criticism\nfrom a carping about petty details to seek the true spirit of great\nworks of art, and their true ideas, by a study of the spirit of the\noriginals.\n\nIt has appeared expedient to conclude this introduction with a summary\nof the latest and highest theory of art and \u00e6sthetics issuing from Kant\nand Schiller, and developed in the later philosophy of Hegel.\n\nOur space only allows us to give a glance, first, at the metaphysics of\nthe beautiful as developed by Hegel in the first part of his\n\u2018Aesthetik,\u2019 and then at the later development of the same system in\nrecent writers issuing from his school.\n\nHegel considers, first, the abstract idea of the beautiful; secondly,\nbeauty in nature; thirdly, beauty in art or the ideal; and he winds up\nwith an examination of the qualities of the artist.\n\nHis preliminary remarks are directed to show the relations of art to\nreligion and philosophy, and he shows that man\u2019s destination is an\ninfinite development. In real life he only satisfies his longing\npartially and imperfectly by limited enjoyments. In science he finds a\nnobler pleasure, and civil life opens a career for his activity; but he\nonly finds an imperfect pleasure in these pursuits. He cannot then find\nthe ideal after which he sighs. Then he rises to a higher sphere, where\nall contradictions are effaced and the ideas of good and happiness are\nrealized in perfect accord and in constant harmony. This deep want of\nthe soul is satisfied in three ways: in art, in religion, and in\nphilosophy.\n\nArt is intended to make us contemplate the true and the infinite in\nforms of sense. Yet even art does not fully satisfy the deepest need of\nthe soul. The soul wants to contemplate truth in its inmost\nconsciousness. Religion is placed above the dominion of art.\n\nFirst, as to idea of the beautiful, Hegel begins by giving its\ncharacteristics. It is infinite, and it is free; the contemplation of\nthe beautiful suffices to itself, it awakens no desire. The soul\nexperiences something like a godlike felicity and is transported into a\nsphere remote from the miseries of life. This theory of the beautiful\ncomes very near that of Plato.\n\nSecondly, as to beauty in nature. Physical beauty, considered\nexternally, presents itself successively under the aspects of regularity\nand of symmetry, of conformity with a law, and of harmony, also of\npurity and simplicity of matter.\n\nThirdly, beauty in art or the ideal is beauty in a higher degree of\nperfection than real beauty. The ideal in art is not contrary to the\nreal, but the real idealized, purified, and perfectly expressed. The\nideal is also the soul arrived at the consciousness of itself, free and\nfully enjoying its faculties; it is life, but spiritual life and spirit.\nNor is the ideal a cold abstraction, it is the spiritual principle under\nthe form of a living individuality freed from the laws of the finite.\nThe ideal in its highest form is the divine, as expressed in the Greek\ndivinities; the Christian ideal, as expressed in all its highest purity\nin God the Father, the Christ, the Virgin. Its essential features are\ncalm, majesty, serenity.\n\nAt a lower degree the ideal is in man the victory of the eternal\nprinciples that fill the human heart, the triumph of the nobler part of\nthe soul, the moral and divine principle.\n\nBut the ideal manifested in the world becomes _action_, and action\nimplies a form of society, a determinate situation with collision, and\nan action properly so called. The heroic age is the best society for the\nideal in action; in its determinate situation the ideal in action must\nappear as the manifestation of moral power, and in action, properly so\ncalled, it must contain three points in the ideal: first, general\nprinciples; secondly, personages; thirdly, their character and their\npassions. Hegel winds up by considering the qualities necessary in an\nartist: imagination, genius, inspiration, originality, etc.\n\nA recent exponent of Hegel\u2019s \u00e6sthetical ideas further developed\nexpresses himself thus on the nature of beauty:\u2014\n\n\u201cAfter the bitterness of the world, the sweetness of art soothes and\nrefreshes us. This is the high value of the beautiful\u2014that it solves the\ncontradiction of mind and matter, of the moral and sensuous world, in\nharmony. Thus the beautiful and its representation in art procures for\nintuition what philosophy gives to the cognitive insight and religion to\nthe believing frame of mind. Hence the delight with which Schiller\u2019s\nwonderful poem on the Bell celebrates the accord of the inner and outer\nlife, the fulfilment of the longing and demands of the soul by the\nevents in nature. The externality of phenomena is removed in the\nbeautiful; it is raised into the circle of ideal existence; for it is\nrecognized as the revelation of the ideal, and thus transfigured it\ngives to the latter additional splendor.\n\n\u201cThus the beautiful is active, living unity, full existence without\ndefect, as Plato and Schelling have said, or as recent writers describe\nit; the idea that is quite present in the appearance, the appearance\nwhich is quite formed and penetrated by the idea.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeauty is the world secret that invites us in image and word,\u201d is the\npoetical expression of Plato; and we may add, because it is revealed in\nboth. We feel in it the harmony of the world; it breaks forth in a\nbeauty, in a lovely accord, in a radiant point, and starting thence we\npenetrate further and yet further, and find as the ground of all\nexistence the same charm which had refreshed us in individual forms.\nThus Christ pointed to the lilies of the field to knit His followers\u2019\nreliance on Providence with the phenomena of nature: and could they jet\nforth in royal beauty, exceeding that of Solomon, if the inner ground of\nnature were not beauty?\n\nWe may also name beauty in a certain sense a mystery, as it mediates to\nus in a sensuous sign a heavenly gift of grace, that it opens to us a\nview into the Eternal Being, teaching us to know nature in God and God\nin nature, that it brings the divine even to the perception of sense,\nand establishes the energy of love and freedom as the ground, the bond,\nand the end of the world.\n\nIn the midst of the temporal the eternal is made palpable and present to\nus in the beautiful, and offers itself to our enjoyment. The separation\nis suppressed, and the original unity, as it is in God, appears as the\nfirst, as what holds together even the past in the universe, and what\nconstitutes the aim of the development in a finite accord.\n\nThe beautiful not only presents itself to us as mediator of a foreign\nexcellence or of a remote divinity, but the ideal and the godlike are\npresent in it. Hence \u00e6sthetics requires as its basis the system in which\nGod is known as indwelling in the world, that He is not far distant from\nany one of us, but that He animates us, and that we live in Him.\n\u00c6sthetics requires the knowledge that mind is the creative force and\nunity of all that is extended and developed in time and space.\n\nThe beautiful is thus, according to these later thinkers, the revelation\nof God to the mind through the senses; it is the appearance of the idea.\nIn the beautiful spirit reveals itself to spirit through matter and the\nsenses; thus the entire man feels himself raised and satisfied by it. By\nthe unity of the beautiful with us we experience with delight that\nthought and the material world are present for our individuality, that\nthey utter tones and shine forth in it, that both penetrate each other\nand blend in it and thus become one with it. We feel one with them and\none in them.\n\nThis later view was to a great extent expressed by Schiller in his\n\u201c\u00c6sthetical Letters.\u201d\n\nBut art and \u00e6sthetics, in the sense in which these terms are used and\nunderstood by German philosophical writers, such as Schiller, embrace a\nwider field than the line arts. Lessing, in his \u201cLaocoon,\u201d had already\nshown the point of contrast between painting and poetry; and \u00e6sthetics,\nbeing defined as the science of the beautiful, must of necessity embrace\npoetry. Accordingly Schiller\u2019s essays on tragic art, pathos, and\nsentimental poetry, contained in this volume, are justly classed under\nhis \u00e6sthetical writings.\n\nThis being so, it is important to estimate briefly the transitions of\nGerman poetry before Schiller, and the position that he occupied in its\nhistoric development.\n\nThe first classical period of German poetry and literature was contained\nbetween A.D. 1190 and 1300. It exhibits the intimate blending of the\nGerman and Christian elements, and their full development in splendid\nproductions, for this was the period of the German national epos, the\n\u201cNibelungenlied,\u201d and of the \u201cMinnegesang.\u201d\n\nThis was a period which has nothing to compare with it in point of art\nand poetry, save perhaps, and that imperfectly, the heroic and\npost-Homeric age of early Greece.\n\nThe poetical efforts of that early age may be grouped under\u2014(1) national\nepos: the \u201cNibelungenlied;\u201d (2) art epos: the \u201cRolandslied,\u201d \u201cPercival,\u201d\netc.; (3) the introduction of antique legends: Veldeck\u2019s \u201c\u00c6neide,\u201d and\nKonrad\u2019s \u201cWar of Troy;\u201d (4) Christian legends: \u201cBarlaam,\u201d \u201cSylvester,\u201d\n\u201cPilatus,\u201d &c.; (5) poetical narratives: \u201cCrescentia,\u201d \u201cGraf Rudolf,\u201d\netc.; (6) animal legends; \u201cReinecke Vos;\u201d (7) didactic poems: \u201cDer\nRenner;\u201d (8) the Minne-poetry, and prose.\n\nThe fourth group, though introduced from a foreign source, gives the\nspecial character and much of the charm of the period we consider. This\nis the sphere of legends derived from ecclesiastical ground. One of the\nbest German writers on the history of German literature remarks: \u201cIf the\naim and nature of all poetry is to let yourself be filled by a subject\nand to become penetrated with it; if the simple representation of\nunartificial, true, and glowing feelings belongs to its most beautiful\nadornments; if the faithful direction of the heart to the invisible and\neternal is the ground on which at all times the most lovely flowers of\npoetry have sprouted forth, these legendary poems of early Germany, in\ntheir lovely heartiness, in their unambitious limitation, and their\npious sense, deserve a friendly acknowledgment. What man has considered\nthe pious images in the prayer-books of the Middle Ages, the unadorned\ninnocence, the piety and purity, the patience of the martyrs, the calm,\nheavenly transparency of the figures of the holy angels, without, being\nattracted by the simple innocence and humility of these forms, the\ncreation of pious artists\u2019 hands? Who has beheld them without tranquil\njoy at the soft splendor poured over them, without deep sympathy, nay,\nwithout a certain emotion and tenderness? And the same spirit that\ncreated these images also produced those poetical effusions, the same\nspirit of pious belief, of deep devotion, of heavenly longing. If we\nmake a present reality of the heroic songs of the early German popular\npoetry, and the chivalrous epics of the art poetry, the military\nexpeditions and dress of the Crusades, this legendary poetry appears as\nthe invention of humble pilgrims, who wander slowly on the weary way to\nJerusalem, with scollop and pilgrim\u2019s staff, engaged in quiet prayer,\ntill they are all to kneel at the Saviour\u2019s sepulchre; and thus\ncontented, after touching the holy earth with their lips, they return,\npoor as they were, but full of holy comfort, to their distant home.\n\n\u201cWhile the knightly poetry is the poetry of the splendid secular life,\nfull of cheerful joy, full of harp-tones and song, full of tournaments\nand joyous festivals, the poetry of the earthly love for the earthly\nbride, the poetry of the legends is that of the spontaneous life of\npoverty, the poetry of the solitary cloister cell, of the quiet,\nwell-walled convent garden, the poetry of heavenly brides, who without\nlamenting the joys of the world, which they need not, have their joy in\ntheir Saviour in tranquil piety and devout resignation\u2014who attend at the\nespousals of Anna and Joachim, sing the Magnificat with the Holy Mother\nof God, stand weeping beneath the cross, to be pierced also by the\nsword, who hear the angel harp with St. Cecilia, and walk with St.\nTheresa in the glades of Paradise. While the Minne-poetry was the tender\nhomage offered to the beauty, the gentleness, the grace, and charm of\nnoble women of this world, legendary poetry was the homage given to the\nVirgin Mother, the Queen of Heaven, transfiguring earthly love into a\nheavenly and eternal love.\n\n\u201cFor the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were the time of woman\n_cultus_, such as has never been before or since seen; it is also the\ntime of the deepest and simplest and truest, most enthusiastic and\nfaithful veneration of the Virgin Mary. If we, by a certain effort,\nmanage to place ourselves back on the standpoint of childlike poetic\nfaith of that time, and set aside in thought the materializing and\nexaggeration of the hagiology and Mariolatry produced by later\ncenturies, rendering the reaction of the Reformation unavoidable\u2014if now\nin our age, turned exclusively to logical ideas and a negative\ndialectic, we live again by thought in those ages of feeling and\npoetry\u2014if we acknowledge all these things to be something more than\nharmless play of words and fancy, and as the true lifelike contents of\nthe period, then we can properly appreciate this legendary poetry as a\nnecessary link in the crown of pearls of our ancient poetry.\u201d\n\nIn short, the first classical period of German literature was a time of\nyouthful freshness, of pure harmony, plunged in verse and song, full of\nthe richest tones and the noblest rhythm, so that rhyme and song alone\nmust be looked for as the form of poetic creations. Accordingly it had\nno proper prose. Like our own youth, it was a happy, free, and true\nyouth, it knew no prose; like us it dreamed to speechless songs; and as\nwe expressed our youthful language and hopes, woes and joys, in rhyme\nand song, thus a whole people and age had its beautiful youth full of\nsong and verse tones. The life was poetry and poetry was the life.\n\nThen came degeneracy and artifice; after that the great shock of the\nReformation; subsequently a servile and pedantic study of classical\nforms without imbibing their spirit, but preparing the way for a truer\nart spirit, extracted from their study by the masterly criticism of\nWinckelmann and Lessing, till the second classical period of German\nliterature and poetry bloomed forth in full beauty, blending the\nnational and legendary elements so well expressed by Herder with the\nhighest effusions of dramatic poetry, partly creative and partly\nimitative of the Greek models, in Schiller and Goethe.\n\nModern German literature presents a very remarkable spectacle, though\nfar from unique in history, for there we see criticism begetting genius.\n\nLessing, the founder of the modern German drama, sought to banish all\npomp from the theatre, and in doing so some critics have thought that he\nbanished the ideal and fell into affectation. At any rate, his\n\u201cDramaturgy\u201d is full of original ideas, and when he drew out the sphere\nof poetry contrasted with that of painting in his \u201cLaocoon,\u201d all Germany\nresounded with his praise. \u201cWith that delight,\u201d says Goethe, \u201cwe saluted\nthis luminous ray which a thinker of the first order caused to break\nforth from its clouds. It is necessary to have all the fire of youth to\nconceive the effect produced on us by the \u2018Laocoon\u2019 of Lessing.\u201d Another\ngreat contemporary, whose name is imperishable as that of art, struck a\nmortal blow at a false taste in the study of the antique. Winckelmann\nquestioned the works of the Greek chisel with an intelligence full of\nlove, and initiated his countrymen into poetry by a feeling for\nsculpture! What an enthusiasm he displayed for classical beauty! what a\nworship of the form! what a fervor of paganism is found in its eloquent\npages when he also comments on the admirable group of the Laocoon, or\nthe still purer masterpiece of the Apollo of Belvedere.\n\nThese men were the vanguard of the great Germanic army; Schiller and\nGoethe alone formed its main column. In them German poetry shows itself\nin its perfection, and completely realizes the ideal designed for it by\nthe critic. Every factitious precept and conventional law was now\noverthrown; these poetical Protestants broke away entirely from the yoke\nof tradition. Yet their genius was not without a rule. Every work bears\nin itself the organic laws of its development. Thus, although they laugh\nat the famous precept of the three unities, it is because they dig still\ndeeper down to the root of things, to grasp the true principle from\nwhich the precept issued. \u201cMen have not understood,\u201d said Goethe, \u201cthe\nbasis of this law. The law of the comprehensive\u2014\u2018das Fassliche\u2019\u2014is the\nprinciple; and the three unities have only value as far as they attain\nit. When they become an obstacle to the comprehension it is madness to\nwish to observe them. The Greeks themselves, from whom the rule is\nderived, did not always follow it. In the \u2018Phaeton\u2019 of Euripides, and in\nother pieces, there was change, place; accordingly they prefer to give a\nperfect exposition of their subject, rather than blindly respect a law\nnever very essential in itself. The pieces of Shakspeare violate in the\nhighest degree the unity of time and of place; but they are full of\ncomprehensiveness; nothing is easier to grasp, and for that reason they\nwould have found favor with the Greeks. The French poets tried to obey\nexactly the law of the three unities; but they violate the law of\ncomprehensiveness, as they do not expound dramatic subjects by dramas\nbut by recitals.\u201d\n\nPoetical creation was therefore viewed as free, but at the same time\nresponsible. Immediately, as if fecundity were the reward of\ncorrectness, the German theatre became filled with true and living\ncharacters. The stage widens under their steps that they may have room\nto move. History with its great proportions and its terrible lessons, is\nnow able to take place on the stage. The whole Thirty Years\u2019 War passes\nbefore us in \u201cWallenstein.\u201d We hear the tumult of camps, the disorder of\na fanatical and undisciplined army, peasants, recruits, sutlers,\nsoldiers. The illusion is complete, and enthusiasm breaks out among the\nspectators. Similar merits attach to many other of Schiller\u2019s plays.\n\nThis new drama, which seemed to give all to the natural sphere, concedes\nstill more to the ideal. An able critic has said the details which are\nthe truth of history are also its poetry. Here the German school\nprofesses a principle of the highest learning, and one that seems to be\nborrowed from its profoundest philosophers; it is that of the universal\nbeauty of life, of the identity of beauty and existence. \u201cOur\n\u00e6sthetics,\u201d says Goethe, \u201cspeak a great deal of poetical or antipoetical\nsubjects; fundamentally there is no subject that has not its poetry; it\nis for the poet to find it there.\u201d\n\nSchiller and Goethe divide the empire over modern German poetry, and\nrepresent its two principal powers; the one, Schiller, impassioned and\nlyrical, pours his soul over all the subjects he touches; in him every\ncomposition, ode, or drama is always one of his noble ideas, borrowing\nits dress and ornament from the external world. He is a poet especially\nthrough the heart, by the force with which he rushes in and carries you\nwith him. Goethe is especially an epic; no doubt he paints the passions\nwith admirable truth, but he commands them; like the god of the seas in\nVirgil, he raises above the angry waves his calm and sublime forehead.\n\nAfter this glance at the position and chief characteristics of Schiller,\nit may be useful to offer a few remarks on those of the principal works\nin this volume, his \u00c6sthetical Letters and Essays. Schiller, in his\n\u00c6sthetical Essays, did not choose the pure abstract method of deduction\nand conception like Kant, nor the historical like Herder, who strove\nthus to account for the genesis of our ideas of beauty and art. He\nstruck out a middle path, which presents certain deficiencies to the\nadvocates of either of these two systems. He leans upon Kantian ideas,\nbut without scholastic constraint. Pure speculation, which seeks to set\nfree the form from all contents and matter, was remote from his creative\ngenius, to which the world of matter and sense was no hinderance, but a\nnecessary envelop for his forms.\n\nHis removal to Jena in 1791, and acquaintance with Reinhold,\nfamiliarized him with the Kantian philosophy, but he only appreciated it\nby halves. The bare and bald dealing with fundamental principles was at\nthis time equally repulsive to Goethe and Schiller, the man of the world\nand the man of life. But Schiller did not find anywhere at that time\njustice done to the dignity of art, or honor to the substantial value of\nbeauty.\n\nThe \u00c6sthetical Essays in this volume appeared for the most part since\n1792, in the \u201cThalia\u201d and the \u201cHours\u201d periodicals. The first, \u201cOn the\nGround of our Pleasure in Tragic Subjects\u201d (1792), applies Kantian\nprinciples of the sublime to tragedy, and shows Schiller\u2019s lofty\nestimate of this class of poetry. With Kant he shows that the source of\nall pleasure is suitableness; the touching and sublime elicit this\nfeeling, implying the existence of unsuitableness. In this article he\nmakes the aim and source of art to consist in giving enjoyment, in\npleasing. To nature pleasure is a mediate object, to art its main\nobject. The same proposition appears in Schiller\u2019s paper on Tragic Art\n(1792), closely connected with the former. This article contains views\nof the affection of pity that seem to approximate the Aristotelian\npropositions about tragedy.\n\nHis views on the sublime are expressed in two papers, \u201cThe Sublime\u201d and\n\u201cThe Pathetic,\u201d in which we trace considerable influence of Lessing and\nWinckelmann. He is led especially to strong antagonism against the\nFrench tragedy, and he indulges in a lengthy consideration of the\npassage of Virgil on Laocoon, showing the necessity of suffering and the\npathetic in connection with moral adaptations to interest us deeply.\n\nAll these essays bespeak the poet who has tried his hand at tragedy, but\nin his next paper, \u201cOn Grace and Dignity,\u201d we trace more of the\nmoralist. Those passages where he takes up a medium position between\nsense and reason, between Goethe and Kant, are specially attractive. The\ntheme of this paper is the conception of grace, or the expression of a\nbeautiful soul and dignity, or that of a lofty mind. The idea of grace\nhas been developed more deeply and truly by Schiller than by Wieland or\nWinckelmann, but the special value of the paper is its constantly\npointing to the ideal of a higher humanity. In it he does full justice\nto the sensuous and to the moral, and commencing with the beautiful\nnature of the Greeks, to whom sense was never mere sense, nor reason\nmere reason, he concludes with an image of perfected humanity in which\ngrace and dignity are united, the former by architectonic beauty\n(structure), the last supported by power.\n\nThe following year, 1795, appeared his most important contribution to\n\u00e6sthetics, in his \u00c6sthetical Letters.\n\nIn these letters he remarks that beauty is the work of free\ncontemplation, and we enter with it into the world of ideas, but without\nleaving the world of sense. Beauty is to us an object, and yet at the\nsame time a state of our subjectivity, because the feeling of the\nconditional is under that which we have of it. Beauty is a form because\nwe consider it, and life because we feel it; in a word, it is at once\nour state and our art. And exactly because it is both it serves us as a\ntriumphant proof that suffering does not exclude activity, nor matter\nform, nor limitation the infinite, for in the enjoyment of beauty both\nnatures are united, and by this is proved the capacity of the infinite\nto be developed in the finite, and accordingly the possibility of the\nsublimest humanity.\n\nThe free play of the faculty of cognition which had been determined by\nKant is also developed by Schiller. His representation of this matter is\nthis: Man, as a spirit, is reason and will, self-active, determining,\nform-giving; this is described by Schiller as the form-instinct; man, as\na sensuous being, is determinable, receptive, termed to matter; Schiller\ndescribes this as the material instinct, \u201cStofftrieb.\u201d In the midst\nbetween these two is situated the beautiful, in which reason and the\nsensuous penetrate each other, and their enjoyable product is designated\nby Schiller the play instinct. This expression is not happily chosen.\nSchiller means to describe by it the free play of the forces, activity\naccording to nature, which is at once a joy and a happiness; he reminds\nus of the life of Olympus, and adds: \u201cMan is only quite a man when he\nplays.\u201d Personality is that which lasts, the state of feeling is the\nchangeable in man; he is the fixed unity remaining eternally himself in\nthe floods of change. Man in contact with the world is to take it up in\nhimself, but to unite with it the highest freedom and independence, and,\ninstead of being lost in the world, to subject it to his reason. It is\nonly by his being independent that there is reality out of him; only by\nbeing susceptible of feeling that there is reality in him. The object of\nsensuous instinct is life; that of the purer instinct figure; living\nfigure or beauty is the object of the play instinct.\n\nOnly inasmuch as life is formed in the understanding and form in feeling\ndoes life win a form and form win life, and only thus does beauty arise.\nBy beauty the sensuous man is led up to reason, the one-sided tension of\nspecial force is strung to harmony, and man made a complete whole.\n\nSchiller adds that beauty knits together thought and feeling; the\nfullest unity of spirit and matter. Its freedom is not lack, but\nharmony, of laws; its conditions are not exclusions, inclusion of all\ninfinity determined in itself. A true work of art generates lofty\nserenity and freedom of mind. Thus the \u00e6sthetic disposition bestows on\nus the highest of all gifts, that of a disposition to humanity, and we\nmay call beauty our second creator.\n\nIn these letters Schiller spoke out the mildest and highest sentiments\non art, and in his paper on Simple and Sentimental Poetry (1795) he\nconstructs the ideal of the perfect poet. This is by far the most\nfruitful of Schiller\u2019s essays in its results. It has much that is\npractically applicable, and contains a very able estimate of German\npoetry. The writing is also very pointed and telling, because it is\nbased upon actual perceptions, and it is interesting because the\ncontrast drawn out throughout it between the simple and the sentimental\nhas been referred to his own contrast with Goethe. He also wished to\nvindicate modern poetry, which Goethe seemed to wish to sacrifice to the\nantique.\n\nThe sentimental poetry is the fruit of quiet and retirement; simple\npoetry the child of life. One is a favor of nature; the sentimental\ndepends on itself, the simple on the world of experience. The\nsentimental is in danger of extending the limits of human nature too\nfar, of being too ideal, too mystical. Neither character exhausts the\nideal of humanity, but the intimate union of both. Both are founded in\nhuman nature; the contradictions lying at their basis, when cleared in\nthought from the poetical faculty, are realism and idealism. These also\nare sides of human nature, which, when unconnected, bring forth\ndisastrous results. Their opposition is as old as the beginning of\nculture, and till its end can hardly be set aside, save in the\nindividual. The idealist is a nobler but a far less perfect being; the\nrealist appears far less noble, but is more perfect, for the noble lies\nin the proof of a great capacity, but the perfect in the general\nattitude of the whole and in the real facts.\n\nOn the whole it may be said, taking a survey of these labors, that if\nSchiller had developed his ideas systematically and the unity of his\nintuition of the world, which were present in his feelings, and if he\nhad based them scientifically, a new epoch in philosophy might have been\nanticipated. For he had obtained a view of such a future field of\nthought with the deep clairvoyance of his genius.\n\nA few words may be desirable on Schiller\u2019s religious standpoint,\nespecially in connection with his philosophical letters.\n\nSchiller came up ten years later than Goethe, and concluded the cyclus\nof genius that Goethe had inaugurated. But as he was the last arrival of\nthat productive period of tempestuous agitation, he retained more of its\nelements in his later life and poetry than any others who had passed\nthrough earlier agitations, such as Goethe. For Goethe cast himself free\nin a great measure from the early intoxication of his youthful\nimagination, devoting himself partly to nobler matter and partly to\npurer forms.\n\nSchiller derived from the stormy times of his youth his direction to the\nideal, to the hostility against the narrow spirit of civil relations,\nand to all given conditions of society in general. He derived from it\nhis disposition, not to let himself be moulded by matter, but to place\nhis own creative and determining impress on matter, not so much to grasp\nreality poetically and represent it poetically as to cast ideas into\nreality, a disposition for lively representation and strong oratorical\ncoloring. All this he derived from the genial period, though later on\nsomewhat modified, and carried it over into his whole life and poetry;\nand for this very reason he is not only together with Goethe, but before\nGoethe, the favorite poet of the nation, and especially with that part\nof the nation which sympathizes with him in the choice of poetic\nmaterial and in his mode of feeling.\n\nGervinus remarks that Schiller had at Weimar long fallen off from\nChristianity, and occupied his mind tranquilly for a time with the views\nof Spinoza (realistic pantheism). Like Herder and Goethe, he viewed life\nin its great entirety, and sacrificed the individual to the species.\nAccordingly, through the gods of Greece, he fell out with strict,\northodox Christians.\n\nBut Schiller had deeply religious and even Christian elements, as became\na German and a Kantian. He receives the Godhead in His will, and He\ndescends from His throne, He dwells in his soul; the poet sees divine\nrevelations, and as a seer announces them to man. He is a moral educator\nof his people, who utters the tones of life in his poetry from youth\nupwards. Philosophy was not disclosed to Plato in the highest and purest\nthought, nor is poetry to Schiller merely an artificial edifice in the\nharmony of speech; philosophy and poetry are to both a vibration of love\nin the soul upwards to God, a liberation from the bonds of sense, a\npurification of man, a moral art. On this reposes the religious\nconsecration of the Platonic spirit and of that of Schiller.\n\nIssuing from the philosophical school of Kant, and imbued with the\nantagonism of the age against constituted authorities, it is natural\nthat Schiller should be a rationalist in his religious views. It has\nbeen justly said of him that while Goethe\u2019s system was an apotheosis of\nnature Schiller\u2019s was an apotheosis of man.\n\nHistorically he was not prepared enough to test and search the question\nof evidence as applied to divine things handed down by testimony, and\nhis Kantian coloring naturally disposed him to include all religions\nwithin the limits of pure reason, and to seek it rather in the subject\nthan in anything objective.\n\nIn conclusion, we may attempt to classify and give Schiller his place in\nthe progress of the world\u2019s literary history. Progress is no doubt a law\nof the individual, of nations, and of the whole race. To grow in\nperfection, to exist in some sort at a higher degree, is the task\nimposed by God on man, the continuation of the very work of God, the\ncomplement of creation. But this moral growth, this need of increase,\nmay, like all the forces of nature, yield to a greater force; it is an\nimpulsion rather than a necessity; it solicits and does not constrain. A\nthousand obstacles stay its development in individuals and in societies;\nmoral liberty may retard or accelerate its effects. Progress is\ntherefore a law which cannot be abrogated, but which is not invariably\nobeyed.\n\nNevertheless, in proportion to the increase of the mass of individuals,\nthe caprices of chance and of liberty neutralize each other to allow the\nprovidential action that presides over our destinies to prevail. Looking\nat the same total of the life of the world, humanity undoubtedly\nadvances: there are in our time fewer moral miseries, fewer physical\nmiseries, than were known in the past.\n\nConsequently art and literature, which express the different states of\nsociety, must share in some degree in this progressive march. But there\nare two things in literary work: on the one hand the ideas and social\nmanners which it expresses, on the other the intelligence, the feeling,\nthe imagination of the writer who becomes its interpreter. While the\nformer of these elements tends incessantly to a greater perfection, the\nlatter is subject to all the hazards of individual genius. Accordingly\nthe progressive literature is only in the inspiration, and so to speak\nin the matter; it may and must therefore not be continuous in form.\n\nBut more than this: in very advanced societies the very grandeur of\nideas, the abundance of models, the satiety of the public render the\ntask of the artist more and more difficult. The artist himself has no\nlonger the enthusiasm of the first ages, the youth of imagination and of\nthe heart; he is an old man whose riches have increased, but who enjoys\nhis wealth less.\n\nIf all the epochs of literature are considered as a whole it will be\nseen that they succeed each other in a constant order. After the period\nwhen the idea and the form combined in a harmonious manner comes another\nwhere the social idea is superabundant, and destroys the literary form\nof the preceding epoch.\n\nThe middle ages introduced spiritualism in art; before this new idea the\nsmiling untruths of Greek poetry fled away frightened. The classical\nform so beautiful, so pure, cannot contain high Catholic thought. A new\nart is formed; on this side the Alps it does not reach the maturity that\nproduces masterpieces. But at that time all Europe was one fatherland;\nItaly completes what is lacking in France and elsewhere.\n\nThe renaissance introduces new ideas into civilization; it resuscitates\nthe traditions of antique science and seeks to unite them to the truths\nof Christianity. The art of the middle ages, as a vessel of too limited\ncapacity, is broken by the new flood poured into it. These different\nideas are stirred up and in conflict in the sixteenth century; they\nbecame co-ordinate and attain to an admirable expression in the\nfollowing age.\n\nIn the eighteenth century there is a new invasion of ideas; all is\nexamined and questioned; religion, government, society, all becomes a\nmatter of discussion for the school called philosophical. Poetry\nappeared dying out, history drying up, till a truer spirit was breathed\ninto the literary atmosphere by the criticism of Lessing, the philosophy\nof Kant, and the poetry of Klopstock. It was at this transition period\nthat Schiller appeared, retaining throughout his literary career much of\nthe revolutionary and convulsive spirit of his early days, and\nfaithfully reflecting much of the dominant German philosophy of his\ntime.\n\nPart of the nineteenth century seems to take in hand the task of\nreconstructing the moral edifice and of giving back to thought a larger\nform. The literary result of its effects is the renaissance of lyrical\npoetry with an admirable development in history.\n\nSchiller\u2019s most brilliant works were in the former walk, his histories\nhave inferior merit, and his philosophical writings bespeak a deep\nthinking nature with great originality of conception, such as naturally\nresults from a combination of high poetic inspiration with much\nintellectual power.\n\nSchiller, like all great men of genius, was a representative man of his\ncountry and of his age. A German, a Protestant free-thinker, a\nworshipper of the classical, he was the expression of these aspects of\nnational and general thought.\n\nThe religious reformation was the work of the North. The instinct of\nraces came in it to complicate the questions of dogmas. The awakening of\nindividual nationalities was one of the characters of the epoch.\n\nThe nations compressed in the severe unity of the Middle Ages escaped in\nthe Reformation from the uniform mould that had long enveloped them, and\ntended to that other unity, still very distant, which must spring from\nthe spontaneous view of the same truth by all men, result from the free\nand original development of each nation, and, as in a vast concert,\nunite harmonious dissonances. Europe, without being conscious of its\naim, seized greedily at the means\u2014insurrection; the only thought was to\noverthrow, without yet thinking of a reconstruction. The sixteenth\ncentury was the vanguard of the eighteenth. At all times the North had\nfretted under the antipathetic yoke of the South. Under the Romans,\nGermany, though frequently conquered, had never been subdued. She had\ninvaded the Empire and determined its fall. In the Middle Ages the\nstruggle had continued; not only instincts, but ideas, were in conflict;\nforce and spirit, violence and polity, feudalism and the Catholic\nhierarchy, hereditary and elective forms, represented the opposition of\ntwo races. In the sixteenth century the schism long anticipated took\nplace. The Catholic dogma had hitherto triumphed over all outbreaks\u2014over\nArnaldo of Brescia, the Waldenses, and Wickliffe. But Luther appeared,\nand the work was accomplished: Catholic unity was broken.\n\nAnd this breaking with authority went on fermenting in the nations till\nits last great outburst at the French Revolution; and Schiller was born\nat this convulsive period, and bears strong traces of his parentage in\nhis anti-dogmatic spirit.\n\nYet there is another side to Germanism which is prone to the ideal and\nthe mystical, and bears still the trace of those lovely legends of\nmedi\u00e6val growth to which we have adverted. For Christianity was not a\nforeign and antagonistic importation in Germany; rather, the German\ncharacter obtained its completeness through Christianity. The German\nfound himself again in the Church of Christ, only raised, transfigured,\nand sanctified. The apostolic representation of the Church as the bride\nof Christ has found its fullest and truest correspondence in that of\nGermany. Hence when the German spirit was thoroughly espoused to the\nChristian spirit, we find that character of love, tenderness, and depth\nso characteristic of the early classics of German poetry, and\nreappearing in glorious afterglow in the second classics, in Klopstock,\nHerder, and, above all, Schiller.\n\nIt is this special instinct for the ideal and mystical in German nature\nthat has enabled spirits born of negation and revolution, like Schiller,\nto unite with those elements the most genial and creative inspirations\nof poetry.\n\n\n\n\n                       VOCABULARY OF TERMINOLOGY.\n\n\n_Absolute, The._ A conception, or, more strictly, in Kantian language;\nan idea of the pure reason, embracing the fundamental and necessary yet\nfree ground of all things.\n\n_Antinomy._ The conflict of the laws of pure reason; as in the question\nof free will and necessity.\n\n_Autonomy_ (autonomous). Governing itself by the spontaneous action of\nfree will.\n\n_\u00c6sthetics._ The science of beauty; as ethics of duty.\n\n_Cognition_ (knowledge; Germanic\u00e8, \u201cErkenntniss\u201d) is either an intuition\nor a conception. The former has an immediate relation to the object, and\nis singular and individual; the latter has but a mediate relation, by\nmeans of a characteristic mark, which may be common to several things.\n\nCognition is an objective perception.\n\n_Conception._ A conception is either empirical or pure. A pure\nconception, in so far as it has its origin in the understanding alone,\nand is not the conception of a pure sensuous image, is called _notio_.\n\nConceptions are distinguished on the one hand from sensation and\nperception, and on the other hand from the intuitions of pure reason or\nideas. They are distinctly the product of thought and of the\nunderstanding, except when quite free from empirical elements.\n\n_Feeling_ (Gef\u00fchl). That part of our nature which relates to passion and\ninstinct. Feelings are connected both with our sensuous nature, our\nimagination, and the pure reason.\n\n_Form._ See _Matter_.\n\n_Ideas._ The product of the pure reason (Vernunft) or intuitive faculty.\nWherever the absolute is introduced in thought we have _ideas_.\nPerfection in all its aspects is an idea, virtue and wisdom in their\nperfect purity and ideas. Kant remarks (\u201cCritique of Pure Reason,\u201d\nMeiklejohn\u2019s translation, p. 256): \u201cIt is from the understanding alone\nthat pure and transcendental conceptions take their origin; the reason\ndoes not properly give birth to any conception, but only frees the\nconception of the understanding from the unavoidable limitation of\npossible experience. A conception formed from notions which transcend\nthe possibility of experience is an idea or a conception of reason.\u201d\n\n_Intuition_ (Anschanung) as used by Kant, is external or internal.\nExternal, sensuous intuition is identical with perception; internal\nintuition gives birth to ideas.\n\n_Matter and Form._ \u201cThese two conceptions are at the foundation of all\nother reflection, being inseparably connected with every mode of\nexercising the understanding. By the former is implied that which can be\ndetermined in general; the second implies its determination, both in a\ntranscendental sense, abstraction being made of any difference in that\nwhich is given, and of the mode in which it is determined. That which in\nthe phenomenon corresponds to the sensation, I term its matter; but that\nwhich effects that the content of the phenomenon can be arranged under\ncertain relations, I call its form.\u201d\u2014Kant, \u201cCritique,\u201d _op. cit._\n\n_Objective._ What is inherent or relative to an object, or not Myself,\nexcept in the case when I reflect on myself, in which case my states of\nmind are objective to my thoughts. In a popular sense objective means\nexternal, as contrasted with the subjective or internal.\n\n_Perception_, if it relates only to the subject as a modification of its\nstate, is a sensation. An objective perception is a cognition\n(Erkenntniss).\n\n_Phenomena_ (Erscheinungen). The undetermined object of an empirical\nintuition is called phenomenon.\n\n_Reason_ (pure; Germanic\u00e8, \u201cVernunft\u201d). The source of ideas of moral\nfeelings and of conceptions free from all elements taken up from\nexperience.\n\n_Representation_ (Vorstellung). All the products of the mind are styled\nrepresentations (except emotions and mere sensations) and the term is\napplied to the whole genus.\n\nRepresentation with consciousness is _perceptio_.\n\n_Sensation._ The capacity of receiving representations through the mode\nin which we are affected by objects is called sensibility. By means of\nsensibility objects are given to us, and it alone furnishes with\nintentions meaning sensuous intuitions. By the understanding they are\nthought, and from it arise conceptions.\n\n_Subjective._ What has its source in and relation to the personality, to\nMyself, I, or the Ego; opposed to the objective, or what is inherent in\nand relative to the object. Not myself, except in the case when my\nstates of mind are the object of my own reflection.\n\n_Super-sensuous._ Contrasted with and opposed to the sensuous. What is\nexclusively related to sense or imparted through the sensuous ideas is\nsuper-sensuous. See _Transcendental_.\n\n_Transcendental._ What exceeds the limits of sense and empirical\nobservation. \u201cI apply the term _transcendental_ to all knowledge which\nis not so much occupied with objects as with the mode of our cognition\nof these objects, so far as this mode of cognition is possible _\u00e0\npriori_.\u201d Kant\u2019s \u201cCritique,\u201d _op. cit._ p. 16.\n\n_Understanding_ (Verstand). The thought of faculty, the source of\nconceptions and notions (Begriffe) of the laws of logic, the categories,\nand judgment.\n\n\n\n\n                                LETTERS\n                                 ON THE\n                      \u00c6STHETICAL EDUCATION OF MAN.\n\n\n                               LETTER I.\n\nBy your permission I lay before you, in a series of letters, the results\nof my researches upon _beauty_ and _art_. I am keenly sensible of the\nimportance as well as of the charm and dignity of this undertaking. I\nshall treat a subject which is closely connected with the better portion\nof our happiness and not far removed from the moral nobility of human\nnature. I shall plead this cause of the beautiful before a heart by\nwhich her whole power is felt and exercised, and which will take upon\nitself the most difficult part of my task in an investigation where one\nis compelled to appeal as frequently to feelings as to principles.\n\nThat which I would beg of you as a favor, you generously impose upon me\nas a duty; and, when I solely consult my inclination, you impute to me a\nservice. The liberty of action you prescribe is rather a necessity for\nme than a constraint. Little exercised in formal rules, I shall scarcely\nincur the risk of sinning against good taste by any undue use of them;\nmy ideas, drawn rather from within than from reading or from an intimate\nexperience with the world, will not disown their origin; they would\nrather incur any reproach than that of a sectarian bias, and would\nprefer to succumb by their innate feebleness than sustain themselves by\nborrowed authority and foreign support.\n\nIn truth, I will not keep back from you that the assertions which follow\nrest chiefly upon Kantian principles; but if in the course of these\nresearches you should be reminded of any special school of philosophy,\nascribe it to my incapacity, not to those principles. No; your liberty\nof mind shall be sacred to me; and the facts upon which I build will be\nfurnished by your own sentiments; your own unfettered thought will\ndictate the laws according to which we have to proceed.\n\nWith regard to the ideas which predominate in the practical part of\nKant\u2019s system, philosophers only disagree, whilst mankind, I am\nconfident of proving, have never done so. If stripped of their technical\nshape, they will appear as the verdict of reason pronounced from time\nimmemorial by common consent, and as facts of the moral instinct which\nnature, in her wisdom, has given to man in order to serve as guide and\nteacher until his enlightened intelligence gives him maturity. But this\nvery technical shape which renders truth visible to the understanding\nconceals it from the feelings; for, unhappily, understanding begins by\ndestroying the object of the inner sense before it can appropriate the\nobject. Like the chemist, the philosopher finds synthesis only by\nanalysis, or the spontaneous work of nature only through the torture of\nart. Thus, in order to detain the fleeting apparition, he must enchain\nit in the fetters of rule, dissect its fair proportions into abstract\nnotions, and preserve its living spirit in a fleshless skeleton of\nwords. Is it surprising that natural feeling should not recognize itself\nin such a copy, and if in the report of the analyst the truth appears as\nparadox?\n\nPermit me therefore to crave your indulgence if the following researches\nshould remove their object from the sphere of sense while endeavoring to\ndraw it towards the understanding. That which I before said of moral\nexperience can be applied with greater truth to the manifestation of\n\u201cthe beautiful.\u201d It is the mystery which enchants, and its being is\nextinguished with the extinction of the necessary combination of its\nelements.\n\n\n                               LETTER II.\n\nBut I might perhaps make a better use of the opening you afford me if I\nwere to direct your mind to a loftier theme than that of art. It would\nappear to be unseasonable to go in search of a code for the \u00e6sthetic\nworld, when the moral world offers matter of so much higher interest,\nand when the spirit of philosophical inquiry is so stringently\nchallenged by the circumstances of our times to occupy itself with the\nmost perfect of all works of art\u2014the establishment and structure of a\ntrue political freedom.\n\nIt is unsatisfactory to live out of your own age and to work for other\ntimes. It is equally incumbent on us to be good members of our own age\nas of our own state or country. If it is conceived to be unseemly and\neven unlawful for a man to segregate himself from the customs and\nmanners of the circle in which he lives, it would be inconsistent not to\nsee that it is equally his duty to grant a proper share of influence to\nthe voice of his own epoch, to its taste and its requirements, in the\noperations in which he engages.\n\nBut the voice of our age seems by no means favorable to art, at all\nevents to that kind of art to which my inquiry is directed. The course\nof events has given a direction to the genius of the time that threatens\nto remove it continually further from the ideal of art. For art has to\nleave reality, it has to raise itself boldly above necessity and\nneediness; for art is the daughter of freedom, and it requires its\nprescriptions and rules to be furnished by the necessity of spirits and\nnot by that of matter. But in our day it is necessity, neediness, that\nprevails, and lends a degraded humanity under its iron yoke. _Utility_\nis the great idol of the time, to which all powers do homage and all\nsubjects are subservient. In this great balance on utility, the\nspiritual service of art has no weight, and, deprived of all\nencouragement, it vanishes from the noisy Vanity Fair of our time. The\nvery spirit of philosophical inquiry itself robs the imagination of one\npromise after another, and the frontiers of art are narrowed in\nproportion as the limits of science are enlarged.\n\nThe eyes of the philosopher as well as of the man of the world are\nanxiously turned to the theatre of political events, where it is\npresumed the great destiny of man is to be played out. It would almost\nseem to betray a culpable indifference to the welfare of society if we\ndid not share this general interest. For this great commerce in social\nand moral principles is of necessity a matter of the greatest concern to\nevery human being, on the ground both of its subject and of its results.\nIt must accordingly be of deepest moment to every man to think for\nhimself. It would seem that now at length a question that formerly was\nonly settled by the law of the stronger is to be determined by the calm\njudgment of the reason, and every man who is capable of placing himself\nin a central position, and raising his individuality into that of his\nspecies, can look upon himself as in possession of this judicial faculty\nof reason; being moreover, as man and member of the human family, a\nparty in the case under trial and involved more or less in its\ndecisions. It would thus appear that this great political process is not\nonly engaged with his individual case, it has also to pronounce\nenactments, which he as a rational spirit is capable of enunciating and\nentitled to pronounce.\n\nIt is evident that it would have been most attractive to me to inquire\ninto an object such as this, to decide such a question in conjunction\nwith a thinker of powerful mind, a man of liberal sympathies, and a\nheart imbued with a noble enthusiasm for the weal of humanity. Though so\nwidely separated by worldly position, it would have been a delightful\nsurprise to have found your unprejudiced mind arriving at the same\nresult as my own in the field of ideas. Nevertheless, I think I can not\nonly excuse, but even justify by solid grounds, my step in resisting\nthis attractive purpose and in preferring beauty to freedom. I hope that\nI shall succeed in convincing you that this matter of art is less\nforeign to the needs than to the tastes of our age; nay, that, to arrive\nat a solution even in the political problem, the road of \u00e6sthetics must\nbe pursued, because it is through beauty that we arrive at freedom. But\nI cannot carry out this proof without my bringing to your remembrance\nthe principles by which the reason is guided in political legislation.\n\n\n                              LETTER III.\n\nMan is not better treated by nature in his first start than her other\nworks are; so long as he is unable to act for himself as an independent\nintelligence she acts for him. But the very fact that constitutes him a\nman is that he does not remain stationary, where nature has placed him,\nthat he can pass with his reason, retracing the steps nature had made\nhim anticipate, that he can convert the work of necessity into one of\nfree solution, and elevate physical necessity into a moral law.\n\nWhen man is raised from his slumber in the senses he feels that he is a\nman; he surveys his surroundings and finds that he is in a state. He was\nintroduced into this state by the power of circumstances, before he\ncould freely select his own position. But as a moral being he cannot\npossibly rest satisfied with a political condition forced upon him by\nnecessity, and only calculated for that condition; and it would be\nunfortunate if this did satisfy him. In many cases man shakes off this\nblind law of necessity, by his free spontaneous action, of which among\nmany others we have an instance, in his ennobling by beauty and\nsuppressing by moral influence the powerful impulse implanted in him by\nnature in the passion of love. Thus, when arrived at maturity, he\nrecovers his childhood by an artificial process, he founds a state of\nnature in his ideas, not given him by any experience, but established by\nthe necessary laws and conditions of his reason, and he attributes to\nthis ideal condition an object, an aim, of which he was not cognizant in\nthe actual reality of nature. He gives himself a choice of which he was\nnot capable before, and sets to work just as if he were beginning anew,\nand were exchanging his original state of bondage for one of complete\nindependence, doing this with complete insight and of his free decision.\nHe is justified in regarding this work of political thraldom as\nnon-existing though a wild and arbitrary caprice may have founded its\nwork very artfully; though it may strive to maintain it with great\narrogance and encompass it with a halo of veneration. For the work of\nblind powers possesses no authority before which freedom need bow, and\nall must be made to adapt itself to the highest end which reason has set\nup in his personality. It is in this wise that a people in a state of\nmanhood is justified in exchanging a condition of thraldom for one of\nmoral freedom.\n\nNow the term natural condition can be applied to every political body\nwhich owes its establishment originally to forces and not to laws, and\nsuch a state contradicts the moral nature of man, because lawfulness can\nalone have authority over this. At the same time this natural condition\nis quite sufficient for the physical man, who only gives himself laws in\norder to get rid of brute force. Moreover, the physical man is a\n_reality_, and the moral man _problematical_. Therefore when the reason\nsuppresses the natural condition, as she must if she wishes to\nsubstitute her own, she weighs the real physical man against the\nproblematical moral man, she weighs the existence of society against a\npossible, though morally necessary, ideal of society. She takes from man\nsomething which he really possesses, and without which he possesses\nnothing, and refers him as a substitute to something that he ought to\npossess and might possess; and if reason had relied too exclusively on\nhim she might, in order to secure him a state of humanity in which he is\nwanting and can want without injury to his life, have robbed him even of\nthe means of animal existence, which is the first necessary _condition_\nof his being a man. Before he had opportunity to hold firm to the law\nwith his will, reason would have withdrawn from his feet the ladder of\nnature.\n\nThe great point is, therefore, to reconcile these two considerations, to\nprevent physical society from ceasing for a moment _in time_, while the\nmoral society is being formed in the _idea_; in other words, to prevent\nits existence from being placed in jeopardy for the sake of the moral\ndignity of man. When the mechanic has to mend a watch he lets the wheels\nrun out; but the living watchworks of the state have to be repaired\nwhile they act, and a wheel has to be exchanged for another during its\nrevolutions. Accordingly props must be sought for to support society and\nkeep it going while it is made independent of the natural condition from\nwhich it is sought to emancipate it.\n\nThis prop is not found in the natural character of man, who, being\nselfish and violent, directs his energies rather to the destruction than\nto the preservation of society. Nor is it found in his moral character,\nwhich has to be formed, which can never be worked upon or calculated on\nby the lawgiver, because it is free and _never appears_. It would seem,\ntherefore, that another measure must be adopted. It would seem that the\nphysical character of the arbitrary must be separated from moral\nfreedom; that it is incumbent to make the former harmonize with the laws\nand the latter dependent on impressions; it would be expedient to remove\nthe former still farther from matter and to bring the latter somewhat\nmore near to it; in short, to produce a third character related to both\nthe others\u2014the physical and the moral\u2014paving the way to a transition\nfrom the sway of mere force to that of law, without preventing the\nproper development of the moral character, but serving rather as a\npledge in the sensuous sphere of a morality in the unseen.\n\n\n                               LETTER IV.\n\nThus much is certain. It is only when a third character, as previously\nsuggested, has preponderance that a revolution in a state according to\nmoral principles can be free from injurious consequences; nor can\nanything else secure its endurance. In proposing or setting up a moral\nstate, the moral law is relied upon as a real power, and free will is\ndrawn into the realm of causes, where all hangs together mutually with\nstringent necessity and rigidity. But we know that the condition of the\nhuman will always remains contingent, and that only in the Absolute\nBeing physical coexists with moral necessity. Accordingly, if it is\nwished to depend on the moral conduct of man as on _natural_ results,\nthis conduct must _become_ nature, and he must be led by natural impulse\nto such a course of action as can only and invariably have moral\nresults. But the will of man is perfectly free between inclination and\nduty, and no physical necessity ought to enter as a sharer in this\nmagisterial personality. If, therefore, he is to retain this power of\nsolution, and yet become a reliable link in the causal concatenation of\nforces, this can only be effected when the operations of both these\nimpulses are presented quite equally in the world of appearances. It is\nonly possible when, with every difference of form, the matter of man\u2019s\nvolition remains the same, when all his impulses agreeing with his\nreason are sufficient to have the value of a universal legislation.\n\nIt may be urged that every individual man carries within himself, at\nleast in his adaptation and destination, a purely ideal man. The great\nproblem of his existence is to bring all the incessant changes of his\nouter life into conformity with the unchanging unity of this ideal. This\npure ideal man, which makes itself known more or less clearly in every\nsubject, is represented by the state, which is the objective, and, so to\nspeak, canonical form in which the manifold differences of the subjects\nstrive to unite. Now two ways present themselves to the thought in which\nthe man of time can agree with the man of idea, and there are also two\nways in which the state can maintain itself in individuals. One of these\nways is when the pure ideal man subdues the empirical man, and the state\nsuppresses the individual, or again when the individual _becomes_ the\nstate, and the man of time is _ennobled_ to the man of _idea_.\n\nI admit that in a one-sided estimate from the point of view of morality\nthis difference vanishes, for the reason is satisfied if her law\nprevails unconditionally. But when the survey taken is complete and\nembraces the whole man (anthropology), where the form is considered\ntogether with the substance, and a living feeling has a voice, the\ndifference will become far more evident. No doubt the reason demands\nunity, and nature variety, and both legislations take man in hand. The\nlaw of the former is stamped upon him by an incorruptible consciousness,\nthat of the latter by an ineradicable feeling. Consequently education\nwill always appear deficient when the moral feeling can only be\nmaintained with the sacrifice of what is natural; and a political\nadministration will always be very imperfect when it is only able to\nbring about unity by suppressing variety. The state ought not only to\nrespect the objective and generic, but also the subjective and specific\nin individuals; and while diffusing the unseen world of morals, it must\nnot depopulate the kingdom of appearance, the external world of matter.\n\nWhen the mechanical artist places his hand on the formless block, to\ngive it a form according to his intention, he has not any scruples in\ndoing violence to it. For the nature on which he works does not deserve\nany respect in itself, and he does not value the whole for its parts,\nbut the parts on account of the whole. When the child of the fine arts\nsets his hand to the same block, he has no scruples either in doing\nviolence to it, he only avoids showing this violence. He does not\nrespect the matter in which he works any more than the mechanical\nartist; but he seeks by an apparent consideration for it to deceive the\neye which takes this matter under its protection. The political and\neducating artist follows a very different course, while making man at\nonce his material and his end. In this case the aim or end meets in the\nmaterial, and it is only because the whole serves the parts that the\nparts adapt themselves to the end. The political artist has to treat his\nmaterial\u2014man\u2014with a very different kind of respect than that shown by\nthe artist of fine art to his work. He must spare man\u2019s peculiarity and\npersonality, not to produce a defective effect on the senses, but\nobjectively and out of consideration for his inner being.\n\nBut the state is an organization which fashions itself through itself\nand for itself, and for this reason it can only be realized when the\nparts have been accorded to the idea of the whole. The state serves the\npurpose of a representative, both to pure ideal and to objective\nhumanity, in the breast of its citizens, accordingly it will have to\nobserve the same relation to its citizens in which they are placed to\nit; and it will only respect their subjective humanity in the same\ndegree that it is ennobled to an objective existence. If the internal\nman is one with himself he will be able to rescue his peculiarity, even\nin the greatest generalization of his conduct, and the state will only\nbecome the exponent of his fine instinct, the clearer formula of his\ninternal legislation. But if the subjective man is in conflict with the\nobjective, and contradicts him in the character of a people, so that\nonly the oppression of the former can give victory to the latter, then\nthe state will take up the severe aspect of the law against the citizen,\nand in order not to fall a sacrifice, it will have to crush under foot\nsuch a hostile individuality without any compromise.\n\nNow man can be opposed to himself in a twofold manner; either as a\nsavage, when his feelings rule over his principles; or as a barbarian,\nwhen his principles destroy his feelings. The savage despises art, and\nacknowledges nature as his despotic ruler; the barbarian laughs at\nnature, and dishonors it, but he often proceeds in a more contemptible\nway than the savage to be the slave of his senses. The cultivated man\nmakes of nature his friend, and honors its friendship, while only\nbridling its caprice.\n\nConsequently, when reason brings her moral unity into physical society,\nshe must not injure the manifold in nature. When nature strives to\nmaintain her manifold character in the moral structure of society, this\nmust not create any breach in moral unity; the victorious form is\nequally remote from uniformity and confusion. Therefore, _totality_ of\ncharacter must be found in the people which is capable and worthy to\nexchange the state of necessity for that of freedom.\n\n\n                               LETTER V.\n\nDoes the present age, do passing events, present this character? I\ndirect my attention at once to the most prominent object in this vast\nstructure.\n\nIt is true that the consideration of opinion is fallen; caprice is\nunnerved, and, although still armed with power, receives no longer any\nrespect. Man has awakened from his long lethargy and self-deception, and\nhe demands with impressive unanimity to be restored to his imperishable\nrights. But he does not only demand them; he rises on all sides to seize\nforce what, in his opinion, has been unjustly wrested from him. The\nedifice of the natural state is tottering, its foundations shake, and a\n_physical_ possibility seems at length granted to place law on the\nthrone, to honor man at length as an end, and to make true freedom the\nbasis of political union. Vain hope! The _moral_ possibility is wanting,\nand the generous occasion finds an unsusceptible rule.\n\nMan paints himself in his actions, and what is the form depicted in the\ndrama of the present time? On the one hand, he is seen running wild, on\nthe other, in a state of lethargy; the two extremest stages of human\ndegeneracy, and both seen in one and the same period.\n\nIn the lower larger masses, coarse, lawless impulses come to view,\nbreaking loose when the bonds of civil order are burst asunder, and\nhastening with unbridled fury to satisfy their savage instinct.\nObjective humanity may have had cause to complain of the state; yet\nsubjective man must honor its institutions. Ought he to be blamed\nbecause he lost sight of the dignity of human nature, so long as he was\nconcerned in preserving his existence? Can we blame him that he\nproceeded to separate by the force of gravity, to fasten by the force of\ncohesion, at a time when there could be no thought of building or\nraising up? The extinction of the state contains its justification.\nSociety set free, instead of hastening upward into organic life,\ncollapses into its elements.\n\nOn the other hand, the civilized classes give us the still more\nrepulsive sight of lethargy, and of a depravity of character which is\nthe more revolting because it roots in culture. I forget who of the\nolder or more recent philosophers makes the remark, that what is more\nnoble is the more revolting in its destruction. The remark applies with\ntruth to the world of morals. The child of nature, when he breaks loose,\nbecomes a madman; but the art scholar, when he breaks loose, becomes a\ndebased character. The enlightenment of the understanding, on which the\nmore refined classes pride themselves with some ground, shows on the\nwhole so little of an ennobling influence on the mind that it seems\nrather to confirm corruption by its maxims. We deny nature on her\nlegitimate field and feel her tyranny in the moral sphere, and while\nresisting her impressions, we receive our principles from her. While the\naffected decency of our manners does not even grant to nature a\npardonable influence in the initial stage, our materialistic system of\nmorals allows her the casting vote in the last and essential stage.\nEgotism has founded its system in the very bosom of a refined society,\nand without developing even a sociable character, we feel all the\ncontagions and miseries of society. We subject our free judgment to its\ndespotic opinions, our feelings to its bizarre customs, and our will to\nits seductions. We only maintain our caprice against her holy rights.\nThe man of the world has his heart contracted by a proud\nself-complacency, while that of the man of nature often beats in\nsympathy; and every man seeks for nothing more than to save his wretched\nproperty from the general destruction, as it were from some great\nconflagration. It is conceived that the only way to find a shelter\nagainst the aberrations of sentiment is by completely foregoing its\nindulgence, and mockery, which is often a useful chastener of mysticism,\nslanders in the same breath the noblest aspirations. Culture, far from\ngiving us freedom, only develops, as it advances, new necessities; the\nfetters of the physical close more tightly around us, so that the fear\nof loss quenches even the ardent impulse toward improvement, and the\nmaxims of passive obedience are held to be the highest wisdom of life.\nThus the spirit of the time is seen to waver between perversion and\nsavagism, between what is unnatural and mere nature, between\nsuperstition and moral unbelief, and it is often nothing but the\nequilibrium of evils that sets bounds to it.\n\n\n                               LETTER VI.\n\nHave I gone too far in this portraiture of our times? I do not\nanticipate this stricture, but rather another\u2014that I have proved too\nmuch by it. You will tell me that the picture I have presented resembles\nthe humanity of our day, but it also bodies forth all nations engaged in\nthe same degree of culture, because all, without exception, have fallen\noff from nature by the abuse of reason, before they can return to it\nthrough reason.\n\nBut if we bestow some serious attention to the character of our times,\nwe shall be astonished at the contrast between the present and the\nprevious form of humanity, especially that of Greece. We are justified\nin claiming the reputation of culture and refinement, when contrasted\nwith a purely natural state of society, but not so comparing ourselves\nwith the Grecian nature. For the latter was combined with all the charms\nof art and with all the dignity of wisdom, without, however, as with us,\nbecoming a victim to these influences. The Greeks have put us to shame\nnot only by their simplicity, which is foreign to our age; they are at\nthe same time our rivals, nay, frequently our models, in those very\npoints of superiority from which we seek comfort when regretting the\nunnatural character of our manners. We see that remarkable people\nuniting at once fulness of form and fulness of substance, both\nphilosophizing and creating, both tender and energetic, uniting a\nyouthful fancy to the virility of reason in a glorious humanity.\n\nAt the period of Greek culture, which was an awakening of the powers of\nthe mind, the senses and the spirit had no distinctly separated\nproperty; no division had yet torn them asunder, leading them to\npartition in a hostile attitude, and to mark off their limits with\nprecision. Poetry had not as yet become the adversary of wit, nor had\nspeculation abused itself by passing into quibbling. In cases of\nnecessity both poetry and wit could exchange parts, because they both\nhonored truth only in their special way. However high might be the\nflight of reason, it drew matter in a loving spirit after it, and while\nsharply and stiffly defining it, never mutilated what it touched. It is\ntrue the Greek mind displaced humanity, and recast it on a magnified\nscale in the glorious circle of its gods; but it did this not by\ndissecting human nature, but by giving it fresh combinations, for the\nwhole of human nature was represented in each of the gods. How different\nis the course followed by us moderns! We also displace and magnify\nindividuals to form the image of the species, but we do this in a\nfragmentary way, not by altered combinations, so that it is necessary to\ngather up from different individuals the elements that form the species\nin its totality. It would almost appear as if the powers of mind express\nthemselves with us in real life or empirically as separately as the\npsychologist distinguishes them in the representation. For we see not\nonly individual subjects, but whole classes of men, uphold their\ncapacities only in part, while the rest of their faculties scarcely show\na germ of activity, as in the case of the stunted growth of plants.\n\nI do not overlook the advantages to which the present race, regarded as\na unity and in the balance of the understanding, may lay claim over what\nis best in the ancient world; but it is obliged to engage in the contest\nas a compact mass, and measure itself as a whole against a whole. Who\namong the moderns could step forth, man against man, and strive with an\nAthenian for the prize of higher humanity.\n\nWhence comes this disadvantageous relation of individuals coupled with\ngreat advantages of the race? Why could the individual Greek be\nqualified as the type of his time; and why can no modern dare to offer\nhimself as such? Because all-uniting nature imparted its forms to the\nGreek, and an all-dividing understanding gives our forms to us.\n\nIt was culture itself that gave these wounds to modern humanity. The\ninner union of human nature was broken, and a destructive contest\ndivided its harmonious forces directly; on the one hand, an enlarged\nexperience and a more distinct thinking necessitated a sharper\nseparation of the sciences, while, on the other hand, the more\ncomplicated machinery of states necessitated a stricter sundering of\nranks and occupations. Intuitive and speculative understanding took up a\nhostile attitude in opposite fields, whose borders were guarded with\njealousy and distrust; and by limiting its operation to a narrow sphere,\nmen have made unto themselves a master who is wont not unfrequently to\nend by subduing and oppressing all the other faculties. Whilst on the\none hand a luxuriant imagination creates ravages in the plantations that\nhave cost the intelligence so much labor; on the other hand, a spirit of\nabstraction suffocates the fire that might have warmed the heart and\ninflamed the imagination.\n\nThis subversion, commenced by art and learning in the inner man, was\ncarried out to fulness and finished by the spirit of innovation in\ngovernment. It was, no doubt, reasonable to expect that the simple\norganization of the primitive republics should survive the quaintness of\nprimitive manners and of the relations of antiquity. But, instead of\nrising to a higher and nobler degree of animal life, this organization\ndegenerated into a common and coarse mechanism. The zoophyte condition\nof the Grecian states, where each individual enjoyed an independent\nlife, and could, in cases of necessity, become a separate whole and unit\nin himself, gave way to an ingenious mechanism, when, from the splitting\nup into numberless parts, there results a mechanical life in the\ncombination. Then there was a rupture between the state and the church,\nbetween laws and customs; enjoyment was separated from labor, the means\nfrom the end, the effort from the reward. Man himself, eternally chained\ndown to a little fragment of the whole, only forms a kind of fragment;\nhaving nothing in his ears but the monotonous sound of the perpetually\nrevolving wheel, he never develops the harmony of his being, and instead\nof imprinting the seal of humanity on his being, he ends by being\nnothing more than the living impress of the craft to which he devotes\nhimself, of the science that he cultivates. This very partial and paltry\nrelation, linking the isolated members to the whole, does not depend on\nforms that are given spontaneously; for how could a complicated machine,\nwhich shuns the light, confide itself to the free will of man? This\nrelation is rather dictated, with a rigorous strictness, by a formulary\nin which the free intelligence of man is chained down. The dead letter\ntakes the place of a living meaning, and a practised memory becomes a\nsafer guide than genius and feeling.\n\nIf the community or state measures man by his function, only asking of\nits citizens memory, or the intelligence of a craftsman, or mechanical\nskill, we cannot be surprised that the other faculties of the mind are\nneglected for the exclusive culture of the one that brings in honor and\nprofit. Such is the necessary result of an organization that is\nindifferent about character, only looking to acquirements, whilst in\nother cases it tolerates the thickest darkness, to favor a spirit of law\nand order; it must result if it wishes that individuals in the exercise\nof special aptitudes should gain in depth what they are permitted to\nlose in extension. We are aware, no doubt, that a powerful genius does\nnot shut up its activity within the limits of its functions; but\nmediocre talents consume in the craft fallen to their lot the whole of\ntheir feeble energy; and if some of their energy is reserved for matters\nof preference, without prejudice to its functions, such a state of\nthings at once bespeaks a spirit soaring above the vulgar. Moreover, it\nis rarely a recommendation in the eye of a state to have a capacity\nsuperior to your employment, or one of those noble intellectual cravings\nof a man of talent which contend in rivalry with the duties of office.\nThe state is so jealous of the exclusive possession of its servants that\nit would prefer\u2014nor can it be blamed in this\u2014for functionaries to show\ntheir powers with the Venus of Cytherea rather than the Uranian Venus.\n\nIt is thus that concrete individual life is extinguished, in order that\nthe abstract whole may continue its miserable life, and the state\nremains forever a stranger to its citizens, because feeling does not\ndiscover it anywhere. The governing authorities find themselves\ncompelled to classify, and thereby simplify the multiplicity of\ncitizens, and only to know humanity in a representative form and at\nsecond-hand. Accordingly they end by entirely losing sight of humanity,\nand by confounding it with a simple artificial creation of the\nunderstanding, whilst on their part the subject-classes cannot help\nreceiving coldly laws that address themselves so little to their\npersonality. At length, society, weary of having a burden that the state\ntakes so little trouble to lighten, falls to pieces and is broken up\u2014a\ndestiny that has long since attended most European states. They are\ndissolved in what may be called a state of moral nature, in which public\nauthority is only one function more, hated and deceived by those who\nthink it necessary, respected only by those who can do without it.\n\nThus compressed between two forces, within and without, could humanity\nfollow any other course than that which it has taken? The speculative\nmind, pursuing imprescriptible goods and rights in the sphere of ideas,\nmust needs have become a stranger to the world of sense, and lose sight\nof matter for the sake of form. On its part, the world of public\naffairs, shut up in a monotonous circle of objects, and even there\nrestricted by formulas, was led to lose sight of the life and liberty of\nthe whole, while becoming impoverished at the same time in its own\nsphere. Just as the speculative mind was tempted to model the real after\nthe intelligible, and to raise the subjective laws of its imagination\ninto laws constituting the existence of things, so the state spirit\nrushed into the opposite extreme, wished to make a particular and\nfragmentary experience the measure of all observation, and to apply\nwithout exception to all affairs the rules of its own particular craft.\nThe speculative mind had necessarily to become the prey of a vain\nsubtlety, the state spirit of a narrow pedantry; for the former was\nplaced too high to see the individual, and the latter too low to survey\nthe whole. But the disadvantage of this direction of mind was not\nconfined to knowledge and mental production; it extended to action and\nfeeling. We know that the sensibility of the mind depends, as to degree,\non the liveliness, and for extent on the richness of the imagination.\nNow the predominance of the faculty of analysis must necessarily deprive\nthe imagination of its warmth and energy, and a restricted sphere of\nobjects must diminish its wealth. It is for this reason that the\nabstract thinker has very often a _cold_ heart, because he analyzes\nimpressions, which only move the mind by their combination or totality;\non the other hand, the man of business, the statesman, has very often a\n_narrow_ heart, because, shut up in the narrow circle of his employment,\nhis imagination can neither expand nor adapt itself to another manner of\nviewing things.\n\nMy subject has led me naturally to place in relief the distressing\ntendency of the character of our own times and to show the sources of\nthe evil, without its being my province to point out the compensations\noffered by nature. I will readily admit to you that, although this\nsplitting up of their being was unfavorable for individuals, it was the\nonly open road for the progress of the race. The point at which we see\nhumanity arrived among the Greeks was undoubtedly a _maximum_; it could\nneither stop there nor rise higher. It could not stop there, for the sum\nof notions acquired forced infallibly the intelligence to break with\nfeeling and intuition, and to lead to clearness of knowledge. Nor could\nit rise any higher; for it is only in a determinate measure that\nclearness can be reconciled with a certain degree of abundance and of\nwarmth. The Greeks had attained this measure, and to continue their\nprogress in culture, they, as we, were obliged to renounce the totality\nof their being, and to follow different and separate roads in order to\nseek after truth.\n\nThere was no other way to develop the manifold aptitudes of man than to\nbring them in opposition with one another. This antagonism of forces is\nthe great instrument of culture, but it is only an instrument: for as\nlong as this antagonism lasts man is only on the road to culture. It is\nonly because these special forces are isolated in man, and because they\ntake on themselves to impose an exclusive legislation, that they enter\ninto strife with the truth of things, and oblige common sense, which\ngenerally adheres imperturbably to external phenomena, to dive into the\nessence of things. While pure understanding usurps authority in the\nworld of sense, and empiricism attempts to subject this intellect to the\nconditions of experience, these two rival directions arrive at the\nhighest possible development, and exhaust the whole extent of their\nsphere. While, on the one hand, imagination, by its tyranny, ventures to\ndestroy the order of the world, it forces reason, on the other side, to\nrise up to the supreme sources of knowledge, and to invoke against this\npredominance of fancy the help of the law of necessity.\n\nBy an exclusive spirit in the case of his faculties, the individual is\nfatally led to error; but the species is led to truth. It is only by\ngathering up all the energy of our mind in a single focus, and\nconcentrating a single force in our being, that we give in some sort\nwings to this isolated force, and that we draw it on artificially far\nbeyond the limits that nature seems to have imposed upon it. If it be\ncertain that all human individuals taken together would never have\narrived, with the visual power given them by nature, to see a satellite\nof Jupiter, discovered by the telescope of the astronomer, it is just as\nwell established that never would the human understanding have produced\nthe analysis of the infinite, or the critique of pure reason, if in\nparticular branches, destined for this mission, reason had not applied\nitself to special researches, and it, after having, as it were, freed\nitself from all matter, it had not, by the most powerful abstraction\ngiven to the spiritual eye of man the force necessary, in order to look\ninto the absolute. But the question is, if a spirit thus absorbed in\npure reason and intuition will be able to emancipate itself from the\nrigorous fetters of logic, to take the free action of poetry, and seize\nthe individuality of things with a faithful and chaste sense? Here\nnature imposes even on the most universal genius a limit it cannot pass,\nand truth will make martyrs as long as philosophy will be reduced to\nmake its principal occupation the search for arms against errors.\n\nBut whatever may be the final profit for the totality of the world, of\nthis distinct and special perfecting of the human faculties, it cannot\nbe denied that this final aim of the universe, which devotes them to\nthis kind of culture, is a cause of suffering, and a kind of malediction\nfor individuals. I admit that the exercises of the gymnasium form\nathletic bodies; but beauty is only developed by the free and equal play\nof the limbs. In the same way the tension of the isolated spiritual\nforces may make extraordinary men; but it is only the well-tempered\nequilibrium of these forces that can produce happy and accomplished men.\nAnd in what relation should we be placed with past and future ages if\nthe perfecting of human nature made such a sacrifice indispensable? In\nthat case we should have been the slaves of humanity, we should have\nconsumed our forces in servile work for it during some thousands of\nyears, and we should have stamped on our humiliated, mutilated nature\nthe shameful brand of this slavery\u2014all this in order that future\ngenerations, in a happy leisure, might consecrate themselves to the cure\nof their moral health, and develop the whole of human nature by their\nfree culture.\n\nBut can it be true that man has to neglect himself for any end whatever?\nCan nature snatch from us, for any end whatever, the perfection which is\nprescribed to us by the aim of reason? It must be false that the\nperfecting of particular faculties renders the sacrifice of their\ntotality necessary; and even if the law of nature had imperiously this\ntendency, we must have the power to reform by a superior art this\ntotality of our being, which art has destroyed.\n\n\n                              LETTER VII.\n\nCan this effect of harmony be attained by the state? That is not\npossible, for the state, as at present constituted, has given occasion\nto evil, and the state as conceived in the idea, instead of being able\nto establish this more perfect humanity, ought to be based upon it. Thus\nthe researches in which I have indulged would have brought me back to\nthe same point from which they had called me off for a time. The present\nage, far from offering us this form of humanity, which we have\nacknowledged as a necessary condition of an improvement of the state,\nshows us rather the diametrically opposite form. If, therefore, the\nprinciples I have laid down are correct, and if experience confirms the\npicture I have traced of the present time, it would be necessary to\nqualify as unseasonable every attempt to effect a similar change in the\nstate, and all hope as chimerical that would be based on such an\nattempt, until the division of the inner man ceases, and nature has been\nsufficiently developed to become herself the instrument of this great\nchange and secure the reality of the political creation of reason.\n\nIn the physical creation, nature shows us the road that we have to\nfollow in the moral creation. Only when the struggle of elementary\nforces has ceased in inferior organizations, nature rises to the noble\nform of the physical man. In like manner, the conflict of the elements\nof the moral man and that of blind instincts must have ceased, and a\ncoarse antagonism in himself, before the attempt can be hazarded. On the\nother hand, the independence of man\u2019s character must be secured, and his\nsubmission to despotic forms must have given place to a suitable\nliberty, before the variety in his constitution can be made subordinate\nto the unity of the ideal. When the man of nature still makes such an\nanarchial abuse of his will, his liberty ought hardly to be disclosed to\nhim. And when the man fashioned by culture makes so little use of his\nfreedom, his free will ought not to be taken from him. The concession of\nliberal principles becomes a treason to social order when it is\nassociated with a force still in fermentation, and increases the already\nexuberant energy of its nature. Again, the law of conformity under one\nlevel becomes tyranny to the individual when it is allied to a weakness\nalready holding sway and to natural obstacles, and when it comes to\nextinguish the last spark of spontaneity and of originality.\n\nThe tone of the age must therefore rise from its profound moral\ndegradation; on the one hand it must emancipate itself from the blind\nservice of nature, and on the other it must revert to its simplicity,\nits truth, and its fruitful sap; a sufficient task for more than a\ncentury. However, I admit readily, more than one special effort may meet\nwith success, but no improvement of the whole will result from it, and\ncontradictions in action will be a continual protest against the unity\nof maxims. It will be quite possible, then, that in remote corners of\nthe world humanity may be honored in the person of the negro, while in\nEurope it may be degraded in the person of the thinker. The old\nprinciples will remain, but they will adopt the dress of the age, and\nphilosophy will lend its name to an oppression that was formerly\nauthorized by the church. In one place, alarmed at the liberty which in\nits opening efforts always shows itself an enemy, it will cast itself\ninto the arms of a convenient servitude. In another place, reduced to\ndespair by a pedantic tutelage, it will be driven into the savage\nlicense of the state of nature. Usurpation will invoke the weakness of\nhuman nature, and insurrection will invoke its dignity, till at length\nthe great sovereign of all human things, blind force, shall come in and\ndecide, like a vulgar pugilist, this pretended contest of principles.\n\n\n                              LETTER VIII.\n\nMust philosophy therefore retire from this field, disappointed in its\nhopes? Whilst in all other directions the dominion of forms is extended,\nmust this the most precious of all gifts be abandoned to a formless\nchance? Must the contest of blind forces last eternally in the political\nworld, and is social law never to triumph over a hating egotism?\n\nNot in the least. It is true that reason herself will never attempt\ndirectly a struggle with this brutal force which resists her arms, and\nshe will be as far as the son of Saturn in the \u201cIliad\u201d from descending\ninto the dismal field of battle, to fight them in person. But she\nchooses the most deserving among the combatants, clothes him with divine\narms as Jupiter gave them to his son-in-law, and by her triumphing force\nshe finally decides the victory.\n\nReason has done all that she could in finding the law and promulgating\nit; it is for the energy of the will and the ardor of feeling to carry\nit out. To issue victoriously from her contest with force, truth herself\nmust first become a _force_, and turn one of the instincts of man into\nher champion in the empire of phenomena. For instincts are the only\nmotive forces in the material world. If hitherto truth has so little\nmanifested her victorious power, this has not depended on the\nunderstanding, which could not have unveiled it, but on the heart which\nremained closed to it and on instinct which did not act with it.\n\nWhence, in fact, proceeds this general sway of prejudices; this might of\nthe understanding in the midst of the light disseminated by philosophy\nand experience? The age is enlightened, that is to say, that knowledge,\nobtained and vulgarized, suffices to set right at least our practical\nprinciples. The spirit of free inquiry has dissipated the erroneous\nopinions which long barred the access to truth, and has undermined the\nground on which fanaticism and deception had erected their throne.\nReason has purified itself from the illusions of the senses and from a\nmendacious sophistry, and philosophy herself raises her voice and\nexhorts us to return to the bosom of nature, to which she had first made\nus unfaithful. Whence then is it that we remain still barbarians?\n\nThere must be something in the spirit of man\u2014as it is not in the objects\nthemselves\u2014which prevents us from receiving the truth, notwithstanding\nthe brilliant light she diffuses, and from accepting her, whatever may\nbe her strength for producing conviction. This something was perceived\nand expressed by an ancient sage in this very significant maxim: _sapere\naude_.[1]\n\nDare to be wise! A spirited courage is required to triumph over the\nimpediments that the indolence of nature as well as the cowardice of the\nheart oppose to our instruction. It was not without reason that the\nancient Mythos made Minerva issue fully armed from the head of Jupiter,\nfor it is with warfare that this instruction commences. From its very\noutset it has to sustain a hard fight against the senses, which do not\nlike to be roused from their easy slumber. The greater part of men are\nmuch too exhausted and enervated by their struggle with want to be able\nto engage in a new and severe contest with error. Satisfied if they\nthemselves can escape from the hard labor of thought, they willingly\nabandon to others the guardianship of their thoughts. And if it happens\nthat nobler necessities agitate their soul, they cling with a greedy\nfaith to the formula that the state and the church hold in reserve for\nsuch cases. If these unhappy men deserve our compassion, those others\ndeserve our just contempt, who, though set free from those necessities\nby more fortunate circumstances, yet willingly bend to their yoke. These\nlatter persons prefer this twilight of obscure ideas, where the feelings\nhave more intensity, and the imagination can at will create convenient\nchimeras, to the rays of truth which put to flight the pleasant\nillusions of their dreams. They have founded the whole structure of\ntheir happiness on these very illusions, which ought to be combated and\ndissipated by the light of knowledge, and they would think they were\npaying too dearly for a truth which begins by robbing them of all that\nhas value in their sight. It would be necessary that they should be\nalready sages to love wisdom: a truth that was felt at once by him to\nwhom philosophy owes its name.[2]\n\nIt is therefore not going far enough to say that the light of the\nunderstanding only deserves respect when it reacts on the character; to\na certain extent it is from the character that this light proceeds; for\nthe road that terminates in the head must pass through the heart.\nAccordingly, the most pressing need of the present time is to educate\nthe sensibility, because it is the means, not only to render efficacious\nin practice the improvement of ideas, but to call this improvement into\nexistence.\n\n\n                               LETTER IX.\n\nBut perhaps there is a vicious circle in our previous reasoning!\nTheoretical culture must it seems bring along with it practical culture,\nand yet the latter must be the condition of the former. All improvement\nin the political sphere must proceed from the ennobling of the\ncharacter. But, subject to the influence of a social constitution still\nbarbarous, how can character become ennobled? It would then be necessary\nto seek for this end an instrument that the state does not furnish, and\nto open sources that would have preserved themselves pure in the midst\nof political corruption.\n\nI have now reached the point to which all the considerations tended that\nhave engaged me up to the present time. This instrument is the art of\nthe beautiful; these sources are open to us in its immortal models.\n\nArt, like science, is emancipated from all that is positive, and all\nthat is humanly conventional; both are completely independent of the\narbitrary will of man. The political legislator may place their empire\nunder an interdict, but he cannot reign there. He can proscribe the\nfriend of truth, but truth subsists; he can degrade the artist, but he\ncannot change art. No doubt, nothing is more common than to see science\nand art bend before the spirit of the age, and creative taste receive\nits law from critical taste. When the character becomes stiff and\nhardens itself, we see science severely keeping her limits, and art\nsubject to the harsh restraint of rules; when the character is relaxed\nand softened, science endeavors to please and art to rejoice. For whole\nages philosophers as well as artists show themselves occupied in letting\ndown truth and beauty to the depths of vulgar humanity. They themselves\nare swallowed up in it; but, thanks to their essential vigor and\nindestructible life, the true and the beautiful make a victorious fight,\nand issue triumphant from the abyss.\n\nNo doubt the artist is the child of his time, but unhappy for him if he\nis its disciple or even its favorite! Let a beneficent deity carry off\nin good time the suckling from the breast of its mother, let it nourish\nhim on the milk of a better age, and suffer him to grow up and arrive at\nvirility under the distant sky of Greece. When he has attained manhood,\nlet him come back, presenting a face strange to his own age; let him\ncome, not to delight it with his apparition, but rather to purify it,\nterrible as the son of Agamemnon. He will, indeed, receive his matter\nfrom the present time, but he will borrow the form from a nobler time\nand even beyond all time, from the essential, absolute, immutable unity.\nThere, issuing from the pure ether of its heavenly nature, flows the\nsource of all beauty, which was never tainted by the corruptions of\ngenerations or of ages, which roll along far beneath it in dark eddies.\nIts matter may be dishonored as well as ennobled by fancy, but the\never-chaste form escapes from the caprices of imagination. The Roman had\nalready bent his knee for long years to the divinity of the emperors,\nand yet the statues of the gods stood erect; the temples retained their\nsanctity for the eye long after the gods had become a theme for mockery,\nand the noble architecture of the palaces that shielded the infamies of\nNero and of Commodus were a protest against them. Humanity has lost its\ndignity, but art has saved it, and preserves it in marbles full of\nmeaning; truth continues to live in illusion, and the copy will serve to\nre-establish the model. If the nobility of art has _survived_ the\nnobility of nature, it also goes before it like an inspiring genius,\nforming and awakening minds. Before truth causes her triumphant light to\npenetrate into the depths of the heart, poetry intercepts her rays, and\nthe summits of humanity shine in a bright light, while a dark and humid\nnight still hangs over the valleys.\n\nBut how will the artist avoid the corruption of his time which encloses\nhim on all hands? Let him raise his eyes to his own dignity, and to law;\nlet him not lower them to necessity and fortune. Equally exempt from a\nvain activity which would imprint its trace on the fugitive moment, and\nfrom the dreams of an impatient enthusiasm which applies the measure of\nthe absolute to the paltry productions of time, let the artist abandon\nthe real to the understanding, for that is its proper field; But let the\nartist endeavor to give birth to the ideal by the union of the possible\nand of the necessary. Let him stamp illusion and truth with the effigy\nof this ideal; let him apply it to the play of his imagination and his\nmost serious actions, in short, to all sensuous and spiritual forms;\nthen let him quietly launch his work into infinite time.\n\nBut the minds set on fire by this ideal have not all received an equal\nshare of calm from the creative genius\u2014that great and patient temper\nwhich is required to impress the ideal on the dumb marble, or to spread\nit over a page of cold, sober letters, and then intrust it to the\nfaithful hands of time. This divine instinct, and creative force, much\ntoo ardent to follow this peaceful walk, often throws itself immediately\non the present, on active life, and strives to transform the shapeless\nmatter of the moral world. The misfortune of his brothers, of the whole\nspecies, appeals loudly to the heart of the man of feeling; their\nabasement appeals still louder: enthusiasm is inflamed, and in souls\nendowed with energy the burning desire aspires impatiently to action and\nfacts. But has this innovator examined himself to see if these disorders\nof the moral world wound his reason, or if they do not rather wound his\nself-love? If he does not determine this point at once, he will find it\nfrom the impulsiveness with which he pursues a prompt and definite end.\nA pure, moral motive has for its end the absolute; time does not exist\nfor it, and the future becomes the present to it directly; by a\nnecessary development, it has to issue from the present. To a reason\nhaving no limits the direction towards an end becomes confounded with\nthe accomplishment of this end, and to enter on a course is to have\nfinished it.\n\nIf, then, a young friend of the true and of the beautiful were to ask me\nhow, notwithstanding the resistance of the times, he can satisfy the\nnoble longing of his heart, I should reply: Direct the world on which\nyou act towards that which is good, and the measured and peaceful course\nof time will bring about the results. You have given it this direction\nif by your teaching you raise its thoughts towards the necessary and the\neternal; if, by your acts or your creations, you make the necessary and\nthe eternal the object of your leanings. The structure of error and of\nall that is arbitrary must fall, and it has already fallen, as soon as\nyou are sure that it is tottering. But it is important that it should\nnot only totter in the external but also in the internal man. Cherish\ntriumphant truth in the modest sanctuary of our heart; give it an\nincarnate form through beauty, that it may not only be in the\nunderstanding that does homage to it, but that feeling may lovingly\ngrasp its appearance. And that you may not by any chance take from\nexternal reality the model which you yourself ought to furnish, do not\nventure into its dangerous society before you are assured in your own\nheart that you have a good escort furnished by ideal nature. Live with\nyour age, but be not its creation; labor for your contemporaries, but do\nfor them what they need, and not what they praise. Without having shared\ntheir faults, share their punishment with a noble resignation, and bend\nunder the yoke which they find it as painful to dispense with as to\nbear. By the constancy with which you will despise their good fortune,\nyou will prove to them that it is not through cowardice that you submit\nto their sufferings. See them in thought such as they ought to be when\nyou must act upon them; but see them as they are when you are tempted to\nact for them. Seek to owe their suffrage to their dignity; but to make\nthem happy keep an account of their unworthiness: thus, on the one hand,\nthe nobleness of your heart will kindle theirs, and, on the other, your\nend will not be reduced to nothingness by their unworthiness. The\ngravity of your principles will keep them off from you, but in play they\nwill still endure them. Their taste is purer than their heart, and it is\nby their taste you must lay hold of this suspicious fugitive. In vain\nwill you combat their maxims, in vain will you condemn their actions;\nbut you can try your moulding hand on their leisure. Drive away caprice,\nfrivolity, and coarseness from their pleasures, and you will banish them\nimperceptibly from their acts, and at length from their feelings.\nEverywhere that you meet them, surround them with great, noble, and\ningenious forms; multiply around them the symbols of perfection, till\nappearance triumphs over reality, and art over nature.\n\n\n                               LETTER X.\n\nConvinced by my preceding letters, you agree with me on this point, that\nman can depart from his destination by two opposite roads, that our\nepoch is actually moving on these two false roads, and that it has\nbecome the prey, in one case, of coarseness, and elsewhere of exhaustion\nand depravity. It is the beautiful that must bring it back from this\ntwofold departure. But how can the cultivation of the fine arts remedy,\nat the same time, these opposite defects, and unite in itself two\ncontradictory qualities? Can it bind nature in the savage, and set it\nfree in the barbarian? Can it at once tighten a spring and loose it; and\nif it cannot produce this double effect, how will it be reasonable to\nexpect from it so important a result as the education of man?\n\nIt may be urged that it is almost a proverbial adage that the feeling\ndeveloped by the beautiful refines manners, and any new proof offered on\nthe subject would appear superfluous. Men base this maxim on daily\nexperience, which shows us almost always clearness of intellect,\ndelicacy of feeling, liberality and even dignity of conduct, associated\nwith a cultivated taste, while an uncultivated taste is almost always\naccompanied by the opposite qualities. With considerable assurance, the\nmost civilized nation of antiquity is cited as an evidence of this, the\nGreeks, among whom the perception of the beautiful attained its highest\ndevelopment, and, as a contrast, it is usual to point to nations in a\npartial savage state, and partly barbarous, who expiate their\ninsensibility to the beautiful by a coarse, or, at all events, a hard,\naustere character. Nevertheless, some thinkers are tempted occasionally\nto deny either the fact itself or to dispute the legitimacy of the\nconsequences that are derived from it. They do not entertain so\nunfavorable an opinion of that savage coarseness which is made a\nreproach in the case of certain nations; nor do they form so\nadvantageous an opinion of the refinement so highly lauded in the case\nof cultivated nations. Even as far back as in antiquity there were men\nwho by no means regarded the culture of the liberal arts as a benefit,\nand who were consequently led to forbid the entrance of their republic\nto imagination.\n\nI do not speak of those who calumniate art because they have never been\nfavored by it. These persons only appreciate a possession by the trouble\nit takes to acquire it, and by the profit it brings: and how could they\nproperly appreciate the silent labor of taste in the exterior and\ninterior man? How evident it is that the accidental disadvantages\nattending liberal culture would make them lose sight of its essential\nadvantages? The man deficient in form despises the grace of diction as a\nmeans of corruption, courtesy in the social relations as dissimulation,\ndelicacy and generosity in conduct as an affected exaggeration. He\ncannot forgive the favorite of the Graces for having enlivened all\nassemblies as a man of the world, of having directed all men to his\nviews like a statesman, and of giving his impress to the whole century\nas a writer: while he, the victim of labor, can only obtain with all his\nlearning, the least attention or overcome the least difficulty. As he\ncannot learn from his fortunate rival the secret of pleasing, the only\ncourse open to him is to deplore the corruption of human nature, which\nadores rather the appearance than the reality.\n\nBut there are also opinions deserving respect, that pronounce themselves\nadverse to the effects of the beautiful, and find formidable arms in\nexperience, with which to wage war against it. \u201cWe are free to\nadmit\u201d\u2014such is their language\u2014\u201cthat the charms of the beautiful can\nfurther honorable ends in pure hands; but it is not repugnant to its\nnature to produce, in impure hands, a directly contrary effect, and to\nemploy in the service of injustice and error the power that throws the\nsoul of man into chains. It is exactly because taste only attends to the\nform and never to the substance; it ends by placing the soul on the\ndangerous incline, leading it to neglect all reality and to sacrifice\ntruth and morality to an attractive envelope. All the real difference of\nthings vanishes, and it is only the appearance that determines the\nvalue! How many men of talent\u201d\u2014thus these arguers proceed\u2014\u201chave been\nturned aside from all effort by the seductive power of the beautiful, or\nhave been led away from all serious exercise of their activity, or have\nbeen induced to use it very feebly? How many weak minds have been\nimpelled to quarrel with the organizations of society, simply because it\nhas pleased the imagination of poets to present the image of a world\nconstituted differently, where no propriety chains down opinion and no\nartifice holds nature in thraldom? What a dangerous logic of the\npassions they have learned since the poets have painted them in their\npictures in the most brilliant colors, and since, in the contest with\nlaw and duty, they have commonly remained masters of the battle-field.\nWhat has society gained by the relations of society, formerly under the\nsway of truth, being now subject to the laws of the beautiful, or by the\nexternal impression deciding the estimation in which merit is to be\nheld? We admit that all virtues whose appearance produces an agreeable\neffect are now seen to flourish, and those which, in society, give a\nvalue to the man who possesses them. But, as a compensation, all kinds\nof excesses are seen to prevail, and all vices are in vogue that can be\nreconciled with a graceful exterior.\u201d It is certainly a matter entitled\nto reflection that, at almost all the periods of history when art\nflourished and taste held sway, humanity is found in a state of decline;\nnor can a single instance be cited of the union of a large diffusion of\n\u00e6sthetic culture with political liberty and social virtue, of fine\nmanners associated with good morals, and of politeness fraternizing with\ntruth and loyalty of character and life.\n\nAs long as Athens and Sparta preserved their independence, and as long\nas their institutions were based on respect for the laws, taste did not\nreach its maturity, art remained in its infancy, and beauty was far from\nexercising her empire over minds. No doubt, poetry had already taken a\nsublime flight, but it was on the wings of genius, and we know that\ngenius borders very closely on savage coarseness, that it is a light\nwhich shines readily in the midst of darkness, and which therefore often\nargues against rather than in favor of the taste of time. When the\ngolden age of art appears under Pericles and Alexander, and the sway of\ntaste becomes more general, strength and liberty have abandoned Greece;\neloquence corrupts the truth, wisdom offends it on the lips of Socrates,\nand virtue in the life of Phocion. It is well known that the Romans had\nto exhaust their energies in civil wars, and, corrupted by Oriental\nluxury, to bow their heads under the yoke of a fortunate despot, before\nGrecian art triumphed over the stiffness of their character. The same\nwas the case with the Arabs: civilization only dawned upon them when the\nvigor of their military spirit became softened under the sceptre of the\nAbbassides. Art did not appear in modern Italy till the glorious Lombard\nLeague was dissolved, Florence submitting to the Medici; and all those\nbrave cities gave up the spirit of independence for an inglorious\nresignation. It is almost superfluous to call to mind the example of\nmodern nations, with whom refinement has increased in direct proportion\nto the decline of their liberties. Wherever we direct our eyes in past\ntimes, we see taste and freedom mutually avoiding each other. Everywhere\nwe see that the beautiful only founds its sway on the ruins of heroic\nvirtues.\n\nAnd yet this strength of character, which is commonly sacrificed to\nestablish \u00e6sthetic culture, is the most powerful spring of all that is\ngreat and excellent in man, and no other advantage, however great, can\nmake up for it. Accordingly, if we only keep to the experiments hitherto\nmade, as to the influence of the beautiful, we cannot certainly be much\nencouraged in developing feelings so dangerous to the real culture of\nman. At the risk of being hard and coarse, it will seem preferable to\ndispense with this dissolving force of the beautiful rather than see\nhuman nature a prey to its enervating influence, notwithstanding all its\nrefining advantages. However, experience is perhaps not the proper\ntribunal at which to decide such a question; before giving so much\nweight to its testimony, it would be well to inquire if the beauty we\nhave been discussing is the power that is condemned by the previous\nexamples. And the beauty we are discussing seems to assume an idea of\nthe beautiful derived from a source different from experience, for it is\nthis higher notion of the beautiful which has to decide if what is\ncalled beauty by experience is entitled to the name.\n\nThis pure and rational idea of the beautiful\u2014supposing it can be placed\nin evidence\u2014cannot be taken from any real and special case, and must, on\nthe contrary, direct and give sanction to our judgment in each special\ncase. It must therefore be sought for by a process of abstraction, and\nit ought to be deduced from the simple possibility of a nature both\nsensuous and rational; in short, beauty ought to present itself as a\nnecessary condition of humanity. It is therefore essential that we\nshould rise to the pure idea of humanity, and as experience shows us\nnothing but individuals, in particular cases, and never humanity at\nlarge, we must endeavor to find in their individual and variable mode of\nbeing the absolute and the permanent, and to grasp the necessary\nconditions of their existence, suppressing all accidental limits. No\ndoubt this transcendental procedure will remove us for some time from\nthe familiar circle of phenomena, and the living presence of objects, to\nkeep us on the unproductive ground of abstract idea; but we are engaged\nin the search after a principle of knowledge solid enough not to be\nshaken by anything, and the man who does not dare to rise above reality\nwill never conquer this truth.\n\n\n                               LETTER XI.\n\nIf abstraction rises to as great an elevation as possible, it arrives at\ntwo primary ideas, before which it is obliged to stop and to recognize\nits limits. It distinguishes in man something that continues, and\nsomething that changes incessantly. That which continues it names his\nperson; that which changes his position, his condition.\n\nThe person and the condition, I and my determinations, which we\nrepresent as one and the same thing in the necessary being, are\neternally distinct in the finite being. Notwithstanding all continuance\nin the person, the condition changes; in spite of all change of\ncondition the person remains. We pass from rest to activity, from\nemotion to indifference, from assent to contradiction, but we are always\n_we ourselves_, and what immediately springs from _ourselves_ remains.\nIt is only in the absolute subject that all his determinations continue\nwith his personality. All that Divinity is, it is because it is so;\nconsequently it is eternally what it is, because it is eternal.\n\nAs the person and the condition are distinct in man, because he is a\nfinite being, the condition cannot be founded on the person, nor the\nperson on the condition. Admitting the second case, the person would\nhave to change; and in the former case, the condition would have to\ncontinue. Thus in either supposition, either the personality or the\nquality of a finite being would necessarily cease. It is not because we\nthink, feel, and will that we are; it is not because we are that we\nthink, feel, and will. We are because we are. We feel, think, and will\nbecause there is out of us something that is not ourselves.\n\nConsequently the person must have its principle of existence in itself,\nbecause the permanent cannot be derived from the changeable, and thus we\nshould be at once in possession of the idea of the absolute being,\nfounded on itself; that is to say, of the _idea of freedom_. The\ncondition must have a foundation, and as it is not through the person,\nand is not therefore absolute, it must be a _sequence_ and a _result_;\nand thus, in the second place, we should have arrived at the condition\nof every independent being, of everything in the process of becoming\nsomething else: that is, of the idea of _time_. \u201cTime is the necessary\ncondition of all processes, of becoming (Werden);\u201d this is an identical\nproposition, for it says nothing but this: \u201cThat something may follow,\nthere must be a succession.\u201d\n\nThe person which manifested itself in the eternally continuing Ego, or I\nmyself, and only in him, cannot become something or begin in time,\nbecause it is much rather time that must begin with him, because the\npermanent must serve as basis to the changeable. That change may take\nplace, something must change; this something cannot therefore be the\nchange itself. When we say the flower opens and fades, we make of this\nflower a permanent being in the midst of this transformation; we lend\nit, in some sort, a personality, in which these two conditions are\nmanifested. It cannot be objected that man is born, and becomes\nsomething; for man is not only a person simply, but he is a person\nfinding himself in a determinate condition. Now our determinate state of\ncondition springs up in time, and it is thus that man, as a phenomenon\nor appearance, must have a beginning, though in him pure intelligence is\neternal. Without time, that is, without a becoming, he would not be a\ndeterminate being; his personality would exist virtually no doubt, but\nnot in action. It is not by the succession of its perceptions that the\nimmutable Ego or person manifests himself to himself.\n\nThus, therefore, the matter of activity, or reality, that the supreme\nintelligence draws from its own being, must be _received_ by man; and he\ndoes, in fact, receive it, through the medium of perception, as\nsomething which is outside him in space, and which changes in him in\ntime. This matter which changes in him is always accompanied by the Ego,\nthe personality, that never changes; and the rule prescribed for man by\nhis rational nature is to remain immutably _himself_ in the midst of\nchange, to refer all perceptions to experience, that is, to the unity of\nknowledge, and to make of each of its manifestations of its modes in\ntime the law of all time. The matter only exists in as far as it\nchanges: _he_, his personality, only exists in as far as he does not\nchange. Consequently, represented in his perfection, man would be the\npermanent unity, which remains always the same, among the waves of\nchange.\n\nNow, although an infinite being, a divinity could not _become_ (or be\nsubject to time), still a tendency ought to be named divine which has\nfor its infinite end the most characteristic attribute of the divinity;\nthe absolute manifestation of power\u2014the reality of all the possible\u2014and\nthe absolute unity of the manifestation (the necessity of all reality).\nIt cannot be disputed that man bears within himself, in his personality,\na predisposition for divinity. The way to divinity\u2014if the word \u201cway\u201d can\nbe applied to what never leads to its end\u2014is open to him in every\n_direction_.\n\nConsidered in itself, and independently of all sensuous matter, his\npersonality is nothing but the pure virtuality of a possible infinite\nmanifestation; and so long as there is neither intuition nor feeling, it\nis nothing more than a form, an empty power. Considered in itself, and\nindependently of all spontaneous activity of the mind, sensuousness can\nonly make a material man; without it, it is a pure form; but it cannot\nin any way establish a union between matter and it. So long as he only\nfeels, wishes, and acts under the influence of desire, he is nothing\nmore than the world, if by this word we point out only the formless\ncontents of time. Without doubt, it is only his sensuousness that makes\nhis strength pass into efficacious acts, but it is his personality alone\nthat makes this activity his own. Thus, that he may not only be a world,\nhe must give form to matter, and in order not to be a mere form, he must\ngive reality to the virtuality that he bears in him. He gives matter to\nform by creating time, and by opposing the immutable to change, the\ndiversity of the world to the eternal unity of the Ego. He gives a form\nto matter by again suppressing time, by maintaining permanence in\nchange, and by placing the diversity of the world under the unity of the\nEgo.\n\nNow from this source issue for man two opposite exigencies, the two\nfundamental laws of sensuous-rational nature. The first has for its\nobject absolute _reality_; it must make a world of what is only form,\nmanifest all that in it is only a force. The second law has for its\nobject absolute _formality_; it must destroy in him all that is only\nworld, and carry out harmony in all changes. In other terms, he must\nmanifest all that is internal, and give form to all that is external.\nConsidered in its most lofty accomplishment, this twofold labor brings\nback to the idea of humanity, which was my starting-point.\n\n\n                              LETTER XII.\n\nThis twofold labor or task, which consists in making the necessary pass\ninto reality in us and in making _out of us_ reality subject to the law\nof necessity, is urged upon us as a duty by two opposing forces, which\nare justly styled impulsions or instincts, because they impel us to\nrealize their object. The first of these impulsions, which I shall call\nthe _sensuous instinct_, issues from the physical existence of man, or\nfrom sensuous nature; and it is this instinct which tends to enclose him\nin the limits of time, and to make of him a material being; I do not say\nto give him matter, for to do that a certain free activity of the\npersonality would be necessary, which, receiving matter, distinguishes\nit from the Ego, or what is permanent. By matter I only understand in\nthis place the change or reality that fills time. Consequently the\ninstinct requires that there should be change, and that time should\ncontain something. This simply filled state of time is named sensation,\nand it is only in this state that physical existence manifests itself.\n\nAs all that is in time is _successive_, it follows by that fact alone\nthat something is: all the remainder is excluded. When one note on an\ninstrument is touched, among all those that it virtually offers, this\nnote alone is real. When man is actually modified, the infinite\npossibility of all his modifications is limited to this single mode of\nexistence. Thus, then, the exclusive action of sensuous impulsion has\nfor its necessary consequence the narrowest limitation. In this state\nman is only a unity of magnitude, a complete moment in time; or, to\nspeak more correctly, _he_ is not, for his personality is suppressed as\nlong as sensation holds sway over him and carries time along with it.\n\nThis instinct extends its domains over the entire sphere of the finite\nin man, and as form is only revealed in matter, and the absolute by\nmeans of its limits, the total manifestation of human nature is\nconnected on a close analysis with the sensuous instinct. But though it\nis only this instinct that awakens and develops what exists virtually in\nman, it is nevertheless this very instinct which renders his perfection\nimpossible. It binds down to the world of sense by indestructible ties\nthe spirit that tends higher, and it calls back to the limits of the\npresent, abstraction which had its free development in the sphere of the\ninfinite. No doubt, thought can escape it for a moment, and a firm will\nvictoriously resist its exigencies: but soon compressed nature resumes\nher rights to give an imperious reality to our existence, to give it\ncontents, substance, knowledge, and an aim for our activity.\n\nThe second impulsion, which may be named the _formal instinct_, issues\nfrom the absolute existence of man, or from his rational nature, and\ntends to set free, and bring harmony into the diversity of its\nmanifestations, and to maintain personality notwithstanding all the\nchanges of state. As this personality, being an absolute and indivisible\nunity, can never be in contradiction with itself, as _we are ourselves_\nforever, this impulsion, which tends to maintain personality, can never\nexact in one time anything but what it exacts and requires forever. It\ntherefore decides for always what it decides now, and orders now what it\norders forever. Hence it embraces the whole series of times, or what\ncomes to the same thing, it suppresses time and change. It wishes the\nreal to be necessary and eternal, and it wishes the eternal and the\nnecessary to be real; in other terms, it tends to truth and justice.\n\nIf the sensuous instinct only produces _accidents_, the formal instinct\ngives laws, laws for every judgment when it is a question of knowledge,\nlaws for every will when it is a question of action. Whether, therefore,\nwe recognize an object or conceive an objective value to a state of the\nsubject, whether we act in virtue of knowledge or make of the objective\nthe determining principle of our state; in both cases we withdraw this\nstate from the jurisdiction of time, and we attribute to it reality for\nall men and for all time, that is, universality and necessity. Feeling\ncan only say: \u201cThat is true _for this subject_ and _at this moment_,\u201d\nand there may come another moment, another subject, which withdraws the\naffirmation from the actual feeling. But when once thought pronounces\nand says: \u201c_That is_,\u201d it decides forever and ever, and the validity of\nits decision is guaranteed by the personality itself, which defies all\nchange. Inclination can only say: \u201cThat is good _for your individuality_\nand _present necessity_\u201d; but the changing current of affairs will sweep\nthem away, and what you ardently desire to-day will form the object of\nyour aversion to-morrow. But when the moral feeling says: \u201cThat ought to\nbe,\u201d it decides forever. If you confess the truth because it is the\ntruth, and if you practise justice because it is justice, you have made\nof a particular case the law of all possible cases, and treated one\nmoment of your life as eternity.\n\nAccordingly, when the formal impulse holds sway and the pure object acts\nin us, the being attains its highest expansion, all barriers disappear,\nand from the unity of magnitude in which man was enclosed by a narrow\nsensuousness, he rises to the _unity of idea_, which embraces and keeps\nsubject the entire sphere of phenomena. During this operation we are no\nlonger in time, but time is in us with its infinite succession. We are\nno longer individuals but a species; the judgment of all spirits is\nexpressed by our own, and the choice of all hearts is represented by our\nown act.\n\n\n                              LETTER XIII.\n\nOn a first survey, nothing appears more opposed than these two\nimpulsions; one having for its object change, the other immutability,\nand yet it is these two notions that exhaust the notion of humanity, and\na third _fundamental impulsion_, holding a medium between them, is quite\ninconceivable. How then shall we re-establish the unity of human nature,\na unity that appears completely destroyed by this primitive and radical\nopposition?\n\nI admit these two tendencies are contradictory, but it should be noticed\nthat they are not so in the _same objects_. But things that do not meet\ncannot come into collision. No doubt the sensuous impulsion desires\nchange; but it does not wish that it should extend to personality and\nits field, nor that there should be a change of principles. The formal\nimpulsion seeks unity and permanence, but it does not wish the condition\nto remain fixed with the person, that there should be identity of\nfeeling. Therefore these two impulsions are not divided by nature, and\nif, nevertheless, they appear so, it is because they have become divided\nby transgressing nature freely, by ignoring themselves, and by\nconfounding their spheres. The office of culture is to watch over them\nand to secure to each one its proper _limits_; therefore culture has to\ngive equal justice to both, and to defend not only the rational\nimpulsion against the sensuous, but also the latter against the former.\nHence she has to act a twofold part: first, to protect sense against the\nattacks of freedom; secondly, to secure personality against the power of\nsensations. One of these ends is attained by the cultivation of the\nsensuous, the other by that of reason.\n\nSince the world is developed in time, or change, the perfection of the\nfaculty that places men in relation with the world will necessarily be\nthe greatest possible mutability and extensiveness. Since personality is\npermanence in change, the perfection of this faculty, which must be\nopposed to change, will be the greatest possible freedom of action\n(autonomy) and intensity. The more the receptivity is developed under\nmanifold aspects, the more it is movable and otters surfaces to\nphenomena, the larger is the part of the world _seized_ upon by man, and\nthe more virtualities he develops in himself. Again, in proportion as\nman gains strength and depth, and depth and reason gain in freedom, in\nthat proportion man _takes in_ a larger share of the world, and throws\nout forms outside himself. Therefore his culture will consist, first, in\nplacing his receptivity in contact with the world in the greatest number\nof points possible, and in raising passivity, to the highest exponent on\nthe side of feeling; secondly, in procuring for the determining faculty\nthe greatest possible amount of independence, in relation to the\nreceptive power, and in raising activity to the highest degree on the\nside of reason. By the union of these two qualities man will associate\nthe highest degree of self-spontaneity (autonomy) and of freedom with\nthe fullest plenitude of existence, and instead of abandoning himself to\nthe world so as to get lost in it, he will rather absorb it in himself,\nwith all the infinitude of its phenomena, and subject it to the unity of\nhis reason.\n\nBut man can invert this relation, and thus fail in attaining his\ndestination in two ways. He can hand over to the passive force the\nintensity demanded by the active force; he can encroach by material\nimpulsion on the formal impulsion, and convert the receptive into the\ndetermining power. He can attribute to the active force the\nextensiveness belonging to the passive force, he can encroach by the\nformal impulsion on the material impulsion, and substitute the\ndetermining for the receptive power. In the former case, he will never\nbe an Ego, a personality; in the second case, he will never be a\nNon-Ego, and hence in both cases he will be _neither the one nor the\nother_, consequently he will be nothing.\n\nIn fact, if the sensuous impulsion becomes determining, if the senses\nbecome lawgivers, and if the world stifles personality, he loses as\nobject what he gains in force. It may be said of man that when he is\nonly the contents of time, he is not and consequently _he has_ no other\ncontents. His condition is destroyed at the same time as his\npersonality, because these are two correlative ideas, because change\npresupposes permanence, and a limited reality implies an infinite\nreality. If the formal impulsion becomes receptive, that is, if thought\nanticipates sensation, and the person substitutes itself in the place of\nthe world, it loses as a subject and autonomous force what it gains as\nobject, because immutability implies change, and that to manifest itself\nalso absolute reality requires limits. As soon as man is only form, he\nhas no form, and the personality vanishes with the condition. In a word,\nit is only inasmuch as he is spontaneous, autonomous, that there is\nreality out of him, that he is also receptive; and it is only inasmuch\nas he is receptive that there is reality in him, that he is a thinking\nforce.\n\nConsequently these two impulsions require limits, and looked upon as\nforces, they need tempering; the former that it may not encroach on the\nfield of legislation, the latter that it may not invade the ground of\nfeeling. But this tempering and moderating the sensuous impulsion ought\nnot to be the effect of physical impotence or of a blunting of\nsensations, which is always a matter for contempt. It must be a free\nact, an activity of the person, which by its moral intensity moderates\nthe sensuous intensity, and by the sway of impressions takes from them\nin depth what it gives them in surface or breadth. The character must\nplace limits to temperament, for the senses have only the right to lose\nelements if it be to the advantage of the mind. In its turn, the\ntempering of the formal impulsion must not result from moral impotence,\nfrom a relaxation of thought and will, which would degrade humanity. It\nis necessary that the glorious source of this second tempering should be\nthe fulness of sensations; it is necessary that sensuousness itself\nshould defend its field with a victorious arm and resist the violence\nthat the invading activity of the mind would do to it. In a word, it is\nnecessary that the material impulsion should be contained in the limits\nof propriety by personality, and the formal impulsion by receptivity or\nnature.\n\n\n                              LETTER XIV.\n\nWe have been brought to the idea of such a correlation between the two\nimpulsions that the action of the one establishes and limits at the same\ntime the action of the other, and that each of them, taken in isolation,\ndoes arrive at its highest manifestation just because the other is\nactive.\n\nNo doubt this correlation of the two impulsions is simply a problem\nadvanced by reason, and which man will only be able to solve in the\nperfection of his being. It is in the strictest signification of the\nterm: _the idea of his humanity_; accordingly, it is an infinite to\nwhich he can approach nearer and nearer in the course of time, but\nwithout ever reaching it. \u201cHe ought not to aim at form to the injury of\nreality, nor to reality to the detriment of the form. He must rather\nseek the absolute being by means of a determinate being, and the\ndeterminate being by means of an infinite being. He must set the world\nbefore him because he is a person, and he must be a person because he\nhas the world before him. He must feel because he has a consciousness of\nhimself, and he must have a consciousness of himself because he feels.\u201d\nIt is only in conformity with this idea that he is a man in the full\nsense of the word; but he cannot be convinced of this so long as he\ngives himself up exclusively to one of these two impulsions, or only\nsatisfies them one after the other. For as long as he only feels, his\nabsolute personality and existence remain a mystery to him, and as long\nas he only thinks, his condition or existence in time escapes him. But\nif there were cases in which he could have _at once_ this twofold\nexperience in which he would have the consciousness of his freedom and\nthe feeling of his existence together in which he would simultaneously\nfeel as matter and know himself as spirit, in such cases, and in such\nonly, would he have a complete intuition of his humanity, and the object\nthat would procure him this intuition would be a symbol of his\naccomplished destiny and consequently serve to express the infinite to\nhim\u2014since this destination can only be fulfilled in the fulness of time.\n\nPresuming that cases of this kind could present themselves in\nexperience, they would awake in him a new impulsion, which, precisely\nbecause the other two impulsions would co-operate in it, would be\nopposed to each of them taken in isolation, and might, with good\ngrounds, be taken for a new impulsion. The sensuous impulsion requires\nthat there should be change, that time should have contents; the formal\nimpulsion requires that time should be suppressed, that there should be\nno change. Consequently, the impulsion in which both of the others act\nin concert\u2014allow me to call it the _instinct of play_, till I explain\nthe term\u2014the instinct of play would have as its object to suppress time\nin time, to conciliate the state of transition or _becoming_ with the\nabsolute being, change with identity.\n\nThe sensuous instinct wishes to be determined, it wishes to receive an\nobject: the formal instinct wishes to determine itself, it wishes to\nproduce an object. Therefore the instinct of play will endeavor to\nreceive as it would itself have produced, and to produce as it aspires\nto receive.\n\nThe sensuous impulsion excludes from its subject all autonomy and\nfreedom; the formal impulsion excludes all dependence and passivity. But\nthe exclusion of freedom is physical necessity; the exclusion of\npassivity is moral necessity. Thus the two impulsions subdue the mind:\nthe former to the laws of nature, the latter to the laws of reason. It\nresults from this that the instinct of play, which unites the double\naction of the two other instincts, will content the mind at once morally\nand physically. Hence, as it suppresses all that is contingent, it will\nalso suppress all coercion, and will set man free physically and\nmorally. When we welcome with effusion some one who deserves our\ncontempt, we feel painfully that _nature is constrained_. When we have a\nhostile feeling against a person who commands our esteem, we feel\npainfully the _constraint of reason_. But if this person inspires us\nwith interest, and also wins our esteem, the constraint of feeling\nvanishes together with the constraint of reason, and we begin to love\nhim, that is to say, to play, to take recreation, at once with our\ninclination and our esteem.\n\nMoreover, as the sensuous impulsion controls us physically, and the\nformal impulsion morally, the former makes our formal constitution\ncontingent, and the latter makes our material constitution contingent,\nthat is to say, there is contingence in the agreement of our happiness\nwith our perfection, and reciprocally. The instinct of play, in which\nboth act in concert, will render both our formal and our material\nconstitution contingent; accordingly, our perfection and our happiness\nin like manner. And on the other hand, exactly because it makes _both of\nthem_ contingent, and because the contingent disappears with necessity,\nit will suppress this contingence in both, and will thus give form to\nmatter and reality to form. In proportion that it will lessen the\ndynamic influence of feeling and passion, it will place them in harmony\nwith rational ideas, and by taking from the laws of reason their moral\nconstraint, it will reconcile them with the interest of the senses.\n\n\n                               LETTER XV.\n\nI approach continually nearer to the end to which I lead you, by a path\noffering few attractions. Be pleased to follow me a few steps further,\nand a large horizon will open up to you, and a delightful prospect will\nreward you for the labor of the way.\n\nThe object of the sensuous instinct, expressed in a universal\nconception, is named Life in the widest acceptation; a conception that\nexpresses all material existence and all that is immediately present in\nthe senses. The object of the formal instinct, expressed in a universal\nconception, is called shape or form, as well in an exact as in an\ninexact acceptation; a conception that embraces all formal qualities of\nthings and all relations of the same to the thinking powers. The object\nof the play instinct, represented in a general statement, may therefore\nbear the name of _living form_; a term that serves to describe all\n\u00e6sthetic qualities of phenomena, and what people style, in the widest\nsense, _beauty_.\n\nBeauty is neither extended to the whole field of all living things nor\nmerely enclosed in this field. A marble block, though it is and remains\nlifeless, can nevertheless become a living form by the architect and\nsculptor; a man, though he lives and has a form, is far from being a\nliving form on that account. For this to be the case, it is necessary\nthat his form should be life, and that his life should be a form. As\nlong as we only think of his form, it is lifeless, a mere abstraction;\nas long as we only feel his life, it is without form, a mere impression.\nIt is only when his form lives in our feeling, and his life in our\nunderstanding, he is the living form, and this will everywhere be the\ncase where we judge him to be beautiful.\n\nBut the genesis of beauty is by no means declared because we know how to\npoint out the component parts, which in their combination produce\nbeauty. For to this end it would be necessary to comprehend that\n_combination itself_, which continues to defy our exploration, as well\nas all mutual operation between the finite and the infinite. The reason,\non transcendental grounds, makes the following demand: There shall be a\ncommunion between the formal impulse and the material impulse\u2014that is,\nthere shall be a play instinct\u2014because it is only the unity of reality\nwith the form, of the accidental with the necessary, of the passive\nstate with freedom, that the conception of humanity is completed. Reason\nis obliged to make this demand, because her nature impels her to\ncompleteness and to the removal of all bounds; while every exclusive\nactivity of one or the other impulse leaves human nature incomplete and\nplaces a limit in it. Accordingly, as soon as reason issues the mandate,\n\u201ca humanity shall exist,\u201d it proclaims at the same time the law, \u201cthere\nshall be a beauty.\u201d Experience can answer us if there is a beauty, and\nwe shall know it as soon as she has taught us if a humanity can exist.\nBut neither reason nor experience can tell us how beauty can be and how\na humanity is possible.\n\nWe know that man is neither exclusively matter nor exclusively spirit.\nAccordingly, beauty as the consummation of humanity, can neither be\nexclusively mere life, as has been asserted by sharp-sighted observers,\nwho kept too close to the testimony of experience, and to which the\ntaste of the time would gladly degrade it; Nor can beauty be merely\nform, as has been judged by speculative sophists, who departed too far\nfrom experience, and by philosophic artists, who were led too much by\nthe necessity of art in explaining beauty; it is rather the common\nobject of both impulses, that is of the play instinct. The use of\nlanguage completely justifies this name, as it is wont to qualify with\nthe word play what is neither subjectively nor objectively accidental,\nand yet does not impose necessity either externally or internally. As\nthe mind in the intuition of the beautiful finds itself in a happy\nmedium between law and necessity, it is, because it divides itself\nbetween both, emancipated from the pressure of both. The formal impulse\nand the material impulse are equally earnest in their demands, because\none relates in its cognition to things in their reality and the other to\ntheir necessity; because in action the first is directed to the\npreservation of life, the second to the preservation of dignity, and\ntherefore both to truth and perfection. But life becomes more\nindifferent when dignity is mixed up with it, and duty no longer coerces\nwhen inclination attracts. In like manner the mind takes in the reality\nof things, material truth, more freely and tranquilly as soon as it\nencounters formal truth, the law of necessity; nor does the mind find\nitself strung by abstraction as soon as immediate intuition can\naccompany it. In one word, when the mind comes into communion with\nideas, all reality loses its serious value because it becomes _small_;\nand as it comes in contact with feeling, necessity parts also with its\nserious value because it is _easy_.\n\nBut perhaps the objection has for some time occurred to you, Is not the\nbeautiful degraded by this, that it is made a mere play? and is it not\nreduced to the level of frivolous objects which have for ages passed\nunder that name? Does it not contradict the conception of the reason and\nthe dignity of beauty, which is nevertheless regarded as an instrument\nof culture, to confine it to the work of being a mere play? and does it\nnot contradict the empirical conception of play, which can co-exist with\nthe exclusion of all taste, to confine it merely to beauty?\n\nBut what is meant by a _mere play_, when we know that in all conditions\nof humanity that very thing is play, and _only_ that is play which makes\nman complete and develops simultaneously his twofold nature? What you\nstyle _limitation_, according to your representation of the matter,\naccording to my views, which I have justified by proofs. I name\n_enlargement_. Consequently I should have said exactly the reverse: man\nis serious _only_ with the agreeable, with the good, and with the\nperfect, but he _plays_ with beauty. In saying this we must not indeed\nthink of the plays that are in vogue in real life, and which commonly\nrefer only to his material state. But in real life we should also seek\nin vain for the beauty of which we are here speaking. The actually\npresent beauty is worthy of the really, of the actually present\nplay-impulse; but by the ideal of beauty, which is set up by the reason,\nan ideal of the play instinct is also presented, which man ought to have\nbefore his eyes in all his plays.\n\nTherefore, no error will ever be incurred if we seek the ideal of beauty\non the same road on which we satisfy our play-impulse. We can\nimmediately understand why the ideal form of a Venus, of a Juno, and of\nan Apollo, is to be sought not at Rome, but in Greece, if we contrast\nthe Greek population, delighting in the bloodless athletic contests of\nboxing, racing, and intellectual rivalry at Olympia, with the Roman\npeople gloating over the agony of a gladiator. Now the reason pronounces\nthat the beautiful must not only be life and form, but a living form,\nthat is, beauty, inasmuch as it dictates to man the twofold law of\nabsolute formality and absolute reality. Reason also utters the decision\nthat man shall only _play_ with beauty, and he _shall only play_ with\n_beauty_.\n\nFor, to speak out once for all, man only plays when in the full meaning\nof the word he is a man, and _he is only completely a man when he\nplays_. This proposition, which at this moment perhaps appears\nparadoxical, will receive a great and deep meaning if we have advanced\nfar enough to apply it to the twofold seriousness of duty and of\ndestiny. I promise you that the whole edifice of \u00e6sthetic art and the\nstill more difficult art of life will be supported by this principle.\nBut this proposition is only unexpected in science; long ago it lived\nand worked in art and in the feeling of the Greeks, her most\naccomplished masters; only they removed to Olympus what ought to have\nbeen preserved on earth. Influenced by the truth of this principle, they\neffaced from the brow of their gods the earnestness and labor which\nfurrow the cheeks of mortals, and also the hollow lust that smoothes the\nempty face. They set free the ever serene from the chains of every\npurpose, of every duty, of every care, and they made _indolence_ and\n_indifference_ the envied condition of the godlike race; merely human\nappellations for the freest and highest mind. As well the material\npressure of natural laws as the spiritual pressure of moral laws lost\nitself in its higher idea of necessity, which embraced at the same time\nboth worlds, and out of the union of these two necessities issued true\nfreedom. Inspired by this spirit the Greeks also effaced from the\nfeatures of their ideal, together with _desire or inclination_, all\ntraces of _volition_, or, better still, they made both unrecognizable,\nbecause they knew how to wed them both in the closest alliance. It is\nneither charm, nor is it dignity, which speaks from the glorious face of\nJuno Ludovici; it is neither of these, for it is both at once. While the\nfemale god challenges our veneration, the godlike woman at the same time\nkindles our love. But while in ecstacy we give ourselves up to the\nheavenly beauty, the heavenly self-repose awes us back. The whole form\nrests and dwells in itself\u2014a fully complete creation in itself\u2014and as if\nshe were out of space, without advance or resistance; it shows no force\ncontending with force, no opening through which time could break in.\nIrresistibly carried away and attracted by her womanly charm, kept off\nat a distance by her godly dignity, we also find ourselves at length in\nthe state of the greatest repose, and the result is a wonderful\nimpression for which the understanding has no idea and language no name.\n\n\n                              LETTER XVI.\n\nFrom the antagonism of the two impulsions, and from the association of\ntwo opposite principles, we have seen beauty to result, of which the\nhighest ideal must therefore be sought in the most perfect union and\nequilibrium possible of the reality and of the form. But this\nequilibrium remains always an idea that reality can never completely\nreach. In reality, there will always remain a preponderance of one of\nthese elements over the other, and the highest point to which experience\ncan reach will consist in an oscillation between two principles, when\nsometimes reality and at others form will have the advantage. Ideal\nbeauty is therefore eternally one and indivisible, because there can\nonly be one single equilibrium; on the contrary, experimental beauty\nwill be eternally double, because in the oscillation the equilibrium may\nbe destroyed in two ways\u2014this side and that.\n\nI have called attention in the foregoing letters to a fact that can also\nbe rigorously deduced, from the considerations that have engaged our\nattention to the present point; this fact is that an exciting and also a\nmoderating action may be expected from the beautiful. The _tempering_\naction is directed to keep within proper limits the sensuous and the\nformal impulsions; the _exciting_, to maintain both of them in their\nfull force. But these two modes of action of beauty ought to be\ncompletely identified in the idea. The beautiful ought to temper while\nuniformly exciting the two natures, and it ought also to excite while\nuniformly moderating them. This result flows at once from the idea of a\ncorrelation, in virtue of which the two terms mutually imply each other,\nand are the reciprocal condition one of the other, a correlation of\nwhich the purest product is beauty. But experience does not offer an\nexample of so perfect a correlation. In the field of experience it will\nalways happen more or less that excess on the one side will give rise to\ndeficiency on the other, and deficiency will give birth to excess. It\nresults from this that what in the beau-ideal is only distinct in the\nidea is different in reality in empirical beauty. The beau-ideal, though\nsimple and indivisible, discloses, when viewed in two different aspects,\non the one hand, a property of gentleness and grace, and on the other,\nan energetic property; in experience there is a gentle and graceful\nbeauty and there is an energetic beauty. It is so, and it will be always\nso, so long as the absolute is enclosed in the limits of time, and the\nideas of reason have to be realized in humanity. For example, the\nintellectual man has the ideal of virtue, of truth, and of happiness;\nbut the active man will only practise _virtues_, will only grasp\n_truths_, and enjoy _happy days_. The business of physical and moral\neducation is to bring back this multiplicity to unity, to put morality\nin the place of manners, science in the place of knowledge; the business\nof \u00e6sthetic education is to make out of beauties the beautiful.\n\nEnergetic beauty can no more preserve a man from a certain residue of\nsavage violence and harshness than graceful beauty can secure him\nagainst a certain degree of effeminacy and weakness. As it is the effect\nof the energetic beauty to elevate the mind in a physical and moral\npoint of view and to augment its momentum, it only too often happens\nthat the resistance of the temperament and of the character diminishes\nthe aptitude to receive impressions, that the delicate part of humanity\nsuffers an oppression which ought only to affect its grosser part, and\nthat this coarse nature participates in an increase of force that ought\nonly to turn to the account of free personality. It is for this reason\nthat, at the periods when we find much strength and abundant sap in\nhumanity, true greatness of thought is seen associated with what is\ngigantic and extravagant, and the sublimest feeling is found coupled\nwith the most horrible excess of passion. It is also the reason why, in\nthe periods distinguished for regularity and form, nature is as often\noppressed as it is governed, as often outraged as it is surpassed. And\nas the action of gentle and graceful beauty is to relax the mind in the\nmoral sphere as well as the physical, it happens quite as easily that\nthe energy of feelings is extinguished with the violence of desires, and\nthat character shares in the loss of strength which ought only to affect\nthe passions. This is the reason why, in ages assumed to be refined, it\nis not a rare thing to see gentleness degenerate into effeminacy,\npoliteness into platitude, correctness into empty sterility, liberal\nways into arbitrary caprice, ease into frivolity, calm into apathy, and,\nlastly, a most miserable caricature treads on the heels of the noblest,\nthe most beautiful type of humanity. Gentle and graceful beauty is\ntherefore a want to the man who suffers the constraint of manner and of\nforms, for he is moved by grandeur and strength long before he becomes\nsensible to harmony and grace. Energetic beauty is a necessity to the\nman who is under the indulgent sway of taste, for in his state of\nrefinement he is only too much disposed to make light of the strength\nthat he retained in his state of rude savagism.\n\nI think I have now answered and also cleared up the contradiction\ncommonly met in the judgments of men respecting the influence of the\nbeautiful, and the appreciation of \u00e6sthetic culture. This contradiction\nis explained directly we remember that there are two sorts of\nexperimental beauty, and that on both hands an affirmation is extended\nto the entire race, when it can only be proved of one of the species.\nThis contradiction disappears the moment we distinguish a twofold want\nin humanity to which two kinds of beauty correspond. It is therefore\nprobable that both sides would make good their claims if they come to an\nunderstanding respecting the kind of beauty and the form of humanity\nthat they have in view.\n\nConsequently in the sequel of my researches I shall adopt the course\nthat nature herself follows with man considered from the point of view\nof \u00e6sthetics, and setting out from the two kinds of beauty, I shall rise\nto the idea of the genus. I shall examine the effects produced on man by\nthe gentle and graceful beauty when its springs of action are in full\nplay, and also those produced by energetic beauty when they are relaxed.\nI shall do this to confound these two sorts of beauty in the unity of\nthe beau-ideal, in the same way that the two opposite forms and modes of\nbeing of humanity are absorbed in the unity of the ideal man.\n\n\n                              LETTER XVII.\n\nWhile we were only engaged in deducing the universal idea of beauty from\nthe conception of human nature in general, we had only to consider in\nthe latter the limits established essentially in itself, and inseparable\nfrom the notion of the finite. Without attending to the contingent\nrestrictions that human nature may undergo in the real world of\nphenomena, we have drawn the conception of this nature directly from\nreason, as a source of every necessity, and the ideal of beauty has been\ngiven us at the same time with the ideal of humanity.\n\nBut now we are coming down from the region of ideas to the scene of\nreality, to find man in a _determinate state_, and consequently in\nlimits which are not derived from the pure conception of humanity, but\nfrom external circumstances and from an accidental use of his freedom.\nBut, although the limitation of the idea of humanity may be very\nmanifold in the individual, the contents of this idea suffice to teach\nus that we can only depart from it by _two_ opposite roads. For if the\nperfection of man consist in the harmonious energy of his sensuous and\nspiritual forces, he can only lack this perfection through the want of\nharmony and the want of energy. Thus, then, before having received on\nthis point the testimony of experience, reason suffices to assure us\nthat we shall find the real and consequently limited man in a state of\ntension or relaxation according as the exclusive activity of isolated\nforces troubles the harmony of his being, or as the unity of his nature\nis based on the uniform relaxation of his physical and spiritual forces.\nThese opposite limits are, as we have now to prove, suppressed by the\nbeautiful, which re-establishes harmony in man when excited, and energy\nin man when relaxed; and which, in this way, in conformity with the\nnature of the beautiful, restores the state of limitation to an absolute\nstate, and makes of man a whole, complete in himself.\n\nThus the beautiful by no means belies in reality the idea which we have\nmade of it in speculation; only its action is much less free in it than\nin the field of theory, where we were able to apply it to the pure\nconception of humanity. In man, as experience shows him to us, the\nbeautiful finds a matter, already damaged and resisting, which robs him\nin _ideal_ perfection of what it communicates to him of its _individual_\nmode of being. Accordingly in reality the beautiful will always appear a\npeculiar and limited species, and not as the pure genus; in excited\nminds in a state of tension it will lose its freedom and variety; in\nrelaxed minds, it will lose its vivifying force: but we, who have become\nfamiliar with the true character of this contradictory phenomenon,\ncannot be led astray by it. We shall not follow the great crowd of\ncritics, in determining their conception by separate experiences, and to\nmake _them_ answerable for the deficiencies which man shows under their\ninfluence. We know rather that it is man who transfers the imperfections\nof his individuality over to them, who stands perpetually in the way of\ntheir perfection by his subjective limitation, and lowers their absolute\nideal to two limited forms of phenomena.\n\nIt was advanced that soft beauty is for an unstrung mind, and the\nenergetic beauty for the tightly strung mind. But I apply the term\nunstrung to a man when he is rather under the pressure of feelings than\nunder the pressure of conceptions. Every _exclusive_ sway of one of his\ntwo fundamental impulses is for man a state of compulsion and violence,\nand freedom only exists in the co-operation of his two natures.\nAccordingly, the man governed preponderately by feelings, or sensuously\nunstrung, is emancipated and set free by matter. The soft and graceful\nbeauty, to satisfy this twofold problem, must therefore show herself\nunder two aspects\u2014in two distinct forms. First, as a form in repose, she\nwill tone down savage life, and pave the way from feeling to thought.\nShe will, secondly, as a living image, equip the abstract form with\nsensuous power, and lead back the conception to intuition and law to\nfeeling. The former service she does to the man of nature, the second to\nthe man of art. But because she does not in both cases hold complete\nsway over her matter, but depends on that which is furnished either by\nformless nature or unnatural art, she will in both cases bear traces of\nher origin, and lose herself in one place in material life and in\nanother in mere abstract form.\n\nTo be able to arrive at a conception how beauty can become a means to\nremove this twofold relaxation, we must explore its source in the human\nmind. Accordingly, make up your mind to dwell a little longer in the\nregion of speculation, in order then to leave it forever, and to advance\nwith securer footing on the ground of experience.\n\n\n                             LETTER XVIII.\n\nBy beauty the sensuous man is led to form and to thought; by beauty the\nspiritual man is brought back to matter and restored to the world of\nsense.\n\nFrom this statement it would appear to follow that between matter and\nform, between passivity and activity, there must be a _middle state_,\nand that beauty plants us in this state. It actually happens that the\ngreater part of mankind really form this conception of beauty as soon as\nthey begin to reflect on its operations, and all experience seems to\npoint to this conclusion. But, on the other hand, nothing is more\nunwarrantable and contradictory than such a conception, because the\naversion of matter and form, the passive and the active, feeling and\nthought, is _eternal_, and cannot be mediated in any way. How can we\nremove this contradiction? Beauty weds the two opposed conditions of\nfeeling and thinking, and yet there is absolutely no medium between\nthem. The former is immediately certain through experience, the other\nthrough the reason.\n\nThis is the point to which the whole question of beauty leads, and if we\nsucceed in settling this point in a satisfactory way, we have at length\nfound the clue that will conduct us through the whole labyrinth of\n\u00e6sthetics.\n\nBut this requires two very different operations, which must necessarily\nsupport each other in this inquiry. Beauty, it is said, weds two\nconditions with one another _which are opposite to each other_, and can\nnever be one. We must start from this opposition; we must grasp and\nrecognize them in their entire purity and strictness, so that both\nconditions are separated in the most definite manner; otherwise we mix,\nbut we do not unite them. Secondly, it is usual to say, beauty _unites_\nthose two opposed conditions, and therefore removes the opposition. But\nbecause both conditions remain eternally opposed to one another, they\ncannot be united in any other way than by being suppressed. Our second\nbusiness is therefore to make this connection perfect, to carry them out\nwith such purity and perfection that both conditions disappear entirely\nin a third one, and no trace of separation remains in the whole;\notherwise we segregate, but do not unite. All the disputes that have\never prevailed and still prevail in the philosophical world respecting\nthe conception of beauty have no other origin than their commencing\nwithout a sufficiently strict distinction, or that it is not carried out\nfully to a pure union. Those philosophers who blindly follow their\n_feeling_ in reflecting on this topic can obtain no other _conception_\nof beauty, because they distinguish nothing separate in the totality of\nthe sensuous impression. Other philosophers, who take the understanding\nas their exclusive guide, can never obtain a conception of beauty,\nbecause they never see anything else in the whole than the parts; and\nspirit and matter remain eternally separate, even in their most perfect\nunity. The first fear to suppress beauty _dynamically_, that is, as a\nworking power, if they must separate what is united in the feeling. The\nothers fear to suppress beauty _logically_, that is, as a conception,\nwhen they have to hold together what in the understanding is separate.\nThe former wish to think of beauty as it works; the latter wish it to\nwork as it is thought. Both therefore must miss the truth; the former,\nbecause they try to follow infinite nature with their limited thinking\npower; the others, because they wish to limit unlimited nature according\nto their laws of thought. The first fear to rob beauty of its freedom by\na too strict dissection, the others fear to destroy the distinctness of\nthe conception by a too violent union. But the former do not reflect\nthat the freedom in which they very properly place the essence of beauty\nis not lawlessness, but harmony of law\u2019s; not caprice, but the highest\ninternal necessity. The others do not remember that distinctness, which\nthey with equal right demand from beauty, does not consist in the\n_exclusion of certain realities_, but the _absolute including of all_;\nthat is not therefore limitation but infinitude. We shall avoid the\nquicksands on which both have made shipwreck if we begin from the two\nelements in which beauty divides itself before the understanding, but\nthen afterwards rise to a pure \u00e6sthetic unity by which it works on\nfeeling, and in which both those conditions completely disappear.\n\n\n                              LETTER XIX.\n\nTwo principal and different states of passive and active capacity of\nbeing determined[3] can be distinguished in man; in like manner two\nstates of passive and active determination.[4] The explanation of this\nproposition leads us most readily to our end.\n\nThe condition of the state of man before destination or direction is\ngiven him by the impression of the senses is an unlimited capacity of\nbeing determined. The infinite of time and space is given to his\nimagination for its free use; and, because nothing is settled in this\nkingdom of the possible, and therefore nothing is excluded from it, this\nstate of absence of determination can be named an _empty infiniteness_,\nwhich must not by any means be confounded with an infinite void.\n\nNow it is necessary that his sensuous nature should be modified, and\nthat in the indefinite series of possible determinations one alone\nshould become real. One perception must spring up in it. That which, in\nthe previous state of determinableness, was only an empty potency\nbecomes now an active force, and receives contents; but, at the same\ntime, as an active force it receives a limit, after having been, as a\nsimple power, unlimited. Reality exists now, but the infinite has\ndisappeared. To describe a figure in space, we are obliged to _limit_\ninfinite space; to represent to ourselves a change in time, we are\nobliged to _divide_ the totality of time. Thus we only arrive at reality\nby limitation, at the positive, at a real _position_, by _negation_ or\nexclusion; to determination, by the suppression of our free\ndeterminableness.\n\nBut mere exclusion would never beget a reality, nor would a mere\nsensuous impression ever give birth to a perception, if there were not\nsomething from which it was excluded, if by an absolute act of the mind\nthe negation were not referred to something positive, and if opposition\ndid not issue out of non-position. This act of the mind is styled\njudging or thinking, and the result is named _thought_.\n\nBefore we determine a place in space, there is no space for us; but\nwithout absolute space we could never determine a place. The same is the\ncase with time. Before we have an instant, there is no time to us: but\nwithout infinite time\u2014eternity\u2014we should never have a representation of\nthe instant. Thus, therefore, we can only arrive at the whole by the\npart, to the unlimited through limitation; but reciprocally we only\narrive at the part through the whole, at limitation through the\nunlimited.\n\nIt follows from this, that when it is affirmed of beauty that it\nmediates for man, the transition from feeling to thought, this must not\nbe understood to mean that beauty can fill up the gap that separates\nfeeling from thought, the passive from the active. This gap is infinite;\nand, without the interposition of a new and independent faculty, it is\nimpossible for the general to issue from the individual, the necessary\nfrom the contingent. Thought is the immediate act of this absolute\npower, which, I admit, can only be manifested in connection with\nsensuous impressions, but which in this manifestation depends so little\non the sensuous that it reveals itself specially in an opposition to it.\nThe spontaneity or autonomy with which it acts excludes every foreign\ninfluence; and it is not in as far as it _helps_ thought\u2014which\ncomprehends a manifest contradiction\u2014but only in as far as it procures\nfor the intellectual faculties the freedom to manifest themselves in\nconformity with their proper laws. It does it only because the beautiful\ncan become a means of leading man from matter to form, from feeling to\nlaws, from a limited existence to an absolute existence.\n\nBut this assumes that the freedom of the intellectual faculties can be\nbalked, which appears contradictory to the conception of an autonomous\npower. For a power which only receives the matter of its activity from\nwithout can only be hindered in its action by the privation of this\nmatter, and consequently by way of negation; it is therefore a\nmisconception of the nature of the mind to attribute to the sensuous\npassions the power of oppressing positively the freedom of the mind.\nExperience does indeed present numerous examples where the rational\nforces appear compressed in proportion to the violence of the sensuous\nforces. But instead of deducing this spiritual weakness from the energy\nof passion, this passionate energy must rather be explained by the\nweakness of the human mind. For the sense can only have a sway such as\nthis over man when the mind has spontaneously neglected to assert its\npower.\n\nYet in trying by these explanations to move one objection, I appear to\nhave exposed myself to another, and I have only saved the autonomy of\nthe mind at the cost of its unity. For how can the mind derive at the\nsame time from itself the principles of inactivity and of activity, if\nit is not itself divided, and if it is not in opposition with itself?\n\nHere we must remember that we have before us, not the infinite mind, but\nthe finite. The finite mind is that which only becomes active through\nthe passive, only arrives at the absolute through limitation, and only\nacts and fashions in as far as it receives matter. Accordingly, a mind\nof this nature must associate with the impulse towards form or the\nabsolute, an impulse towards matter or limitation, conditions without\nwhich it could not have the former impulse nor satisfy it. How can two\nsuch opposite tendencies exist together in the same being? This is a\nproblem that can no doubt embarrass the metaphysician, but not the\ntranscendental philosopher. The latter does not presume to explain the\npossibility of things, but he is satisfied with giving a solid basis to\nthe knowledge that makes us understand the possibility of experience.\nAnd as experience would be equally impossible without this autonomy in\nthe mind, and without the absolute unity of the mind, it lays down these\ntwo conceptions as two conditions of experience equals necessary without\ntroubling itself any more to reconcile them. Moreover, this immanence of\ntwo fundamental impulses does not in any degree contradict the absolute\nunity of the mind, as soon as the mind itself, its _selfhood_, is\ndistinguished from those two motors. No doubt, these two impulses\n_exist_ and _act in it_, but _itself_ is neither matter nor form, nor\nthe sensuous nor reason, and this is a point that does not seem always\nto have occurred to those who only look upon the mind as itself acting\nwhen its acts are in harmony with reason, and who declare it passive\nwhen its acts contradict reason.\n\nArrived at its development, each of these two fundamental impulsions\ntends of necessity and by its nature to satisfy itself; but precisely\nbecause each of them has a necessary tendency, and both nevertheless\nhave an opposite tendency, this twofold constraint mutually destroys\nitself, and the will preserves an entire freedom between them both. It\nis therefore the will that conducts itself like a _power_\u2014as the basis\nof reality\u2014with respect to both these impulses; but neither of them can\nby itself act as a power with respect to the other. A violent man, by\nhis positive tendency to justice, which never fails in him, is turned\naway from injustice; nor can a temptation of pleasure, however strong,\nmake a strong character violate its principles. There is in man no other\npower than his will; and death alone, which destroys man, or some\nprivation of self-consciousness, is the only thing that can rob man of\nhis internal freedom.\n\nAn _external_ necessity determines our condition, our existence in time,\nby means of the sensuous. The latter is quite involuntary, and directly\nit is produced in us we are necessarily passive. In the same manner an\n_internal_ necessity awakens our personality in connection with\nsensations, and by its antagonism with them; for consciousness cannot\ndepend on the will, which presupposes it. This primitive manifestation\nof personality is no more a merit to us than its privation is a defect\nin us. Reason can only be required in a being who is self-conscious, for\nreason is an absolute consecutiveness and universality of consciousness;\nbefore this is the case he is not a man, nor can any act of humanity be\nexpected from him. The _metaphysician_ can no more explain the\nlimitation imposed by sensation on a free and autonomous mind than the\n_natural philosopher_ can understand the infinite, which is revealed in\nconsciousness in connection with these limits. Neither abstraction nor\nexperience can bring us back to the source whence issue our ideas of\nnecessity and of universality: this source is concealed in its origin in\ntime from the observer, and its super-sensuous origin from the\nresearches of the metaphysician. But, to sum up in a few words,\nconsciousness is there, and, together with its immutable unity, the law\nof all that _is_ for man is established, as well as of all that is to be\n_by_ man, for his understanding and his activity. The ideas of truth and\nof right present themselves inevitable, incorruptible, immeasurable,\neven in the age of sensuousness; and without our being able to say why\nor how, we see eternity in time, the necessary following the contingent.\nIt is thus that, without any share on the part of the subject, the\nsensation and self-consciousness arise, and the origin of both is beyond\nour volition, as it is out of the sphere of our knowledge.\n\nBut as soon as these two faculties have passed into action, and man has\nverified by his experience, through the medium of sensation, a\ndeterminate existence, and through the medium of consciousness its\nabsolute existence, the two fundamental impulses exert their influence\ndirectly their object is given. The sensuous impulse is awakened with\nthe experience of life\u2014with the beginning of the individual; the\nrational impulsion with the experience of law\u2014with the beginning of his\npersonality; and it is only when these two inclinations have come into\nexistence that the human type is realized. Up to that time, everything\ntakes place in man according to the law of necessity; but now the hand\nof _nature_ lets him go, and it is for _him_ to keep upright humanity,\nwhich nature places as a germ in his heart. And thus we see that\ndirectly the two opposite and fundamental impulses exercise their\ninfluence in him, both lose their constraint, and the autonomy of two\nnecessities gives birth to freedom.\n\n\n                               LETTER XX.\n\nThat freedom is an active and not a passive principle results from its\nvery conception; but that liberty itself should be an effect of nature\n(taking this word in its widest sense), and not the work of man, and\ntherefore that it can be favored or thwarted by natural means, is the\nnecessary consequence of that which precedes. It begins only when man is\ncomplete, and when these two fundamental impulsions have been developed.\nIt will then be wanting whilst he is incomplete, and while one of these\nimpulsions is excluded, and it will be re-established by all that gives\nback to man his integrity.\n\nThus it is possible, both with regard to the entire species as to the\nindividual, to remark the moment when man is yet incomplete, and when\none of the two exclusions acts solely in him. We know that man commences\nby life simply, to end by form; that he is more of an individual than a\nperson, and that he starts from the limited or finite to approach the\ninfinite. The sensuous impulsion comes into play therefore before the\nrational impulsion, because sensation precedes consciousness; and in\nthis priority of sensuous impulsion we find the key of the history of\nthe whole of human liberty.\n\nThere is a moment, in fact, when the instinct of life, not yet opposed\nto the instinct of form, acts as nature and as necessity; when the\nsensuous is a power because man has not begun; for even in man there can\nbe no other power than his will. But when man shall have attained to the\npower of thought, reason, on the contrary, will be a power, and moral or\nlogical necessity will take the place of physical necessity. Sensuous\npower must then be annihilated before the law which must govern it can\nbe established. It is not enough that something shall begin which as yet\nwas not; previously something must end which had begun. Man cannot pass\nimmediately from sensuousness to thought. He must step backwards, for it\nis only when one determination is suppressed that the contrary\ndetermination can take place. Consequently, in order to exchange passive\nagainst active liberty, a passive determination against an active, he\nmust be momentarily free from all determination, and must traverse a\nstate of pure determinability. He has then to return in some degree to\nthat state of pure negative indetermination in which he was before his\nsenses were affected by anything. But this state was absolutely empty of\nall contents, and now the question is to reconcile an equal\ndetermination and a determinability equally without limit, with the\ngreatest possible fulness, because from this situation something\npositive must immediately follow. The determination which man received\nby sensation must be preserved, because he should not lose the reality;\nbut at the same time, in so far as finite, it should be suppressed,\nbecause a determinability without limit would take place. The problem\nconsists then in annihilating the determination of the mode of\nexistence, and yet at the same time in preserving it, which is only\npossible in one way: _in opposing to it another_. The two sides of a\nbalance are in equilibrium when empty; they are also in equilibrium when\ntheir contents are of equal weight.\n\nThus, to pass from sensation to thought, the soul traverses a medium\nposition, in which sensibility and reason are at the same time active,\nand thus they mutually destroy their determinant power, and by their\nantagonism produce a negation. This medium situation in which the soul\nis neither physically nor morally constrained, and yet is in both ways\nactive, merits essentially the name of a free situation; and if we call\nthe state of sensuous determination _physical_, and the state of\nrational determination _logical_ or _moral_, that state of real and\nactive determination should be called the _\u00e6sthetic_.\n\n\n                              LETTER XXI.\n\nI have remarked in the beginning of the foregoing letter that there is a\ntwofold condition of determinableness and a twofold condition of\ndetermination. And now I can clear up this proposition.\n\nThe mind can be determined\u2014is determinable\u2014only in as far as it is not\ndetermined; it is, however, determinable also, in as far as it is not\nexclusively determined; that is, if it is not confined in its\ndetermination. The former is only a want of determination\u2014it is without\nlimits, because it is without reality; but the latter, the \u00e6sthetic\ndeterminableness, has no limits, because it unites all reality.\n\nThe mind is determined, inasmuch as it is only limited; but it is also\ndetermined because it limits itself of its own absolute capacity. It is\nsituated in the former position when it feels, in the second when it\nthinks. Accordingly the \u00e6sthetic constitution is in relation to\ndeterminableness what thought is in relation to determination. The\nlatter is a negative from internal and infinite completeness, the former\na limitation from internal infinite power. Feeling and thought come into\ncontact in one single point, the mind is determined in both conditions,\nthe man becomes something and exists\u2014either as individual or person\u2014by\nexclusion; in other cases these two faculties stand infinitely apart.\nJust in the same manner the \u00e6sthetic determinableness comes in contact\nwith the mere want of determination in a single point, by both excluding\nevery distinct determined existence, by thus being in all other points\nnothing and all, and hence by being infinitely different. Therefore if\nthe latter, in the absence of determination from deficiency, is\nrepresented as an _empty infiniteness_, the \u00e6sthetic freedom of\ndetermination, which forms the proper counterpart to the former, can be\nconsidered as a _completed infiniteness_; a representation which exactly\nagrees with the teachings of the previous investigations.\n\nMan is therefore _nothing_ in the \u00e6sthetic state, if attention is given\nto the single result, and not to the whole faculty, and if we regard\nonly the absence or want of every special determination. We must\ntherefore do justice to those who pronounce the beautiful, and the\ndisposition in which it places the mind, as entirely indifferent and\nunprofitable, in relation to _knowledge_ and _feeling_. They are\nperfectly right; for it is certain that beauty gives no separate, single\nresult, either for the understanding or for the will; it does not carry\nout a single intellectual or moral object; it discovers no truth, does\nnot help us to fulfil a single duty, and, in _one_ word, is equally\nunfit to found the character or to clear the head. Accordingly, the\npersonal worth of a man, or his dignity, as far as this can only depend\non himself, remains entirety undetermined by \u00e6sthetic culture, and\nnothing further is attained than that, on the _part_ of _nature_, it is\nmade profitable for him to make of himself what he will; that the\nfreedom to be what he ought to be is restored perfectly to him.\n\nBut by this something infinite is attained. But as soon as we remember\nthat freedom is taken from man by the one-sided compulsion of nature in\nfeeling, and by the exclusive legislation of the reason in thinking, we\nmust consider the capacity restored to him by the \u00e6sthetical\ndisposition, as the highest of all gifts, as the gift of humanity. I\nadmit that he possesses this capacity for humanity, before every\ndefinite determination in which he may be placed. But, as a matter of\nfact, he loses it with every determined condition into which he may\ncome; and if he is to pass over to an opposite condition, humanity must\nbe in every case restored to him by the \u00e6sthetic life.\n\nIt is therefore not only a poetical license, but also philosophically\ncorrect, when beauty is named our second creator. Nor is this\ninconsistent with the fact that she only makes it possible for us to\nattain and realize humanity, leaving this to our free will. For in this\nshe acts in common with our original creator, nature, which has imparted\nto us nothing further than this capacity for humanity, but leaves the\nuse of it to our own determination of will.\n\n\n                              LETTER XXII.\n\nAccordingly, if the \u00e6sthetic disposition of the mind must be looked upon\nin _one_ respect as _nothing_\u2014that is, when we confine our view to\nseparate and determined operations\u2014it must be looked upon in another\nrespect as a state of the highest reality, in as far as we attend to the\nabsence of all limits and the sum of powers which are commonly active in\nit. Accordingly we cannot pronounce them, again, to be wrong who\ndescribe the \u00e6sthetic state to be the most productive in relation to\nknowledge and morality. They are perfectly right, for a state of mind\nwhich comprises the whole of humanity in itself must of necessity\ninclude in itself also\u2014necessarily and potentially\u2014every separate\nexpression of it. Again, a disposition of mind that removes all\nlimitation from the totality of human nature must also remove it from\nevery special expression of the same. Exactly because its \u201c\u00e6sthetic\ndisposition\u201d does not exclusively shelter any separate function of\nhumanity, it is favorable to all without distinction; nor does it favor\nany particular functions, precisely because it is the foundation of the\npossibility of all. All other exercises give to the mind some special\naptitude, but for that very reason give it some definite limits; only\nthe \u00e6sthetical leads him to the unlimited. Every other condition in\nwhich we can live refers us to a previous condition, and requires for\nits solution a following condition; only the \u00e6sthetic is a complete\nwhole in itself, for it unites in itself all conditions of its source\nand of its duration. Here alone we feel ourselves swept out of time, and\nour humanity expresses itself with purity and _integrity_ as if it had\nnot yet received any impression or interruption from the operation of\nexternal powers.\n\nThat which flatters our senses in immediate sensation opens our wreak\nand volatile spirit to every impression, but makes us in the same degree\nless apt for exertion. That which stretches our thinking power and\ninvites to abstract conceptions strengthens our mind for every kind of\nresistance, but hardens it also in the same proportion, and deprives us\nof susceptibility in the same ratio that it helps us to greater mental\nactivity. For this very reason, one as well as the other brings us at\nlength to exhaustion, because matter cannot long do without the shaping,\nconstructive force, and the force cannot do without the constructible\nmaterial. But on the other hand, if we have resigned ourselves to the\nenjoyment of genuine beauty, we are at such a moment of our passive and\nactive powers in the same degree master, and we shall turn with ease\nfrom grave to gay, from rest to movement, from submission to resistance,\nto abstract thinking and intuition.\n\nThis high indifference and freedom of mind, united with power and\nelasticity, is the disposition in which a true work of art ought to\ndismiss us, and there is no better test of true \u00e6sthetic excellence. If\nafter an enjoyment of this kind we find ourselves specialty impelled to\na particular mode of feeling or action, and unfit for other modes, this\nserves as an infallible proof that we have not experienced _any pure\n\u00e6sthetic_ effect, whether this is owing to the object, to our own mode\nof feeling\u2014as generally happens\u2014or to both together.\n\nAs in reality no purely \u00e6sthetical effect can be met with\u2014for man can\nnever leave his dependence on material forces\u2014the excellence of a work\nof art can only consist in its greater approximation to its ideal of\n\u00e6sthetic purity, and however high we may raise the freedom of this\neffect, we shall always leave it with a particular disposition and a\nparticular bias. Any class of productions or separate work in the world\nof art is noble and excellent in proportion to the universality of the\ndisposition and the unlimited character of the bias thereby presented to\nour mind. This truth can be applied to works in various branches of art,\nand also to different works in the same branch. We leave a grand musical\nperformance with our feelings excited, the reading of a noble poem with\na quickened imagination, a beautiful statue or building with an awakened\nunderstanding; but a man would not choose an opportune moment who\nattempted to invite us to abstract thinking after a high musical\nenjoyment, or to attend to a prosaic affair of common life after a high\npoetical enjoyment, or to kindle our imagination and astonish our\nfeelings directly after inspecting a fine statue or edifice. The reason\nof this is, that music, _by its matter_, even when most spiritual,\npresents a greater affinity with the senses than is permitted by\n\u00e6sthetic liberty; it is because even the most happy poetry, having _for\nits medium_ the arbitrary and contingent play of the imagination, always\nshares in it more than the intimate necessity of the really beautiful\nallows; it is because the best sculpture touches on severe science _by\nwhat is determinate in its conception_. However, these particular\naffinities are lost in proportion as the works of these three kinds of\nart rise to a greater elevation, and it is a natural and necessary\nconsequence of their perfection, that, without confounding their\nobjective limits, the different arts come to resemble each other more\nand more, in the action _which they exercise on the mind_. At its\nhighest degree of ennobling, music ought to become a form, and act on us\nwith the calm power of an antique statue; in its most elevated\nperfection, the plastic art ought to become music and move us by the\nimmediate action exercised on the mind by the senses; in its most\ncomplete development, poetry ought both to stir us powerfully like music\nand like plastic art to surround us with a peaceful light. In each art,\nthe perfect style consists exactly in knowing how to remove specific\nlimits, while sacrificing at the same time the particular advantages of\nthe art, and to give it by a wise use of what belongs to it specially a\nmore general character.\n\nNor is it only the limits inherent in the specific character of each\nkind of art that the artist ought to over step in putting his hand to\nthe work; he must also triumph over those which are inherent in the\nparticular subject of which he treats. In a really beautiful work of\nart, the substance ought to be inoperative, the form should do\neverything; for by the form the whole man is acted on; the substance\nacts on nothing but isolated forces. Thus, however vast and sublime it\nmay be, the substance always exercises a restrictive action on the mind,\nand true \u00e6sthetic liberty can only be expected from the form.\nConsequently the true search of the matter consists in _destroying\nmatter by the form_; and the triumph of art is great in proportion as it\novercomes matter and maintains its sway over those who enjoy its work.\nIt is great particularly in destroying matter when most imposing,\nambitious, and attractive, when therefore matter has most power to\nproduce the effect proper to it, or, again, when it leads those who\nconsider it more closely to enter directly into relation with it. The\nmind of the spectator and of the hearer must remain perfectly free and\nintact; it must issue pure and entire from the magic circle of the\nartist, as from the hands of the Creator. The most frivolous subject\nought to be treated in such a way that we preserve the faculty to\nexchange it immediately for the most serious work. The arts which have\npassion for their object, as a tragedy for example, do not present a\ndifficulty here; for, in the first place, these arts are not entirely\nfree, because they are in the service of a particular end (the\npathetic), and then no connoisseur will deny that even in this class a\nwork is perfect in proportion as amidst the most violent storms of\npassion it respects the liberty of the soul. There is a fine art of\npassion, but an impassioned fine art is a contradiction in terms, for\nthe infallible effect of the beautiful is emancipation from the\npassions. The idea of an instructive fine art (didactic art) or\nimproving (moral) art is no less contradictory, for nothing agrees less\nwith the idea of the beautiful than to give a determinate tendency to\nthe mind.\n\nHowever, from the fact that a work produces effects only by its\nsubstance, it must not always be inferred that there is a want of form\nin this work; this conclusion may quite as well testify to a want of\nform in the observer. If his mind is too stretched or too relaxed, if it\nis only accustomed to receive things either by the senses or the\nintelligence, even in the most perfect combination, it will only stop to\nlook at the parts, and it will only see matter in the most beautiful\nform. Only sensible of the coarse _elements_, he must first destroy the\n\u00e6sthetic organization of a work to find enjoyment in it, and carefully\ndisinter the details which genius has caused to vanish, with infinite\nart, in the harmony of the whole. The interest he takes in the work is\neither solely moral or exclusively physical; the only thing wanting to\nit is to be exactly what it ought to be\u2014\u00e6sthetical. The readers of this\nclass enjoy a serious and pathetic poem as they do a sermon: a simple\nand playful work, as an inebriating draught; and if on the one hand they\nhave so little taste as to demand _edification_ from a tragedy or from\nan epos, even such as the \u201cMessias,\u201d on the other hand they will be\ninfallibly scandalized by a piece after the fashion of Anacreon and\nCatullus.\n\n\n                             LETTER XXIII.\n\nI take up the thread of my researches, which I broke off only to apply\nthe principles I laid down to practical art and the appreciation of its\nworks.\n\nThe transition from the passivity of sensuousness to the activity of\nthought and of will can be effected only by the intermediary state of\n\u00e6sthetic liberty; and though in itself this state decides nothing\nrespecting our opinions and our sentiments, and therefore it leaves our\nintellectual and moral value entirely problematical, it is, however, the\nnecessary condition without which we should never attain to an opinion\nor a sentiment. In a word, there is no other way to make a reasonable\nbeing out of a sensuous man than by making him first \u00e6sthetic.\n\nBut, you might object: Is this mediation absolutely indispensable? Could\nnot truth and duty, one or the other, in themselves and by themselves,\nfind access to the sensuous man? To this I reply: Not only is it\npossible but it is absolutely necessary that they owe solely to\nthemselves their determining force, and nothing would be more\ncontradictory to our preceding affirmations than to appear to defend the\ncontrary opinion. It has been expressly proved that the beautiful\nfurnishes no result, either for the comprehension or for the will; that\nit mingles with no operations, either of thought or of resolution; and\nthat it confers this double power without determining anything with\nregard to the real exercise of this power. Here all foreign help\ndisappears, and the pure logical form, the idea, would speak immediately\nto the intelligence, as the pure moral form, the law, immediately to the\nwill.\n\nBut that the pure form should be capable of it, and that there is in\ngeneral a pure form for sensuous man, is that, I maintain, which should\nbe rendered possible by the \u00e6sthetic disposition of the soul. Truth is\nnot a thing which can be received from without like reality or the\nvisible existence of objects. It is the thinking force, in his own\nliberty and activity, which produces it, and it is just this liberty\nproper to it, this liberty which we seek in vain in sensuous man. The\nsensuous man is already determined physically, and thenceforth he has no\nlonger his free determinability; he must necessarily first enter into\npossession of this lost determinability before he can exchange the\npassive against an active determination. Therefore, in order to recover\nit, he must either lose the passive determination that he had, or he\nshould enclose already in himself the active determination to which he\nshould pass. If he confined himself to lose passive determination, he\nwould at the same time lose with it the possibility of an active\ndetermination, because thought needs a body, and form can only be\nrealized through matter. He must therefore contain already in himself\nthe active determination, that he may be at once both actively and\npassively determined, that is to say, he becomes necessarily \u00e6sthetic.\n\nConsequently, by the \u00e6sthetic disposition of the soul the proper\nactivity of reason is already revealed in the sphere of sensuousness,\nthe power of sense is already broken within its own boundaries, and the\nennobling of physical man carried far enough, for spiritual man has only\nto develop himself according to the laws of liberty. The transition from\nan \u00e6sthetic state to a logical and moral state (from the beautiful to\ntruth and duty) is then infinitely more easy than the transition from\nthe physical state to the \u00e6sthetic state (from life pure and blind to\nform). This transition man can effectuate alone by his liberty, whist he\nhas only to enter into possession of himself not to give it himself; but\nto separate the elements of his nature, and not to enlarge it. Having\nattained to the \u00e6sthetic disposition, man will give to his judgments and\nto his actions a universal value as soon as he desires it. This passage\nfrom brute nature to beauty, in which an entirely new faculty would\nawaken in him, nature would render easier, and his will has no power\nover a disposition which, we know, itself gives birth to the will. To\nbring the \u00e6sthetic man to profound views, to elevated sentiments, he\nrequires nothing more than important occasions: to obtain the same thing\nfrom the sensuous man, his nature must at first be changed. To make of\nthe former a hero, a sage, it is often only necessary to meet with a\nsublime situation, which exercises upon the faculty of the will the more\nimmediate action; for the second, it must first be transplanted under\nanother sky.\n\nOne of the most important tasks of culture, then, is to submit man to\nform, even in a purely physical life, and to render it \u00e6sthetic as far\nas the domain of the beautiful can be extended, for it is alone in the\n\u00e6sthetic state, and not in the physical state, that the moral state can\nbe developed. If in each particular case man ought to possess the power\nto make his judgment and his will the judgment of the entire species; if\nhe ought to find in each limited existence the transition to an infinite\nexistence; if, lastly, he ought from every dependent situation to take\nhis flight to rise to autonomy and to liberty, it must be observed that\nat no moment he is only individual and solely obeys the laws of nature.\nTo be apt and ready to raise himself from the narrow circle of the ends\nof nature, to rational ends, in the sphere of the former he must already\nhave exercised himself in the second; he must already have realized his\nphysical destiny with a certain liberty that belongs only to spiritual\nnature, that is to say according to the laws of the beautiful.\n\nAnd that he can effect without thwarting in the least degree his\nphysical aim. The exigencies of nature with regard to him turn only upon\nwhat he does\u2014upon the substance of his acts; but the ends of nature in\nno degree determine the way in which he acts, the form of his actions.\nOn the contrary, the exigencies of reason have rigorously the form of\nhis activity for its object. Thus, so much as it is necessary for the\nmoral destination of man, that he be purely moral, that he shows an\nabsolute personal activity, so much is he indifferent that his physical\ndestination be entirely physical, that he acts in a manner entirely\npassive. Henceforth with regard to this last destination, it entirely\ndepends on him to fulfil it solely as a sensuous being and natural force\n(as a force which acts only as it diminishes) or, at the same time, as\nabsolute force, as a rational being. To which of these does his dignity\nbest respond? Of this there can be no question. It is as disgraceful and\ncontemptible for him to do under sensuous impulsion that which he ought\nto have determined merely by the motive of duty, as it is noble and\nhonorable for him to incline towards conformity with laws, harmony,\nindependence; there even where the vulgar man only satisfies a\nlegitimate want. In a word, in the domain of truth and morality,\nsensuousness must have nothing to determine; but in the sphere of\nhappiness, form may find a place, and the instinct of play prevail.\n\nThus then, in the indifferent sphere of physical life, man ought to\nalready commence his moral life; his own proper activity ought already\nto make way in passivity, and his rational liberty beyond the limits of\nsense; he ought already to impose the law of his will upon his\ninclinations; he ought\u2014if you will permit me the expression\u2014to carry\ninto the domain of matter the war against matter, in order to be\ndispensed from combatting this redoubtable enemy upon the sacred field\nof liberty; he ought to learn to have nobler desires, not to be forced\nto have sublime volitions. This is the fruit of \u00e6sthetic culture, which\nsubmits to the laws of the beautiful, in which neither the laws of\nnature nor those of reason suffer, which does not force the will of man,\nand which by the form it gives to exterior life already opens internal\nlife.\n\n\n                              LETTER XXIV.\n\nAccordingly three different moments or stages of development can be\ndistinguished, which the individual man, as well as the whole race, must\nof necessity traverse in a determinate order if they are to fulfil the\ncircle of their determination. No doubt, the separate periods can be\nlengthened or shortened, through accidental causes which are inherent\neither in the influence of external things or under the free caprice of\nmen: but neither of them can be overstepped, and the order of their\nsequence cannot be inverted either by nature or by the will. Man, in his\n_physical_ condition, suffers only the power of nature; he gets rid of\nthis power in the \u00e6sthetical condition, and he rules them in the moral\nstate.\n\nWhat is man before beauty liberates him from free pleasure, and the\nserenity of form tames down the savageness of life? Eternally uniform in\nhis aims, eternally changing in his judgments, self-seeking without\nbeing himself, unfettered without being free, a slave without serving\nany rule. At this period, the world is to him only destiny, not yet an\nobject; all has existence for him only in as far as it procures\nexistence to him; a thing that neither seeks from nor gives to him is\nnon-existent. Every phenomenon stands out before him separate and cut\noff, as he finds himself in the series of beings. All that is, is to him\nthrough the bias of the moment; every change is to him an entirely fresh\ncreation, because with the necessary _in him_, the necessary _out of\nhim_ is wanting, which binds together all the changing forms in the\nuniverse, and which holds fast the law on the theatre of his action,\nwhile the individual departs. It is in vain that nature lets the rich\nvariety of her forms pass before him; he sees in her glorious fulness\nnothing but his prey, in her power and greatness nothing but his enemy.\nEither he encounters objects, and wishes to draw them to himself in\ndesire, or the objects press in a destructive manner upon him, and he\nthrusts them away in dismay and terror. In both cases his relation to\nthe world of sense is immediate _contact_; and perpetually anxious\nthrough its pressure, restless and plagued by imperious wants, he\nnowhere finds rest except in enervation, and nowhere limits save in\nexhausted desire.\n\n \u201cTrue, his is the powerful breast, and the mighty hand of the Titans....\n A certain inheritance; yet the god welded\n Round his forehead a brazen band;\n Advice, moderation, wisdom, and patience,\u2014\n Hid it from his shy, sinister look.\n Every desire is with him a rage,\n And his rage prowls around limitless.\u201d\u2014_Iphigenia in Tauris._\n\nIgnorant of his own human dignity, he is far removed from honoring it in\nothers, and conscious of his own savage greed, he fears it in every\ncreature that he sees like himself. He never sees others in himself,\nonly himself in others, and human society, instead of enlarging him to\nthe race, only shuts him up continually closer in his individuality.\nThus limited, he wanders through his sunless life, till favoring nature\nrolls away the load of matter from his darkened senses, reflection\nseparates him from things, and objects show themselves at length in the\nafterglow of the consciousness.\n\nIt is true we cannot point out this state of rude nature as we have here\nportrayed it in any definite people and age. It is only an idea, but an\nidea with which experience agrees most closely in special features. It\nmay be said that man was never in this animal condition, but he has not,\non the other hand, ever entirely escaped from it. Even in the rudest\nsubjects, unmistakable traces of rational freedom can be found, and even\nin the most cultivated, features are not wanting that remind us of that\ndismal natural condition. It is possible for man, at one and the same\ntime, to unite the highest and the lowest in his nature; and if his\n_dignity_ depends on a strict separation of one from the other, his\n_happiness_ depends on a skilful removal of this separation. The culture\nwhich is to bring his dignity into agreement with his happiness will\ntherefore have to provide for the greatest purity of these two\nprinciples in their most intimate combination.\n\nConsequently the first appearance of reason in man is not the\nbeginning of humanity. This is first decided by his freedom, and\nreason begins first by making his sensuous dependence boundless; a\nphenomenon that does not appear to me to have been sufficiently\nelucidated, considering its importance and universality. We know that\nthe reason makes itself known to man by the demand for the\nabsolute\u2014the self-dependent and necessary. But as this want of the\nreason cannot be satisfied in any separate or single state of his\nphysical life, he is obliged to leave the physical entirely and to\nrise from a limited reality to ideas. But although the true meaning of\nthat demand of the reason is to withdraw him from the limits of time\nand to lead him from the world of sense to an ideal world, yet this\nsame demand of reason, by misapplication\u2014scarcely to be avoided in\nthis life, prone to sensuousness\u2014can direct him to physical life, and,\ninstead of making man free, plunge him in the most terrible slavery.\n\nFacts verify this supposition. Man raised on the wings of imagination\nleaves the narrow limits of the present, in which mere animality is\nenclosed, in order to strive on to an unlimited future. But while the\nlimitless is unfolded to his dazed _imagination_, his heart has not\nceased to live in the separate, and to serve the moment. The impulse\ntowards the absolute seizes him suddenly in the midst of his animality,\nand as in this cloddish condition all his efforts aim only at the\nmaterial and temporal, and are limited by his individuality, he is only\nled by that demand of the reason to extend his individuality into the\ninfinite, instead of to abstract from it. He will be led to seek instead\nof form an inexhaustible matter, instead of the unchangeable an\neverlasting change and an absolute securing of his temporal existence.\nThe same impulse which, directed to his thought and action, ought to\nlead to truth and morality, now directed to his passion and emotional\nstate, produces nothing but an unlimited desire and an absolute want.\nThe first fruits, therefore, that he reaps in the world of spirits are\ncares and fear\u2014both operations of the reason; not of sensuousness, but\nof a reason that mistakes its object and applies its categorical\nimperative to matter. All unconditional systems of happiness are fruits\nof this tree, whether they have for their object the present day or the\nwhole of life, or what does not make them any more respectable, the\nwhole of eternity, for their object. An unlimited duration of existence\nand of well-being is only an ideal of the desires; hence a demand which\ncan only be put forth by an animality striving up to the absolute. Man,\ntherefore, without gaining anything for his humanity by a rational\nexpression of this sort, loses the happy limitation of the animal, over\nwhich he now only possesses the unenviable superiority of losing the\npresent for an endeavor after what is remote, yet without seeking in the\nlimitless future anything but the present.\n\nBut even if the reason does not go astray in its object, or err in the\nquestion, sensuousness will continue to falsify the answer for a long\ntime. As soon as man has begun to use his understanding and to knit\ntogether phenomena in cause and effect, the reason, according to its\nconception, presses on to an absolute knitting together and to an\nunconditional basis. In order, merely, to be able to put forward this\ndemand, man must already have stepped beyond the sensuous, but the\nsensuous uses this very demand to bring back the fugitive.\n\nIn fact, it is now that he ought to abandon entirely the world of sense\nin order to take his flight into the realm of ideas; for the\nintelligence remains eternally shut up in the finite and in the\ncontingent, and does not cease putting questions without reaching the\nlast link of the chain. But as the man with whom we are engaged is not\nyet capable of such an abstraction, and does not find it in the sphere\nof sensuous knowledge, and because he does not look for it in pure\nreason, he will seek for it below in the region of sentiment, and will\nappear to find it. No doubt the sensuous shows him nothing that has its\nfoundation in itself, and that legislates for itself, but it shows him\nsomething that does not care for foundation or law; therefore, thus not\nbeing able to quiet the intelligence by showing it a final cause, he\nreduces it to silence by the conception which desires no cause; and\nbeing incapable of understanding the sublime necessity of reason, he\nkeeps to the blind constraint of matter. As sensuousness knows no other\nend than its interest, and is determined by nothing except blind chance,\nit makes the former the motive of its actions, and the latter the master\nof the world.\n\nEven the divine part in man, the moral law, in its first manifestation\nin the sensuous cannot avoid this perversion. As this moral law is only\nprohibited, and combats in man the interest of sensuous egotism, it must\nappear to him as something strange until he has come to consider this\nself-love as the stranger, and the voice of reason as his true self.\nTherefore he confines himself to feeling the fetters which the latter\nimposes on him, without having the consciousness of the infinite\nemancipation which it procures for him. Without suspecting in himself\nthe dignity of lawgiver, he only experiences the constraint and the\nimpotent revolt of a subject fretting under the yoke, because in this\nexperience the sensuous impulsion precedes the moral impulsion, he gives\nto the law of necessity a beginning in him, a positive origin, and by\nthe most unfortunate of all mistakes he converts the immutable and the\neternal in himself into a transitory accident. He makes up his mind to\nconsider the notions of the just and the unjust as statutes which have\nbeen introduced by a will, and not as having in themselves an eternal\nvalue. Just as in the explanation of certain natural phenomena he goes\nbeyond nature and seeks out of her what can only be found in her, in her\nown laws; so also in the explanation of moral phenomena he goes beyond\nreason and makes light of his humanity, seeking a god in this way. It is\nnot wonderful that a religion which he has purchased at the cost of his\nhumanity shows itself worthy of this origin, and that he only considers\nas absolute and eternally binding laws that have never been binding from\nall eternity. He has placed himself in relation with, not a holy being,\nbut a powerful. Therefore the spirit of his religion, of the homage that\nhe gives to God, is a fear that abases him, and not a veneration that\nelevates him in his own esteem.\n\nThough these different aberrations by which man departs from the ideal\nof his destination cannot all take place at the same time, because\nseveral degrees have to be passed over in the transition from the\nobscure of thought to error, and from the obscure of will to the\ncorruption of the will; these degrees are all, without exception, the\nconsequence of his physical state, because in all the vital impulsion\nsways the formal impulsion. Now, two cases may happen: either reason may\nnot yet have spoken in man, and the physical may reign over him with a\nblind necessity, or reason may not be sufficiently purified from\nsensuous impressions, and the moral may still be subject to the\nphysical; in both cases the only principle that has a real power over\nhim is a material principle, and man, at least as regards his ultimate\ntendency, is a sensuous being. The only difference is, that in the\nformer case he is an animal without reason, and in the second case a\nrational animal. But he ought to be neither one nor the other: he ought\nto be a man. Nature ought not to rule him exclusively; nor reason\nconditionally. The two legislations ought to be completely independent,\nand yet mutually complementary.\n\n\n                              LETTER XXV.\n\nWhilst man, in his first physical condition, is only passively affected\nby the world of sense, he is still entirely identified with it; and for\nthis reason the external world, as yet, has no objective existence for\nhim. When he begins in his \u00e6sthetic state of mind to regard the world\nobjectively, then only is his personality severed from it, and the world\nappears to him an objective reality, for the simple reason that he has\nceased to form an identical portion of it.\n\nThat which first connects man with the surrounding universe is the power\nof reflective contemplation. Whereas desire seizes at once its object,\nreflection removes it to a distance and renders it inalienably her own\nby saving it from the greed of passion. The necessity of sense which he\nobeyed during the period of mere sensations, lessens during the period\nof reflection; the senses are for the time in abeyance; even\never-fleeting time stands still whilst the scattered rays of\nconsciousness are gathering and shape themselves; an image of the\ninfinite is reflected upon the perishable ground. As soon as light dawns\nin man, there is no longer night outside of him; as soon as there is\npeace within him the storm lulls throughout the universe, and the\ncontending forces of nature find rest within prescribed limits. Hence we\ncannot wonder if ancient traditions allude to these great changes in the\ninner man as to a revolution in surrounding nature, and symbolize\nthought triumphing over the laws of time, by the figure of Zeus, which\nterminates the reign of Saturn.\n\nAs long as man derives sensations from a contact with nature, he is her\nslave; but as soon as he begins to reflect upon her objects and laws he\nbecomes her lawgiver. Nature, which previously ruled him as a power, now\nexpands before him as an object. What is objective to him can have no\npower over him, for in order to become objective it has to experience\nhis own power. As far and as long as he impresses a form upon matter, he\ncannot be injured by its effect; for a spirit can only be injured by\nthat which deprives it of its freedom. Whereas he proves his own freedom\nby giving a form to the formless; where the mass rules heavily and\nwithout shape, and its undefined outlines are for ever fluctuating\nbetween uncertain boundaries, fear takes up its abode; but man rises\nabove any natural terror as soon as he knows how to mould it, and\ntransform it into an object of his art. As soon as he upholds his\nindependence towards phenomenal natures he maintains his dignity toward\nher as a thing of power, and with a noble freedom he rises against his\ngods. They throw aside the mask with which they had kept him in awe\nduring his infancy, and to his surprise his mind perceives the\nreflection of his own image. The divine monster of the Oriental, which\nroams about changing the world with the blind force of a beast of prey,\ndwindles to the charming outline of humanity in Greek fable; the empire\nof the Titans is crushed, and boundless force is tamed by infinite form.\n\nBut whilst I have been merely searching for an issue from the material\nworld, and a passage into the world of mind, the bold flight of my\nimagination has already taken me into the very midst of the latter\nworld. The beauty of which we are in search we have left behind by\npassing from the life of mere sensations to the pure form and to the\npure object. Such a leap exceeds the condition of human nature; in order\nto keep pace with the latter we must return to the world of sense.\n\nBeauty is indeed the sphere of unfettered contemplation and reflection;\nbeauty conducts us into the world of ideas, without however taking us\nfrom the world of sense, as occurs when a truth is perceived and\nacknowledged. This is the pure product of a process of abstraction from\neverything material and accidental, a pure object free from every\nsubjective barrier, a pure state of self-activity without any admixture\nof passive sensations. There is indeed a way back to sensation from the\nhighest abstraction; for thought teaches the inner sensation, and the\nidea of logical or moral unity passes into a sensation of sensual\naccord. But if we delight in knowledge we separate very accurately our\nown conceptions from our sensations; we look upon the latter as\nsomething accidental, which might have been omitted without the\nknowledge being impaired thereby, without truth being less true. It\nwould, however, be a vain attempt to suppress this connection of the\nfaculty of feeling with the idea of beauty, consequently, we shall not\nsucceed in representing to ourselves one as the effect of the other, but\nwe must look upon them both together and reciprocally as cause and\neffect. In the pleasure which we derive from knowledge we readily\ndistinguish the passage from the active to the passive state, and we\nclearly perceive that the first ends when the second begins. On the\ncontrary, from the pleasure which we take in beauty, this transition\nfrom the active to the passive is not perceivable, and reflection is so\nintimately blended with feeling that we believe we feel the form\nimmediately. Beauty is then an object to us, it is true, because\nreflection is the condition of the feeling which we have of it; but it\nis also a state of our personality (our Ego) because the feeling is the\ncondition of the idea we conceive of it: beauty is therefore doubtless\nform, because we contemplate it, but it is equally life because we feel\nit. In a word, it is at once our state and our act. And precisely\nbecause it is at the same time both a state and an act, it triumphantly\nproves to us that the passive does not exclude the active, neither\nmatter nor form, neither the finite nor the infinite; and that\nconsequently the physical dependence to which man is necessarily devoted\ndoes not in any way destroy his moral liberty. This is the proof of\nbeauty, and I ought to add that this _alone_ can prove it. In fact, as\nin the possession of truth or of logical unity, feeling is not\nnecessarily one with the thought, but follows it accidentally; it is a\nfact which only proves that a sensitive nature can succeed a rational\nnature, and _vice versa_; not that they co-exist, that they exercise a\nreciprocal action one over the other; and, lastly, that they ought to be\nunited in an absolute and necessary manner. From this exclusion of\nfeeling as long as there is thought, and of thought so long as there is\nfeeling, we should on the contrary conclude that the two natures are\nincompatible, so that in order to demonstrate that pure reason is to be\nrealized in humanity, the best proof given by the analysis is that this\nrealization is demanded. But, as in the realization of beauty or of\n\u00e6sthetic unity, there is a real union, mutual substitution of matter and\nof form, of passive and of active, by this alone is proved the\ncompatibility of the two natures, the possible realization of the\ninfinite in the finite, and consequently also the possibility of the\nmost sublime humanity.\n\nHenceforth we need no longer be embarrassed to find a transition from\ndependent feeling to moral liberty, because beauty reveals to us the\nfact that they can perfectly co-exist, and that to show himself a\nspirit, man need not escape from matter. But if on one side he is free,\neven in his relation with a visible world, as the fact of beauty\nteaches, and if on the other side freedom is something absolute and\nsuper-sensuous, as its idea necessarily implies, the question is no\nlonger how man succeeds in raising himself from the finite to the\nabsolute, and opposing himself in his thought and will to sensuality, as\nthis has already been produced in the fact of beauty. In a word, we have\nno longer to ask how he passes from virtue to truth which is already\nincluded in the former, but how he opens a way for himself from vulgar\nreality to \u00e6sthetic reality, and from the ordinary feelings of life to\nthe perception of the beautiful.\n\n\n                              LETTER XXVI.\n\nI have shown in the previous letters that it is only the \u00e6sthetic\ndisposition of the soul that gives birth to liberty, it cannot therefore\nbe derived from liberty nor have a moral origin. It must be a gift of\nnature; the favor of chance alone can break the bonds of the physical\nstate and bring the savage to duty. The germ of the beautiful will find\nan equal difficulty in developing itself in countries where a severe\nnature forbids man to enjoy himself, and in those where a prodigal\nnature dispenses him from all effort; where the blunted senses\nexperience no want, and where violent desire can never be satisfied. The\ndelightful flower of the beautiful will never unfold itself in the case\nof the Troglodyte hid in his cavern always alone, and never finding\nhumanity outside himself; nor among nomads, who, travelling in great\ntroops, only consist of a multitude, and have no individual humanity. It\nwill only flourish in places where man converses peacefully with himself\nin his cottage, and with the whole race when he issues from it. In those\nclimates where a limpid ether opens the senses to the lightest\nimpression, whilst a life-giving warmth develops a luxuriant nature,\nwhere even in the inanimate creation the sway of inert matter is\noverthrown, and the victorious form ennobles even the most abject\nnatures; in this joyful state and fortunate zone, where activity alone\nleads to enjoyment, and enjoyment to activity, from life itself issues a\nholy harmony, and the laws of order develop life, a different result\ntakes place. When imagination incessantly escapes from reality, and does\nnot abandon the simplicity of nature in its wanderings: then and there\nonly the mind and the senses, the receptive force and the plastic force,\nare developed in that happy equilibrium which is the soul of the\nbeautiful and the condition of humanity.\n\nWhat phenomenon accompanies the initiation of the savage into humanity?\nHowever far we look back into history the phenomenon is identical among\nall people who have shaken off the slavery of the animal state: the love\nof appearance, the inclination for dress and for games.\n\nExtreme stupidity and extreme intelligence have a certain affinity in\nonly seeking the real and being completely insensible to mere\nappearance. The former is only drawn forth by the immediate presence of\nan object in the senses, and the second is reduced to a quiescent state\nonly by referring conceptions to the facts of experience. In short,\nstupidity cannot rise above reality, nor the intelligence descend below\ntruth. Thus, in as far as the want of reality and attachment to the real\nare only the consequence of a want and a defect, indifference to the\nreal and an interest taken in appearances are a real enlargement of\nhumanity and a decisive step towards culture. In the first place it is\nthe proof of an exterior liberty, for as long as necessity commands and\nwant solicits, the fancy is strictly chained down to the real: it is\nonly when want is satisfied that it develops without hinderance. But it\nis also the proof of an internal liberty, because it reveals to us a\nforce which, independent of an external substratum, sets itself in\nmotion, and has sufficient energy to remove from itself the\nsolicitations of nature. The reality of things is effected by things,\nthe appearance of things is the work of man, and a soul that takes\npleasure in appearance does not take pleasure in what it receives but in\nwhat it makes.\n\nIt is self-evident that I am speaking of \u00e6sthetical evidence different\nfrom reality and truth, and not of logical appearance identical with\nthem. Therefore if it is liked it is because it is an appearance, and\nnot because it is held to be something better than it is: the first\nprinciple alone is a play, whilst the second is a deception. To give a\nvalue to the appearance of the first kind can never injure truth,\nbecause it is never to be feared that it will supplant it\u2014the only way\nin which truth can be injured. To despise this appearance is to despise\nin general all the fine arts of which it is the essence. Nevertheless,\nit happens sometimes that the understanding carries its zeal for reality\nas far as this intolerance, and strikes with a sentence of ostracism all\nthe arts relating to beauty in appearance, because it is only an\nappearance. However, the intelligence only shows this vigorous spirit\nwhen it calls to mind the affinity pointed out further back. I shall\nfind some day the occasion to treat specially of the limits of beauty in\nits appearance.\n\nIt is nature herself which raises man from reality to appearance by\nendowing him with two senses which only lead him to the knowledge of the\nreal through appearance. In the eye and the ear the organs of the senses\nare already freed from the persecutions of nature, and the object with\nwhich we are immediately in contact through the animal senses is remoter\nfrom us. What we see by the eye differs from what we feel; for the\nunderstanding to reach objects overleaps the light which separates us\nfrom them. In truth, we are passive to an object: in sight and hearing\nthe object is a form we create. While still a savage, man only enjoys\nthrough touch merely aided by sight and sound. He either does not rise\nto perception through sight, or does not rest there. As soon as he\nbegins to enjoy through sight, vision has an independent value, he is\n\u00e6sthetically free, and the instinct of play is developed.\n\nThe instinct of play likes appearance, and directly it is awakened it is\nfollowed by the formal imitative instinct which treats appearance as an\nindependent thing. Directly man has come to distinguish the appearance\nfrom the reality, the form from the body, he can separate, in fact he\nhas already done so. Thus the faculty of the art of imitation is given\nwith the faculty of form in general. The inclination that draws us to it\nreposes on another tendency I have not to notice here. The exact period\nwhen the \u00e6sthetic instinct, or that of art, develops, depends entirely\non the attraction that mere appearance has for men.\n\nAs every real existence proceeds from nature as a foreign power, whilst\nevery appearance comes in the first place from man as a percipient\nsubject, he only uses his absolute sight in separating semblance from\nessence, and arranging according to subjective law. With an unbridled\nliberty he can unite what nature has severed, provided he can imagine\nhis union, and he can separate what nature has united, provided this\nseparation can take place in his intelligence. Here nothing can be\nsacred to him but his own law: the only condition imposed upon him is to\nrespect the border which separates his own sphere from the existence of\nthings or from the realm of nature.\n\nThis human right of ruling is exercised by man in the art of appearance;\nand his success in extending the empire of the beautiful, and guarding\nthe frontiers of truth, will be in proportion with the strictness with\nwhich he separates form from substance: for if he frees appearance from\nreality, he must also do the converse.\n\nBut man possesses sovereign power only in the world of appearance, in\nthe unsubstantial realm of imagination, only by abstaining from giving\nbeing to appearance in theory, and by giving it being in practice. It\nfollows that the poet transgresses his proper limits when he attributes\nbeing to his ideal, and when he gives this ideal aim as a determined\nexistence. For he can only reach this result by exceeding his right as a\npoet, that of encroaching by the ideal on the field of experience, and\nby pretending to determine real existence in virtue of a simple\npossibility, or else he renounces his right as a poet by letting\nexperience encroach on the sphere of the ideal, and by restricting\npossibility to the conditions of reality.\n\nIt is only by being frank or disclaiming all reality, and by being\nindependent or doing without reality, that the appearance is \u00e6sthetical.\nDirectly it apes reality or needs reality for effect, it is nothing more\nthan a vile instrument for material ends, and can prove nothing for the\nfreedom of the mind. Moreover, the object in which we find beauty need\nnot be unreal if our judgment disregards this reality; for if it regards\nthis the judgment is no longer \u00e6sthetical. A beautiful woman, if living,\nwould no doubt please us as much and rather more than an equally\nbeautiful woman seen in painting; but what makes the former please men\nis not her being an independent appearance; she no longer pleases the\npure \u00e6sthetic feeling. In the painting, life must only attract as an\nappearance, and reality as an idea. But it is certain that to feel in a\nliving object only the pure appearance requires a greatly higher\n\u00e6sthetic culture than to do without life in the appearance.\n\nWhen the frank and independent appearance is found in man separately, or\nin a whole people, it may be inferred they have mind, taste, and all\nprerogatives connected with them. In this case the ideal will be seen to\ngovern real life, honor triumphing over fortune, thought over enjoyment,\nthe dream of immortality over a transitory existence.\n\nIn this case public opinion will no longer be feared, and an olive crown\nwill be more valued than a purple mantle. Impotence and perversity alone\nhave recourse to false and paltry semblance, and individuals as well as\nnations who lend to reality the support of appearance, or to the\n\u00e6sthetic appearance the support of reality, show their moral\nunworthiness and their \u00e6sthetical impotence. Therefore, a short and\nconclusive answer can be given to this question\u2014how far will appearance\nbe permitted in the moral world? It will run thus in proportion as this\nappearance will be \u00e6sthetical, that is, an appearance that does not try\nto make up for reality, nor requires to be made up for by it. The\n\u00e6sthetical appearance can never endanger the truth of morals: wherever\nit seems to do so the appearance is not \u00e6sthetical. Only a stranger to\nthe fashionable world can take the polite assurances, which are only a\nform, for proofs of affection, and say he has been deceived; but only a\nclumsy fellow in good society calls in the aid of duplicity and flatters\nto become amiable. The former lacks the pure sense for independent\nappearance; therefore he can only give a value to appearance by truth.\nThe second lacks reality, and wishes to replace it by appearance.\nNothing is more common than to hear depreciators of the times utter\nthese paltry complaints\u2014that all solidity has disappeared from the\nworld, and that essence is neglected for semblance. Though I feel by no\nmeans called upon to defend this age against these reproaches, I must\nsay that the wide application of these criticisms shows that they attach\nblame to the age, not only on the score of the false, but also of the\nfrank appearance. And even the exceptions they admit in favor of the\nbeautiful have for their object less the independent appearance than the\nneedy appearance. Not only do they attack the artificial coloring that\nhides truth and replaces reality, but also the beneficent appearance\nthat fills a vacuum and clothes poverty; and they even attack the ideal\nappearance that ennobles a vulgar reality. Their strict sense of truth\nis rightly offended by the falsity of manners; unfortunately, they class\npoliteness in this category. It displeases them that the noisy and showy\nso often eclipse true merit, but they are no less shocked that\nappearance is also demanded from merit, and that a real substance does\nnot dispense with an agreeable form. They regret the cordiality, the\nenergy, and solidity of ancient times; they would restore with them\nancient coarseness, heaviness, and the old Gothic profusion. By\njudgments of this kind they show an esteem for the matter itself\nunworthy of humanity, which ought only to value the matter inasmuch as\nit can receive a form and enlarge the empire of ideas. Accordingly, the\ntaste of the age need not much fear these criticisms if it can clear\nitself before better judges. Our defect is not to grant a value to\n\u00e6sthetic appearance (we do not do this enough): a severe judge of the\nbeautiful might rather reproach us with not having arrived at pure\nappearance, with not having separated clearly enough existence from the\nphenomenon, and thus established their limits. We shall deserve this\nreproach so long as we cannot enjoy the beautiful in living nature\nwithout desiring it; as long as we cannot admire the beautiful in the\nimitative arts without having an end in view; as long as we do not grant\nto imagination an absolute legislation of its own; and as long as we do\nnot inspire it with care for its dignity by the esteem we testify for\nits works.\n\n\n                             LETTER XXVII.\n\nDo not fear for reality and truth. Even if the elevated idea of \u00e6sthetic\nappearance become general, it would not become so, as long as man\nremains so little cultivated as to abuse it; and if it became general,\nthis would result from a culture that would prevent all abuse of it. The\npursuit of independent appearance requires more power of abstraction,\nfreedom of heart, and energy of will than man requires to shut himself\nup in reality; and he must have left the latter behind him if he wishes\nto attain to \u00e6sthetic appearance. Therefore, a man would calculate very\nbadly who took the road of the ideal to save himself that of reality.\nThus reality would not have much to fear from appearance, as we\nunderstand it; but, on the other hand, appearance would have more to\nfear from reality. Chained to matter, man uses appearance for his\npurposes before he allows it a proper personality in the art of the\nideal: to come to that point a complete revolution must take place in\nhis mode of feeling, otherwise he would not be even on the way to the\nideal. Consequently, when we find in man the signs of a pure and\ndisinterested esteem, we can infer that this revolution has taken place\nin his nature, and that humanity has really begun in him. Signs of this\nkind are found even in the first and rude attempts that he makes to\nembellish his existence, even at the risk of making it worse in its\nmaterial conditions. As soon as he begins to prefer form to substance\nand to risk reality for appearance (known by him to be such), the\nbarriers of animal life fall, and he finds himself on a track that has\nno end.\n\nNot satisfied with the needs of nature, he demands the superfluous.\nFirst, only the superfluous of matter, to secure his enjoyment beyond\nthe present necessity; but afterwards he wishes a superabundance in\nmatter, an \u00e6sthetical supplement to satisfy the impulse for the formal,\nto extend enjoyment beyond necessity. By piling up provisions simply for\na future use, and anticipating their enjoyment in the imagination, he\noutsteps the limits of the present moment, but not those of time in\ngeneral. He enjoys more; he does not enjoy differently. But as soon as\nhe makes form enter into his enjoyment, and he keeps in view the forms\nof the objects which satisfy his desires, he has not only increased his\npleasure in extent and intensity, but he has also ennobled it in mode\nand species.\n\nNo doubt nature has given more than is necessary to unreasoning beings;\nshe has caused a gleam of freedom to shine even in the darkness of\nanimal life. When the lion is not tormented by hunger, and when no wild\nbeast challenges him to fight, his unemployed energy creates an object\nfor himself; full of ardor, he fills the re-echoing desert with his\nterrible roars, and his exuberant force rejoices in itself, showing\nitself without an object. The insect flits about rejoicing in life in\nthe sunlight, and it is certainly not the cry of want that makes itself\nheard in the melodious song of the bird; there is undeniably freedom in\nthese movements, though it is not emancipation from want in general, but\nfrom a determinate external necessity.\n\nThe animal _works_, when a privation is the motor of its activity, and\nit _plays_ when the plenitude of force is this motor, when an exuberant\nlife is excited to action. Even in inanimate nature a luxury of strength\nand a latitude of determination are shown, which in this material sense\nmight be styled play. The tree produces numberless germs that are\nabortive without developing, and it sends forth more roots, branches,\nand leaves, organs of nutrition, than are used for the preservation of\nthe species. Whatever this tree restores to the elements of its\nexuberant life, without using it or enjoying it, may be expended by life\nin free and joyful movements. It is thus that nature offers in her\nmaterial sphere a sort of prelude to the limitless, and that even there\nshe suppresses partially the chains from which she will be completely\nemancipated in the realm of form. The constraint of superabundance or\n_physical play_ answers as a transition from the constraint of\nnecessity, or of _physical seriousness_, to \u00e6sthetical play; and before\nshaking off, in the supreme freedom of the beautiful, the yoke of any\nspecial aim, nature already approaches, at least remotely, this\nindependence, by the _free movement_ which is itself its own end and\nmeans.\n\nThe imagination, like the bodily organs, has in man its free movement\nand its material play, a play in which, without any reference to form,\nit simply takes pleasure in its arbitrary power and in the absence of\nall hinderance. These plays of fancy, inasmuch as form is not mixed up\nwith them, and because a free succession of images makes all their\ncharm, though confined to man, belong exclusively to animal life, and\nonly prove one thing\u2014that he is delivered from all external sensuous\nconstraint\u2014without our being entitled to infer that there is in it an\nindependent plastic force.\n\nFrom this play of _free association_ of ideas, which is still quite\nmaterial in nature and is explained by simple natural laws, the\nimagination, by making the attempt of creating a free form, passes at\nlength at a jump to the \u00e6sthetic play: I say at one leap, for quite a\nnew force enters into action here; for here, for the first time, the\nlegislative mind is mixed with the acts of a blind instinct, subjects\nthe arbitrary march of the imagination to its eternal and immutable\nunity, causes its independent permanence to enter in that which is\ntransitory, and its infinity in the sensuous. Nevertheless, as long as\nrude nature, which knows of no other law than running incessantly from\nchange to change, will yet retain too much strength, it will oppose\nitself by its different caprices to this necessity; by its agitation to\nthis permanence; by its manifold needs to this independence, and by its\ninsatiability to this sublime simplicity. It will be also troublesome to\nrecognize the instinct of play in its first trials, seeing that the\nsensuous impulsion, with its capricious humor and its violent appetites,\nconstantly crosses. It is on that account that we see the taste, still\ncoarse, seize that which is new and startling, the disordered, the\nadventurous and the strange, the violent and the savage, and fly from\nnothing so much as from calm and simplicity. It invents grotesque\nfigures, it likes rapid transitions, luxurious forms, sharply-marked\nchanges, acute tones, a pathetic song. That which man calls beautiful at\nthis time is that which excites him, that which gives him matter; but\nthat which excites him to give his personality to the object, that which\ngives matter to a _possible plastic operation_, for otherwise it would\nnot be the beautiful for him. A remarkable change has therefore taken\nplace in the form of his judgments; he searches for these objects, not\nbecause they affect him, but because they furnish him with the occasion\nof acting; they please him, not because they answer to a want, but\nbecause they satisfy a law which speaks in his breast, although quite\nlow as yet.\n\nSoon it will not be sufficient for things to please him; he will wish to\nplease: in the first place, it is true, only by that which belongs to\nhim; afterwards by that which he is. That which he possesses, that which\nhe produces, ought not merely to bear any more the traces of servitude,\nnor to mark out the end, simply and scrupulously, by the form.\nIndependently of the use to which it is destined, the object ought also\nto reflect the enlightened intelligence which imagines it, the hand\nwhich shaped it with affection, the mind free and serene which chose it\nand exposed it to view. Now, the ancient German searches for more\n_magnificent_ furs, for more _splendid_ antlers of the stag, for more\nelegant drinking-horns; and the Caledonian chooses the prettiest shells\nfor his festivals. The arms themselves ought to be no longer only\nobjects of terror, but also of pleasure; and the skilfully-worked\nscabbard will not attract less attention than the homicidal edge of the\nsword. The instinct of play, not satisfied with bringing into the sphere\nof the necessary an \u00e6sthetic superabundance for the future more free, is\nat last completely emancipated from the bonds of duty, and the beautiful\nbecomes of itself an object of man\u2019s exertions. He adorns himself. The\nfree pleasure comes to take a place among his wants, and the useless\nsoon becomes the best part of his joys. Form, which from the outside\ngradually approaches him, in his dwelling, his furniture, his clothing,\nbegins at last to take possession of the man himself, to transform him,\nat first exteriorly, and afterwards in the interior. The disordered\nleaps of joy become the dance, the formless gesture is changed into an\namiable and harmonious pantomime, the confused accents of feeling are\ndeveloped, and begin to obey measures and adapt themselves to song.\nWhen, like the flight of cranes, the Trojan army rushes on to the field\nof battle with thrilling cries, the Greek army approaches in silence and\nwith a noble and measured step. On the one side we see but the\nexuberance of a blind force, on the other the triumph of form, and the\nsimple majesty of law.\n\nNow, a nobler necessity binds the two sexes mutually, and the interests\nof the heart contribute in rendering durable an alliance which was at\nfirst capricious and changing like the desire that knits it. Delivered\nfrom the heavy fetters of desire, the eye, now calmer, attends to the\nform, the soul contemplates the soul, and the interested exchange of\npleasure becomes a generous exchange of mutual inclination. Desire\nenlarges and rises to love, in proportion as it sees humanity dawn in\nits object; and, despising the vile triumphs gained by the senses, man\ntries to win a nobler victory over the will. The necessity of pleasing\nsubjects the powerful nature to the gentle laws of taste; pleasure may\nbe stolen, but love must be a gift. To obtain this higher recompense, it\nis only through the form and not through matter that it can carry on the\ncontest. It must cease to act on feeling as a force, to appear in the\nintelligence as a simple phenomenon; it must respect liberty, as it is\nliberty it wishes to please. The beautiful reconciles the contrast of\ndifferent natures in its simplest and purest expression. It also\nreconciles the eternal contrast of the two sexes in the whole complex\nframework of society, or at all events it seeks to do so; and, taking as\nits model the free alliance it has knit between manly strength and\nwomanly gentleness, it strives to place in harmony, in the moral world,\nall the elements of gentleness and of violence. Now, at length, weakness\nbecomes sacred, and an unbridled strength disgraces; the injustice of\nnature is corrected by the generosity of chivalrous manners. The being\nwhom no power can make tremble, is disarmed by the amiable blush of\nmodesty, and tears extinguish a vengeance that blood could not have\nquenched. Hatred itself hears the delicate voice of honor, the\nconqueror\u2019s sword spares the disarmed enemy, and a hospitable hearth\nsmokes for the stranger on the dreaded hillside where murder alone\nawaited him before.\n\nIn the midst of the formidable realm of forces, and of the sacred empire\nof laws, the \u00e6sthetic impulse of form creates by degrees a third and a\njoyous realm, that of play and of the appearance, where she emancipates\nman from fetters, in all his relations, and from all that is named\nconstraint, whether physical or moral.\n\nIf in the dynamic state of rights men mutually move and come into\ncollision as forces, in the moral (ethical) state of duties, man opposes\nto man the majesty of the laws, and chains down his will. In this realm\nof the beautiful or the \u00e6sthetic state, man ought to appear to man only\nas a form, and an object of free play. To give freedom through freedom\nis the fundamental law of this realm.\n\nThe dynamic state can only make society simple possibly by subduing\nnature through nature; the moral (ethical) state can only make it\nmorally necessary by submitting the will of the individual to the\ngeneral will. The \u00e6sthetic state alone can make it real, because it\ncarries out the will of all through the nature of the individual. If\nnecessity alone forces man to enter into society, and if his reason\nengraves on his soul social principles, it is beauty only that can give\nhim a social _character_; taste alone brings harmony into society,\nbecause it creates harmony in the individual. All other forms of\nperception divide the man, because they are based exclusively either in\nthe sensuous or in the spiritual part of his being. It is only the\nperception of beauty that makes of him an entirety, because it demands\nthe co-operation of his two natures. All other forms of communication\ndivide society, because they apply exclusively either to the receptivity\nor to the private activity of its members, and therefore to what\ndistinguishes men one from the other. The \u00e6sthetic communication alone\nunites society because it applies to what is common to all its members.\nWe only enjoy the pleasures of sense as individuals, without the nature\nof the race in us sharing in it; accordingly, we cannot generalize our\nindividual pleasures, because we cannot generalize our individuality. We\nenjoy the pleasures of knowledge as a race, dropping the individual in\nour judgment; but we cannot generalize the pleasures of the\nunderstanding, because we cannot eliminate individuality from the\njudgments of others as we do from our own. Beauty alone can we enjoy\nboth as individuals and as a race, that is, as representing a race. Good\nappertaining to sense can only make one person happy, because it is\nfounded on inclination, which is always exclusive; and it can only make\na man partially happy, because his real personality does not share in\nit. Absolute good can only render a man happy conditionally, for truth\nis only the reward of abnegation, and a pure heart alone has faith in a\npure will. Beauty alone confers happiness on all, and under its\ninfluence every being forgets that he is limited.\n\nTaste does not suffer any superior or absolute authority, and the sway\nof beauty is extended over appearance. It extends up to the seat of\nreason\u2019s supremacy, suppressing all that is material. It extends down to\nwhere sensuous impulse rules with blind compulsion, and form is\nundeveloped. Taste ever maintains its power on these remote borders,\nwhere legislation is taken from it. Particular desires must renounce\ntheir egotism, and the agreeable, otherwise tempting the senses, must in\nmatters of taste adorn the mind with the attractions of grace.\n\nDuty and stern necessity must change their forbidding tone, only excused\nby resistance, and do homage to nature by a nobler trust in her. Taste\nleads our knowledge from the mysteries of science into the open expanse\nof common sense, and changes a narrow scholasticism into the common\nproperty of the human race. Here the highest genius must leave its\nparticular elevation, and make itself familiar to the comprehension even\nof a child. Strength must let the Graces bind it, and the arbitrary lion\nmust yield to the reins of love. For this purpose taste throws a veil\nover physical necessity, offending a free mind by its coarse nudity, and\ndissimulating our degrading parentage with matter by a delightful\nillusion of freedom. Mercenary art itself rises from the dust; and the\nbondage of the bodily, at its magic touch, falls off from the inanimate\nand animate. In the \u00e6sthetic state the most slavish tool is a free\ncitizen, having the same rights as the noblest; and the intellect which\nshapes the mass to its intent must consult it concerning its\ndestination. Consequently, in the realm of \u00e6sthetic appearance, the idea\nof equality is realized, which the political zealot would gladly see\ncarried out socially. It has often been said that perfect politeness is\nonly found near a throne. If thus restricted in the material, man has,\nas elsewhere appears, to find compensation in the ideal world.\n\nDoes such a state of beauty in appearance exist, and where? It must be\nin every finely-harmonized soul; but as a fact, only in select circles,\nlike the pure ideal of the church and state\u2014in circles where manners are\nnot formed by the empty imitations of the foreign, but by the very\nbeauty of nature; where man passes through all sorts of complications in\nall simplicity and innocence, neither forced to trench on another\u2019s\nfreedom to preserve his own, nor to show grace at the cost of dignity.\n\n\n\n\n                           \u00c6STHETICAL ESSAYS.\n\n\n                 THE MORAL UTILITY OF \u00c6STHETIC MANNERS.\n\nThe author of the article which appeared in the eleventh number of \u201cThe\nHours,\u201d of 1795, upon \u201cThe Danger of \u00c6sthetic Manners,\u201d was right to\nhold as doubtful a morality founded only on a feeling for the beautiful,\nand which has no other warrant than _taste_; but it is evident that a\nstrong and pure feeling for the beautiful ought to exercise a salutary\ninfluence upon the moral life; and this is the question of which I am\nabout to treat.\n\nWhen I attribute to taste the merit of contributing to moral progress,\nit is not in the least my intention to pretend that the interest that\ngood taste takes in an action suffices to make an action moral; morality\ncould never have any other foundation than her own. Taste can be\nfavorable to morality in the conduct, as I hope to point out in the\npresent essay; but alone, and by its unaided influence, it could never\nproduce anything moral.\n\nIt is absolutely the same with respect to internal liberty as with\nexternal physical liberty. I act freely in a physical sense only when,\nindependently of all external influence, I simply obey my will. But for\nthe possibility of thus obeying without hinderance my own will, it is\nprobable, ultimately, that I am indebted to a principle beyond or\ndistinct from myself immediately it is admitted that this principle\nwould hamper my will. The same also with regard to the possibility of\naccomplishing such action in conformity with duty\u2014it may be that I owe\nit, ultimately, to a principle distinct from my reason; that is\npossible, the moment the idea of this principle is recognized as a force\nwhich could have constrained my independence. Thus the same as we can\nsay of a man, that he holds his liberty from another man, although\nliberty in its proper sense consists in not being forced to be regulated\nby another\u2014in like manner we can also say that taste here obeys virtue,\nalthough virtue herself expressly carries this idea, that in the\npractice of virtue she makes use of no other foreign help. An action\ndoes not in any degree cease to be free, because he who could hamper its\naccomplishment should fortunately abstain from putting any obstacle in\nthe way; it suffices to know that this agent has been moved by his own\nwill without any consideration of another will. In the same way, an\naction of the moral order does not lose its right to be qualified as a\nmoral action, because the temptations which might have turned it in\nanother direction did not present themselves; it suffices to admit that\nthe agent obeyed solely the decree of his reason to the exclusion of all\nforeign springs of action. The liberty of an external act is established\nas soon as it directly proceeds from the will of a person; the morality\nof an interior action is established from the moment that the will of\nthe agent is at once determined to it by the laws of reason.\n\nIt may be rendered easier or more difficult to act as free men according\nas we meet or not in our path forces adverse to our will that must be\novercome. In this sense liberty is more or less susceptible. It is\ngreater, or at least more visible, when we enable it to prevail over the\nopposing forces, however energetic their opposition; but it is not\nsuspended because our will should have met with no resistance, or that a\nforeign succor coming to our aid should have destroyed this resistance,\nwithout any help from ourselves.\n\nThe same with respect to morality; we might have more or less resistance\nto offer in order on the instant to obey our reason, according as it\nawakens or not in us those instincts which struggle against its\nprecepts, and which must be put aside. In this sense morality is\nsusceptible of more or of less. Our morality is greater, or at least\nmore in relief, when we immediately obey reason, however powerful the\ninstincts are which push us in a contrary direction; but it is not\nsuspended because we have had no temptation to disobey, or that this\nforce had been paralyzed by some other force other than our will. We are\nincited to an action solely because it is moral, without previously\nasking ourselves if it is the most agreeable. It is enough that such an\naction is morally good, and it would preserve this character even if\nthere were cause to believe that we should have acted differently if the\naction had cost us any trouble, or had deprived us of a pleasure.\n\nIt can be admitted, for the honor of humanity, that no man could fall so\nlow as to prefer evil solely because it is evil, but rather that every\nman, without exception, would prefer the good because it is the good, if\nby some accidental circumstance the good did not exclude the agreeable,\nor did not entail trouble. Thus in reality all moral action seems to\nhave no other principle than a conflict between the good and the\nagreeable; or, that which comes to the same thing, between desire and\nreason; the _force_ of our sensuous instincts on one side, and, on the\nother side, the feebleness of will, the moral faculty: such apparently\nis the source of all our faults.\n\nThere may be, therefore, two different ways of favoring morality, the\nsame as there are two kinds of obstacles which thwart it: either we must\nstrengthen the side of reason, and the power of the good will, so that\nno temptation can overcome it; or we must break the force of temptation,\nin order that the reason and the will, although feebler, should yet be\nin a state to surmount it.\n\nIt might be said, without doubt, that true morality gains little by this\nsecond proceeding, because it happens without any modification of the\nwill, and yet that it is the nature of the will that alone give to\nactions their moral character. But I say also, in the case in question,\na change of will is not at all necessary; because we do not suppose a\nbad will which should require to be changed, but only a will turned to\ngood, but which is feeble. Therefore, this will, inclined to good, but\ntoo feeble, does not fail to attain by this route to good actions, which\nmight not have happened if a stronger impulsion had drawn it in a\ncontrary sense. But every time that a strong will towards good becomes\nthe principle of an action, we are really in presence of a moral action.\nI have therefore no scruple in advancing this proposition\u2014that all which\nneutralizes the resistance offered to the law of duty really favors\nmorality.\n\nMorality has within us a natural enemy, the sensuous instinct; this, as\nsoon as some object solicits its desires, aspires at once to gratify it,\nand, as soon as reason requires from it anything repugnant, it does not\nfail to rebel against its precepts. This sensuous instinct is constantly\noccupied in gaining the will on its side. The will is nevertheless under\nthe jurisdiction of the moral law, and it is under an obligation never\nto be in contradiction with that which reason demands.\n\nBut the sensuous instinct does not recognize the moral law; it wishes to\nenjoy its object and to induce the will to realize it also,\nnotwithstanding what the reason may advance. This tendency of the\nfaculty of our appetites, of immediately directing the will without\ntroubling itself about superior laws, is perpetually in conflict with\nour moral destination, and it is the most powerful adversary that man\nhas to combat in his moral conduct. The coarse soul, without either\nmoral or \u00e6sthetic education, receives directly the law of appetite, and\nacts only according to the good pleasure of the senses. The moral soul,\nbut which wants \u00e6sthetic culture, receives in a direct manner the law of\nreason, and it is only out of respect for duty that it triumphs over\ntemptation. In the purified \u00e6sthetic soul, there is moreover another\nmotive, another force, which frequently takes the place of virtue when\nvirtue is absent, and which renders it easier when it is present\u2014that\nis, taste.\n\nTaste demands of us moderation and dignity; it has a horror of\neverything sharp, hard and violent; it likes all that shapes itself with\nease and harmony. To listen to the voice of reason amidst the tempest of\nthe senses, and to know where to place a limit to nature in its most\nbrutified explosions, is, as we are aware, required by good breeding,\nwhich is no other than an \u00e6sthetic law; this is required of every\ncivilized man. Well, then, this constraint imposed upon civilized man in\nthe expression of his feelings, confers upon him already a certain\ndegree of authority over them, or at least develops in him a certain\naptitude to rise above the purely passive state of the soul, to\ninterrupt this state by an initiative act, and to stop by reflection the\npetulance of the feelings, ever ready to pass from affections to acts.\nTherefore everything that interrupts the blind impetuosity of these\nmovements of the affections does not as yet, however, produce, I own, a\nvirtue (for virtue ought never to have any other active principle than\nitself), but that at least opens the road to the will, in order to turn\nit on the side of virtue. Still, this victory of taste over brutish\naffections is by no means a moral action, and the freedom which the will\nacquires by the intervention of taste is as yet in no way a moral\nliberty. Taste delivers the soul from the yoke of instinct, only to\nimpose upon it chains of its own; and in discerning the first enemy, the\ndeclared enemy of moral liberty, it remains itself, too often, as a\nsecond enemy, perhaps even the more dangerous as it assumes the aspect\nof a friend. Taste effectively governs the soul itself only by the\nattraction of pleasure; it is true of a nobler type, because its\nprinciple is reason, but still as long as the will is determined by\npleasure there is not yet morality.\n\nNotwithstanding this, a great point is gained already by the\nintervention of taste in the operations of the will. All those material\ninclinations and brutal appetites, which oppose with so much obstinacy\nand vehemence the practice of good, the soul is freed from through the\n\u00e6sthetic taste; and in their place, it implants in us nobler and gentler\ninclinations, which draw nearer to order, to harmony, and to perfection;\nand although these inclinations are not by themselves virtues, they have\nat least something in common with virtue; it is their _object_.\nThenceforth, if it is the appetite that speaks, it will have to undergo\na rigorous control before the sense of the beautiful: if it is the\nreason which speaks, and which commands in its acts conformity with\norder, harmony, and perfection, not only will it no longer meet with an\nadversary on the side of inclination, but it will find the most active\ncompetition. If we survey all the forms under which morality can be\nproduced, we shall see that all these forms can be reduced to two;\neither it is sensuous nature which moves the soul either to do this\nthing or not to do the other, and the will finally decides after the law\nof the reason; or it is the reason itself which impels the motion, and\nthe will obeys it without seeking counsel of the senses.\n\nThe Greek princess, Anna Comnena, speaks of a rebel prisoner, whom her\nfather Alexis, then a simple general of his predecessor, had been\ncharged to conduct to Constantinople. During the journey, as they were\nriding side by side, Alexis desired to halt under the shade of a tree to\nrefresh himself during the great heat of the day. It was not long before\nhe fell asleep, whilst his companion, who felt no inclination to repose\nwith the fear of death awaiting him before his eyes, remained awake.\nAlexis slumbered profoundly, with his sword hanging upon a branch above\nhis head; the prisoner perceived the sword, and immediately conceived\nthe idea of killing his guardian and thus of regaining his freedom. Anna\nComnena gives us to understand that she knows not what might have been\nthe result had not Alexis fortunately awoke at that instant. In this\nthere is a moral of the highest kind, in which the sensuous instinct\nfirst raised its voice, and of which the reason had only afterwards\ntaken cognizance in quality of judge. But suppose that the prisoner had\ntriumphed over the temptation only out of respect for justice, there\ncould be no doubt the action would have been a moral action.\n\nWhen the late Duke Leopold of Brunswick, standing upon the banks of the\nraging waters of the Oder, asked himself if at the peril of his life he\nought to venture into the impetuous flood in order to save some\nunfortunates who without his aid were sure to perish; and when\u2014I suppose\na case\u2014simply under the influence of duty, he throws himself into the\nboat into which none other dares to enter, no one will contest doubtless\nthat he acted morally. The duke was here in a contrary position to that\nof the preceding one. The idea of duty, in this circumstance, was the\nfirst which presented itself, and afterwards only the instinct of\nself-preservation was roused to oppose itself to that prescribed by\nreason. But in both cases the will acted in the same way; it obeyed\nunhesitatingly the reason, yet both of them are moral actions.\n\nBut would the action have continued moral in both cases, if we suppose\nthe \u00e6sthetic taste to have taken part in it? For example, suppose that\nthe first, who was tempted to commit a bad action, and who gave it up\nfrom respect for justice, had the taste sufficiently cultivated to feel\nan invincible horror aroused in him against all disgraceful or violent\naction, the \u00e6sthetic sense alone will suffice to turn him from it; there\nis no longer any deliberation before the moral tribunal, before the\nconscience; another motive, another jurisdiction has already pronounced.\nBut the \u00e6sthetic sense governs the will by the feeling and not by laws.\nThus this man refuses to enjoy the agreeable sensation of a life saved,\nbecause he cannot support his odious feelings of having committed a\nbaseness. Therefore all, in this, took place before the feelings alone,\nand the conduct of this man, although in conformity with the law, is\nmorally indifferent; it is simply a fine effect of nature.\n\nNow let us suppose that the second, he to whom his reason prescribed to\ndo a thing against which natural instinct protested; suppose that this\nman had to the same extent a susceptibility for the beautiful, so that\nall which is great and perfect enraptured him; at the same moment, when\nreason gave the order, the feelings would place themselves on the same\nside, and he would do willingly that which without the inclination for\nthe beautiful he would have had to do contrary to inclination. But would\nthis be a reason for us to find it less perfect? Assuredly not, because\nin principle it acts out of pure respect for the prescriptions of\nreason; and if it follows these injunctions with joy, that can take\nnothing away from the moral _purity_ of the act. Thus, this man will be\nquite as _perfect in the moral sense_; and, on the contrary, he will be\nincomparably more perfect in the physical sense, because he is\ninfinitely more capable of making a virtuous subject.\n\nThus, taste gives a direction to the soul which disposes it to virtue,\nin keeping away such inclinations as are contrary to it, and in rousing\nthose which are favorable. Taste could not injure true virtue, although\nin every case where natural instinct speaks first, taste commences by\ndeciding for its chief that which conscience otherwise ought to have\nknown; in consequence it is the cause that, amongst the actions of those\nwhom it governs, there are many more actions morally indifferent than\nactions truly moral. It thus happens that the excellency of the man does\nnot consist in the least degree in producing a larger sum of vigorously\nmoral particular actions, but by evincing as a whole a greater\nconformity of all his natural dispositions with the moral law; and it is\nnot a thing to give people a very high idea of their country or of their\nage to hear morality so often spoken of and particular acts boasted of\nas traits of virtue. Let us hope that the day when civilization shall\nhave consummated its work (if we can realize this term in the mind)\nthere will no longer be any question of this. But, on the other side,\ntaste can become of possible utility to true virtue, in all cases when,\nthe first instigations issuing from reason, its voice incurs the risk of\nbeing stifled by the more powerful solicitations of natural instinct.\nThus, taste determines our feelings to take the part of duty, and in\nthis manner renders a mediocre moral force of will sufficient for the\npractice of virtue.\n\nIn this light, if the taste never injures true morality, and if in many\ncases it is of evident use\u2014and this circumstance is very important\u2014then\nit is supremely favorable to the legality of our conduct. Suppose that\n\u00e6sthetic education contributes in no degree to the improvement of our\nfeelings, at least it renders us better able to act, although without\ntrue moral disposition, as we should have acted if our soul had been\ntruly moral. Therefore, it is quite true that, before the tribunal of\nthe conscience, our acts have absolutely no importance but as the\nexpression of our feelings: but it is precisely the contrary in the\nphysical order and in the plan of nature: there it is no longer our\nsentiments that are of importance; they are only important so far as\nthey give occasion to acts which conduce to the aims of nature. But the\nphysical order which is governed by forces, and the moral order which\ngoverns itself by laws, are so exactly made one for the other, and are\nso intimately blended, that the actions which are by their form morally\nsuitable, necessarily contain also a physical suitability; and as the\nentire edifice of nature seems to exist only to render possible the\nhighest of all aims, which is the good, in the same manner the good can\nin its turn be employed as the means of preserving the edifice. Thus,\nthe natural order has been rendered dependent upon the morality of our\nsouls, and we cannot go against the moral laws of the world without at\nthe same time provoking a perturbation in the physical world.\n\nIf, then, it is impossible to expect that human nature, as long as it is\nonly human nature, should act without interruption or feebleness,\nuniformly and constantly as pure reason, and that it never offend the\nlaws of moral order; if fully persuaded, as we are, both of the\nnecessity and the possibility of pure virtue, we are forced to avow how\nsubject to accident is the exercise of it, and how little we ought to\nreckon upon the steadfastness of our best principles; if with this\nconviction of human fragility we bear in mind that each of the\ninfractions of the moral law attacks the edifice of nature, if we recall\nall these considerations to our memory, it would be assuredly the most\ncriminal boldness to place the interests of the entire world at the\nmercy of the uncertainty of our virtue. Let us rather draw from it the\nfollowing conclusion, that it is for us an obligation to satisfy at the\nvery least the physical order by the object of our acts, even when we do\nnot satisfy the exigencies of the moral order by the form of these acts;\nto pay, at least, as perfect instruments the aims of nature, that which\nwe owe as imperfect persons to reason, in order not to appear shamefaced\nbefore both tribunals. For if we refused to make any effort to conform\nour acts to it because simple legality is without moral merit, the order\nof the world might in the meanwhile be dissolved, and before we had\nsucceeded in establishing our principles all the links of society might\nbe broken No, the more our morality is subjected to chance, the more is\nit necessary to take measures in order to assure its legality; to\nneglect, either from levity or pride, this legality is a fault for which\nwe shall have to answer before morality. When a maniac believes himself\nthreatened with a fit of madness, he leaves no knife within reach of his\nhands, and he puts himself under constraint, in order to avoid\nresponsibility in a state of sanity for the crimes which his troubled\nbrain might lead him to commit. In a similar manner it is an obligation\nfor us to seek the salutary bonds which religion and the \u00e6sthetic laws\npresent to us, in order that during the crisis when our passion is\ndominant it shall not injure the physical order.\n\nIt is not unintentionally that I have placed religion and taste in one\nand the same class; the reason is that both one and the other have the\nmerit, similar in effect, although dissimilar in principle and in value,\nto take the place of virtue properly so called, and to assure legality\nwhere there is no possibility to hope for morality. Doubtless that would\nhold an incontestably higher rank in the order of pure spirits, as they\nwould need neither the attraction of the beautiful nor the perspective\nof eternal life, to conform on every occasion to the demands of reason;\nbut we know man is short-sighted, and his feebleness forces the most\nrigid moralist to temper in some degree the rigidity of his system in\npractice, although he will yield nothing in theory; it obliges him, in\norder to insure the welfare of the human race, which would be ill\nprotected by a virtue subjected to chance, to have further recourse to\ntwo strong anchors\u2014those of religion and taste.\n\n\n                            ON THE SUBLIME.\n\n\u201cMan is never obliged to say, _I must\u2014must_\u201d says the Jew Nathan[5] to\nthe dervish; and this expression is true in a wider sense than man might\nbe tempted to suppose. The will is the specific character of man, and\nreason itself is only the eternal rule of his will. All nature acts\nreasonably; all our prerogative is to act reasonably, with consciousness\nand with will. All other objects obey necessity; man is the being who\nwills.\n\nIt is exactly for this reason that there is nothing more inconsistent\nwith the dignity of man than to suffer violence, for violence effaces\nhim. He who does violence to us disputes nothing less than our humanity;\nhe who submits in a cowardly spirit to the violence abdicates his\nquality of man. But this pretension to remain absolutely free from all\nthat is violence seems to imply a being in possession of a force\nsufficiently great to keep off all other forces. But if this pretension\nis found in a being who, in the order of forces, cannot claim the first\nrank, the result is an unfortunate contradiction between his instinct\nand his power.\n\nMan is precisely in this case. Surrounded by numberless forces, which\nare all superior to him and hold sway over him, he aspires by his nature\nnot to have to suffer any injury at their hands. It is true that by his\nintelligence he adds artificially to his natural forces, and that up to\na certain point he actually succeeds in reigning physically over\neverything that is physical. The proverb says, \u201cthere is a remedy for\neverything except death;\u201d but this exception, if it is one in the\nstrictest acceptation of the term, would suffice to entirely ruin the\nvery idea of our nature. Never will man be the cause that wills, if\nthere is a case, _a single case_, in which, with or without his consent,\nhe is forced to what he does not wish. This single terrible exception,\nto be or to do what is necessary and not what he wishes, this idea will\npursue him as a phantom; and as we see in fact among the greater part of\nmen, it will give him up a prey to the blind terrors of imagination. His\nboasted liberty is nothing, if there is a single point where he is under\nconstraint and bound. It is education that must give back liberty to\nman, and help him to complete the whole idea of his nature. It ought,\ntherefore, to make him capable of making his will prevail, for, I repeat\nit, man is the being who wills.\n\nIt is possible to reach this end in two ways: either _really_, by\nopposing force to force, by commanding nature, as nature yourself; or by\nthe _idea_, issuing from nature, and by thus destroying in relation to\nself the very idea of violence. All that helps man really to hold sway\nover nature is what is styled physical education. Man cultivates his\nunderstanding and develops his physical force, either to convert the\nforces of nature, according to their proper laws, into the instruments\nof his will, or to secure himself against their effects when he cannot\ndirect them. But the forces of nature can only be directed or turned\naside up to a certain point; beyond that point they withdraw from the\ninfluence of man and place him under theirs.\n\nThus beyond the point in question his freedom would be lost, were he\nonly susceptible of physical education. But he must be man in the full\nsense of the term, and consequently he must have nothing to endure, in\nany case, _contrary_ to his will. Accordingly, when he can no longer\noppose to the physical forces any proportional physical force, only one\nresource remains to him to avoid suffering any violence: that is, to\ncause to _cease entirely that relation_ which is so fatal to him. It is,\nin short, to _annihilate_ as an _idea_ the violence he is obliged to\nsuffer in fact. The education that fits man for this is called moral\neducation.\n\nThe man fashioned by moral education, and he only, is entirely free. He\nis either superior to nature as a power, or he is in harmony with her.\nNone of the actions that she brings to bear upon him is violence, for\nbefore reaching him it has become an _act of his own will_, and dynamic\nnature could never touch him, because he spontaneously keeps away from\nall to which she can reach. But to attain to this state of mind, which\nmorality designates as resignation to necessary things, and religion\nstyles absolute submission to the counsels of Providence, to reach this\nby an effort of his free will and with reflection, a certain clearness\nis required in thought, and a certain energy in the will, superior to\nwhat man commonly possesses in active life. Happily for him, man finds\nhere not only in his rational nature a moral aptitude that can be\ndeveloped by the understanding, but also in his reasonable and sensible\nnature\u2014that is, in his human nature\u2014an _\u00e6sthetic_ tendency which seems\nto have been placed there expressly: a faculty awakens of itself in the\npresence of certain sensuous objects, and which, after our feelings are\npurified, can be cultivated to such a point as to become a powerful\nideal development. This aptitude, I grant, is _idealistic_ in its\nprinciple and in its essence, but one which even the realist allows to\nbe seen clearly enough in his conduct, though he does not acknowledge\nthis in theory. I am now about to discuss this faculty.\n\nI admit that the sense of the beautiful, when it is developed by\nculture, suffices of itself even to make us, in a certain sense,\nindependent of nature as far as it is a force. A mind that has ennobled\nitself sufficiently to be more sensible of the form than of the matter\nof things, contains in itself a plenitude of existence that nothing\ncould make it lose, especially as it does not trouble itself about the\npossession of the things in question, and finds a very liberal pleasure\nin the mere contemplation of the phenomenon. As this mind has no want to\nappropriate the objects in the midst of which it lives, it has no fear\nof being deprived of them. But it is nevertheless necessary that these\nphenomena should have a body, through which they manifest themselves;\nand, consequently, as long as we feel the want even only of finding a\nbeautiful appearance or a beautiful phenomenon, this want implies that\nof the existence of certain objects; and it follows that our\nsatisfaction still depends on nature, considered as a force, because it\nis nature who disposes of all existence in a sovereign manner. It is a\ndifferent thing, in fact, to feel in yourself the want of objects\nendowed with beauty and goodness, or simply to require that the objects\nwhich surround us are good and beautiful. This last desire is compatible\nwith the most perfect freedom of the soul; but it is not so with the\nother. We are entitled to require that the object before us should be\nbeautiful and good, but we can only wish that the beautiful and the good\nshould be realized objectively before us. Now the disposition of mind\nis, _par excellence_, called grand and sublime, in which no attention is\ngiven to the question of knowing if the beautiful, the good, and the\nperfect exist; but when it is rigorously required that that which exists\nshould be good, beautiful and perfect, this character of mind is called\nsublime, because it contains in it positively all the characteristics of\na fine mind without sharing its negative features.\n\nA sign by which beautiful and good minds, but having weaknesses, are\nrecognized, is the aspiring always to find their moral ideal realized in\nthe world of facts, and their being painfully affected by all that\nplaces an obstacle to it. A mind thus constituted is reduced to a sad\nstate of dependence in relation to chance, and it may always be\npredicted of it, without fear of deception, that it will give too large\na share to the matter in moral and \u00e6sthetical things, and that it will\nnot sustain the more critical trials of character and taste. Moral\nimperfections ought not to be to us a cause of _suffering_ and of pain:\nsuffering and pain bespeak rather an ungratified wish than an\nunsatisfied moral want. An unsatisfied moral want ought to be\naccompanied by a more manly feeling, and fortify our mind and confirm it\nin its energy rather than make us unhappy and pusillanimous.\n\nNature has given to us two genii as companions in our life in this lower\nworld. The one, amiable and of good companionship, shortens the troubles\nof the journey by the gayety of its plays. It makes the chains of\nnecessity light to us, and leads us amidst joy and laughter, to the most\nperilous spots, where we must act as pure spirits and strip ourselves of\nall that is body, on the knowledge of the true and the practice of duty.\nOnce when we are there, it abandons us, for its realm is limited to the\nworld of sense; its earthly wings could not carry it beyond. But at this\nmoment the other companion steps upon the stage, silent and grave, and\nwith his powerful arm carries us beyond the precipice that made us\ngiddy.\n\nIn the former of these genii we recognize the feeling of the beautiful,\nin the other the feeling of the sublime. No doubt the beautiful itself\nis already an expression of liberty. This liberty is not the kind that\nraises us above the power of nature, and that sets us free from all\nbodily influence, but it is only the liberty which we enjoy as men,\nwithout issuing from the limits of nature. In the presence of beauty we\nfeel ourselves free, because the sensuous instincts are in harmony with\nthe laws of reason. In presence of the sublime we feel ourselves\nsublime, because the sensuous instincts have no influence over the\njurisdiction of reason, because it is then the pure spirit that acts in\nus as if it were not absolutely subject to any other laws than its own.\n\nThe feeling of the sublime is a mixed feeling. It is at once a _painful\nstate_, which in its paroxysm is manifested by a kind of shudder, and a\n_joyous state_, that may rise to rapture, and which, without being\nproperty a pleasure, is greatly preferred to every kind of pleasure by\ndelicate souls. This union of two contrary sensations in one and the\nsame feeling proves in a peremptory manner our moral independence. For\nas it is absolutely impossible that the same object should be with us in\ntwo opposite relations, it follows that it is we _ourselves_ who sustain\ntwo different relations with the object. It follows that these two\nopposed natures should be united in us, which, on the idea of this\nobject, are brought into play in two perfectly opposite ways. Thus we\nexperience by the feeling of the beautiful that the state of our\nspiritual nature is not necessarily determined by the state of our\nsensuous nature; that the laws of nature are not necessarily our laws;\nand that there is in us an autonomous principle independent of all\nsensuous impressions.\n\nThe sublime object may be considered in two lights. We either represent\nit to our _comprehension_, and we try in vain to make an image or idea\nof it, or we refer it to our _vital force_, and we consider it as a\npower before which ours is nothing. But though in both cases we\nexperience in connection with this object the painful feeling of _our\nlimits_, yet we do not seek to avoid it; on the contrary we are\nattracted to it by an irresistible force. Could this be the case if the\nlimits of our imagination were at the same time those of our\ncomprehension? Should we be willingly called back to the feeling of the\nomnipotence of the forces of nature if we had not in us something that\ncannot be a prey of these forces. We are pleased with the spectacle of\nthe sensuous infinite, because we are able to attain by thought what the\nsenses can no longer embrace and what the understanding cannot grasp.\nThe sight of a terrible object transports us with enthusiasm, because we\nare capable of willing what the instincts reject with horror, and of\nrejecting what they desire. We willingly allow our imagination to find\nsomething in the world of phenomena that passes beyond it; because,\nafter all, it is only one sensuous force that triumphs over another\nsensuous force, but nature, notwithstanding all her infinity, cannot\nattain to the absolute grandeur which is in ourselves. We submit\nwillingly to physical necessity both our well-being and our existence.\nThis is because the very power reminds us that there are in us\nprinciples that escape its empire. Man is in the hands of nature, but\nthe will of man is in his own hands.\n\nNature herself has actually used a sensuous means to teach us that we\nare something more than mere sensuous natures. She has even known how to\nmake use of our sensations to put us on the track of this discovery\u2014that\nwe are by no means subject as slaves to the violence of the sensations.\nAnd this is quite a different effect from that which can be produced by\nthe beautiful; I mean the beautiful of the _real_ world, for the sublime\nitself is surpassed by the _ideal_. In the presence of beauty, reason\nand sense are in harmony, and it is only on account of this harmony that\nthe beautiful has attraction for us. Consequently, beauty alone could\nnever teach us that our destination is to act as pure intelligences, and\nthat we are capable of showing ourselves such. In the presence of the\nsublime, on the contrary, reason and the sensuous are not in harmony,\nand it is precisely this contradiction between the two which makes the\ncharm of the sublime,\u2014its irresistible action on our minds. Here the\nphysical man and the moral man separate in the most marked manner; for\nit is exactly in the presence of objects that make us feel at once how\nlimited the former is that the other makes the experience of its force.\nThe very thing that lowers one to the earth is precisely that which\nraises the other to the infinite.\n\nLet us imagine a man endowed with all the virtues of which the union\nconstitutes a _fine_ character. Let us suppose a man who finds his\ndelight in practising justice, beneficence, moderation, constant, and\ngood faith. All the duties whose accomplishment is prescribed to him by\ncircumstances are only a play to him, and I admit that fortune favors\nhim in such wise that none of the actions which his good heart may\ndemand of him will be hard to him. Who would not be charmed with such a\ndelightful harmony between the instincts of nature and the prescriptions\nof reason? and who could help admiring such a man? Nevertheless, though\nhe may inspire us with affection, are we quite sure that he is really\nvirtuous? or in general that he has anything that corresponds to the\nidea of virtue? If this man had only in view to obtain agreeable\nsensations, unless he were mad he could not act in another possible way;\nand he would have to be his own enemy to wish to be vicious. Perhaps the\nprinciple of his actions is pure, but this is a question to be discussed\nbetween himself and his conscience. For _our_ part, we see nothing of\nit; we do not see him do anything more than a simply clever man would do\nwho had no other god than pleasure. Thus all his virtue is a phenomenon\nthat is explained by reasons derived from the sensuous order, and we are\nby no means driven to seek for reasons beyond the world of sense.\n\nLet us suppose that this same man falls suddenly under misfortune. He is\ndeprived of his possessions: his reputation is destroyed; he is chained\nto his bed by sickness and suffering; he is robbed by death of all those\nhe loves; he is forsaken in his distress by all in whom he had trusted.\nLet us under these circumstances again seek him, and demand the practice\nof the same virtues under trial as he formerly had practised during the\nperiod of his prosperity. If he is found to be absolutely the same as\nbefore, if his poverty has not deteriorated his benevolence, or\ningratitude his kindly offices of good will, or bodily suffering his\nequanimity, or adversity his joy in the happiness of others; if his\nchange of fortune is perceptible in externals, but not in his habits, in\nthe matter, but not in the form of his conduct; then, doubtless, his\nvirtue could not be explained by any reason drawn from the physical\norder; _the idea of nature_\u2014which always necessarily supposes that\nactual phenomena rest upon some anterior phenomenon, as effects upon\ncause\u2014this idea no longer suffices to enable us to comprehend this man;\nbecause there is nothing more contradictory than to admit that effect\ncan remain the same when the cause has changed to its contrary. We must\nthen give up all natural explanation or thought of finding the reason of\nhis acts in his condition; we must of necessity go beyond the physical\norder, and seek the principle of his conduct in quite another world, to\nwhich the reason can indeed raise itself with its ideas, but which the\nunderstanding cannot grasp by its conceptions. It is this revelation of\nthe absolute moral power which is subjected to no condition of nature,\nit is this which gives to the melancholy feeling that seizes our heart\nat the sight of such a man that peculiar, inexpressible charm, which no\ndelight of the senses, however refined, could arouse in us to the same\nextent as the sublime.\n\nThus the sublime opens to us a road to overstep the limits of the world\nof sense, in which the feeling of the beautiful would forever imprison\nus. It is not little by little (for between absolute dependence and\nabsolute liberty there is no possible transition), it is suddenly and by\na shock that the sublime wrenches our spiritual and independent nature\naway from the net which feeling has spun round us, and which enchains\nthe soul the more tightly because of its subtle texture. Whatever may be\nthe extent to which feeling has gained a mastery over men by the latent\ninfluence of a softening taste, when even it should have succeeded in\npenetrating into the most secret recesses of moral jurisdiction under\nthe deceptive envelope of spiritual beauty, and there poisoning the\nholiness of principle at its source\u2014one single sublime emotion often\nsuffices to break all this tissue of imposture, at one blow to give\nfreedom to the fettered elasticity of spiritual nature, to reveal its\ntrue destination, and to oblige it to conceive, for one instant at\nleast, the feeling of its liberty. Beauty, under the shape of the divine\nCalypso, bewitched the virtuous son of Ulysses, and the power of her\ncharms held him long a prisoner in her island. For long he believed he\nwas obeying an immortal divinity, whilst he was only the slave of sense;\nbut suddenly an impression of the sublime in the form of Mentor seizes\nhim; he remembers that he is called to a higher destiny\u2014he throws\nhimself into the waves, and is free.\n\nThe sublime, like the beautiful, is spread profusely throughout nature,\nand the faculty to feel both one and the other has been given to all\nmen; but the germ does not develop equally; it is necessary that art\nshould lend its aid. The aim of nature supposes already that we ought\nspontaneously to advance towards the beautiful, although we still avoid\nthe sublime: for the beautiful is like the nurse of our childhood, and\nit is for her to refine our soul in withdrawing it from the rude state\nof nature. But though she is our first affection, and our faculty of\nfeeling is first developed for her, nature has so provided,\nnevertheless, that this faculty ripens slowly and awaits its full\ndevelopment until the understanding and the heart are formed. If taste\nattains its full maturity before truth and morality have been\nestablished in our heart by a better road than that which taste would\ntake, the sensuous world would remain the limit of our aspirations. We\nshould not know, either in our ideas or in our feelings, how to pass\nbeyond the world of sense, and all that imagination failed to represent\nwould be without reality to us. But happily it enters into the plan of\nnature, that taste, although it first comes into bloom, is the last to\nripen of all the faculties of the mind. During this interval, man has\ntime to store up in his mind a provision of ideas, a treasure of\nprinciples in his heart, and then to develop especially, in drawing from\nreason, his feeling for the great and the sublime.\n\nAs long as man was only the slave of physical necessity, while he had\nfound no issue to escape from the narrow circle of his appetites, and\nwhile he as yet felt none of that superior liberty which connects him\nwith the _angels_, nature, so far as she is _incomprehensible_, could\nnot fail to impress him with the insufficiency of his imagination, and\nagain, as far as she is a destructive force, to recall his physical\npowerlessness. He is forced then to pass timidly towards one, and to\nturn away with affright from the other. But scarcely has free\ncontemplation assured him against the blind oppression of the forces of\nnature\u2014scarcely has he recognized amidst the tide of phenomena something\npermanent in his own being\u2014than at once the coarse agglomeration of\nnature that surrounds him begins to speak in another language to his\nheart, and the relative grandeur which is without becomes for him a\nmirror in which he contemplates the absolute greatness which is within\nhimself. He approaches without fear, and with a thrill of pleasure,\nthose pictures which terrified his imagination, and intentionally makes\nan appeal to the whole strength of that faculty by which we represent\nthe infinite perceived by the senses, in order if she fails in this\nattempt, to feel all the more vividly how much these ideas are superior\nto all that the highest sensuous faculty can give. The sight of a\ndistant infinity\u2014of heights beyond vision, this vast ocean which is at\nhis feet, that other ocean still more vast which stretches above his\nhead, transport and ravish his mind beyond the narrow circle of the\nreal, beyond this narrow and oppressive prison of physical life. The\nsimple majesty of nature offers him a less circumscribed measure for\nestimating its grandeur, and, surrounded by the grand outlines which it\npresents to him, he can no longer bear anything mean in his way of\nthinking. Who can tell how many luminous ideas, how many heroic\nresolutions, which would never have been conceived in the dark study of\nthe imprisoned man of science, nor in the saloons where the people of\nsociety elbow each other, have been inspired on a sudden during a walk,\nonly by the contact and the generous struggle of the soul with the great\nspirit of nature? Who knows if it is not owing to a less frequent\nintercourse with this sublime spirit that we must partially attribute\nthe narrowness of mind so common to the dwellers in towns, always bent\nunder the minuti\u00e6 which dwarf and wither their soul, whilst the soul of\nthe nomad remains open and free as the firmament beneath which he\npitches his tent?\n\nBut it is not only the unimaginable or the sublime in quantity, it is\nalso the incomprehensible, that which escapes the understanding and that\nwhich _troubles_ it, which can serve to give us an idea of the\nsuper-sensuous infinity. As soon as this element attains the grandiose\nand announces itself to us as the work of nature (for otherwise it is\nonly despicable), it then aids the soul to represent to itself the\nideal, and imprints upon it a noble development. Who does not love the\neloquent disorder of natural scenery to the insipid regularity of a\nFrench garden? Who does not admire in the plains of Sicily the\nmarvellous combat of nature with herself\u2014of her creative force and her\ndestructive power? Who does not prefer to feast his eyes upon the wild\nstreams and waterfalls of Scotland, upon its misty mountains, upon that\nromantic nature from which Ossian drew his inspiration\u2014rather than to\ngrow enthusiastic in this stiff Holland, before the laborious triumph of\npatience over the most stubborn of elements? No one will deny that in\nthe rich grazing-grounds of Holland, things are not better ordered for\nthe wants of physical man than upon the perfid crater of Vesuvius, and\nthat the understanding which likes to comprehend and arrange all things,\ndoes not find its requirements rather in the regularly planted\nfarm-garden than in the uncultivated beauty of natural scenery. But man\nhas requirements which go beyond those of natural life and comfort or\nwell-being; he has another destiny than merely to comprehend the\nphenomena which surround him.\n\nIn the same manner as for the observant traveller, the strange wildness\nof nature is so attractive in physical nature\u2014thus, and for the same\nreason, every soul capable of enthusiasm finds even in the regretable\nanarchy found in the moral world a source of singular pleasure. Without\ndoubt he who sees the grand economy of nature only from the impoverished\nlight of the understanding; he who has never any other thought than to\nreform its defiant disorder and to substitute harmony, such a one could\nnot find pleasure in a world which seems given up to the caprice of\nchance rather than governed according to a wise ordination, and where\nmerit and fortune are for the most part in opposition. He desires that\nthe whole world throughout its vast space should be ruled like a house\nwell regulated; and when this much-desired regularity is not found, he\nhas no other resource than to defer to a future life, and to another and\nbetter nature, the satisfaction which is his due, but which neither the\npresent nor the past afford him. On the contrary, he renounces willingly\nthe pretension of restoring this chaos of phenomena to one single\nnotion; he regains on another side, and with interest, what he loses on\nthis side. Just this want of connection, this anarchy, in the phenomena,\nmaking them useless to the understanding, is what makes them valuable to\nreason. The more they are disorderly the more they represent the freedom\nof nature. In a sense, if you suppress all connection, you have\nindependence. Thus, under the idea of liberty, reason brings back to\n_unity of thought_ that which the understanding could not bring to unity\nof notion. It thus shows its superiority over the understanding, as a\nfaculty subject to the conditions of a sensuous order. When we consider\nof what value it is to a rational being to be independent of natural\nlaws, we see how much man finds in the liberty of sublime objects as a\nset-off against the checks of his cognitive faculty. Liberty, with all\nits drawbacks, is everywhere vastly more attractive to a noble soul than\ngood social order without it\u2014than society like a flock of sheep, or a\nmachine working like a watch. This mechanism makes of man only a\nproduct; liberty makes him the citizen of a better world.\n\nIt is only thus viewed that history is sublime to me. The world, as a\nhistoric object, is only the strife of natural forces; with one another\nand with man\u2019s freedom. History registers more actions referable to\nnature than to free will; it is only in a few cases, like Cato and\nPhocion, that reason has made its power felt. If we expect a treasury of\nknowledge in history how we are deceived! All attempts of philosophy to\nreconcile what the moral world demands with what the real world gives is\nbelied by experience, and nature seems as illogical in history as she is\nlogical in the organic kingdoms.\n\nBut if we give up explanation it is different. Nature, in being\ncapricious and defying logic, in pulling down great and little, in\ncrushing the noblest works of man, taking centuries to form\u2014nature, by\ndeviating from intellectual laws, proves that you cannot explain nature\nby nature\u2019s laws _themselves_, and this sight drives the mind to the\nworld of ideas, to the absolute.\n\nBut though nature as a sensuous activity drives us to the ideal, it\nthrows us still more into the world of ideas by the terrible. Our\nhighest aspiration is to be in good relations with physical nature,\nwithout violating morality. But it is not always convenient to serve two\nmasters; and though duty and the appetites should never be at strife,\nphysical necessity is peremptory, and nothing can save men from evil\ndestiny. Happy is he who learns to bear what he cannot change! There are\ncases where fate overpowers all ramparts, and where the only resistance\nis, like a pure spirit, to throw freely off all interest of sense, and\nstrip yourself of your body. Now this force comes from sublime emotions,\nand a frequent commerce with destructive nature. Pathos is a sort of\nartificial misfortune, and brings us to the spiritual law that commands\nour soul. Real misfortune does not always choose its time opportunely,\nwhile pathos finds us armed at all points. By frequently renewing this\nexercise of its own activity the mind controls the sensuous, so that\nwhen real misfortune comes, it can treat it as an artificial suffering,\nand make it a sublime emotion. Thus pathos takes away some of the\nmalignity of destiny, and wards off its blows.\n\nAway then with that false theory which supposes falsely a harmony\nbinding well-being and well doing. Let evil destiny show its face. Our\nsafety is not in blindness, but in facing our dangers. What can do so\nbetter than familiarity with the splendid and terrible evolution of\nevents, or than pictures showing man in conflict with chance; evil\ntriumphant, security deceived\u2014pictures shown us throughout history, and\nplaced before us by tragedy? Whoever passes in review the terrible fate\nof Mithridates, of Syracuse, and Carthage, cannot help keeping his\nappetite in check, at least for a time, and, seeing the vanity of\nthings, strive after that which is permanent. The capacity of the\nsublime is one of the noblest aptitudes of man. Beauty is useful, but\ndoes not go beyond man. The sublime applies to the pure spirit. The\nsublime must be joined to the beautiful to complete the _\u00e6sthetic\neducation_, and to enlarge man\u2019s heart beyond the sensuous world.\n\nWithout the beautiful there would be an eternal strife between our\nnatural and rational destiny. If we only thought of our vocation as\nspirits we should be strangers to this sphere of life. Without the\nsublime, beauty would make us forget our dignity. Enervated\u2014wedded to\nthis transient state, we should lose sight of our true country. We are\nonly perfect citizens of nature when the sublime is wedded to the\nbeautiful.\n\nMany things in nature offer man the beautiful and sublime. But here\nagain he is better served at second-hand. He prefers to have them\nready-made in art rather than seek them painfully in nature. This\ninstinct for imitation in art has the advantage of being able to make\nthose points essential that nature has made secondary. While nature\n_suffers_ violence in the organic world, or exercises violence, working\nwith power upon man, though she can only be \u00e6sthetical as an object of\npure contemplation, art, plastic art, is fully free, because it throws\noff all accidental restrictions and leaves the mind free, because it\nimitates the appearance, not the reality of objects. As all sublimity\nand beauty consists in the appearance, and not in the value of the\nobject, it follows that art has all the advantages of nature without her\nshackles.\n\n\n                             THE PATHETIC.\n\nThe depicting of suffering, in the shape of simple suffering, is never\nthe end of art, but it is of the greatest importance as a means of\nattaining its end. The highest aim of art is to represent the\nsuper-sensuous, and this is effected in particular by tragic art,\nbecause it represents by sensible marks the moral man, maintaining\nhimself in a state of passion, independently of the laws of nature. The\nprinciple of freedom in man becomes conscious of itself only by the\nresistance it offers to the violence of the feelings. Now the resistance\ncan only be measured by the strength of the attack. In order, therefore,\nthat the intelligence may reveal itself in man as a force independent of\nnature, it is necessary that nature should have first displayed all her\npower before our eyes. The _sensuous_ being must be profoundly and\nstrongly _affected, passion_ must be in play, that the _reasonable_\nbeing may be able to testify his independence and manifest himself in\n_action_.\n\nIt is impossible to know if the empire which man has over his affections\nis the effect of a moral force, till we have acquired the certainty that\nit is not an effect of insensibility There is no merit in mastering the\nfeelings which only lightly and transitorily skim over the surface of\nthe soul. But to resist a tempest which stirs up the whole of sensuous\nnature, and to preserve in it the freedom of the soul, a faculty of\nresistance is required infinitely superior to the act of natural force.\nAccordingly it will not be possible to represent moral freedom, except\nby expressing passion, or suffering nature, with the greatest vividness;\nand the hero of tragedy must first have justified his claim to be a\nsensuous being before aspiring to our homage as a reasonable being, and\nmaking us believe in his strength of mind.\n\nTherefore the _pathetic_ is the first condition required most strictly\nin a tragic author, and he is allowed to carry his description of\nsuffering as far as possible, without prejudice to the _highest end of\nhis art_, that is, without moral freedom being oppressed by it. He must\ngive in some sort to his hero, as to his reader, their full _load_ of\nsuffering, without which the question will always be put whether the\nresistance opposed to suffering is an act of the soul, something\n_positive_, or whether it is not rather a purely _negative_ thing, a\nsimple deficiency.\n\nThe latter case is offered in the purer French tragedy, where it is very\nrare, or perhaps unexampled, for the author to place before the reader\nsuffering nature, and where generally, on the contrary, it is only the\npoet who warms up and declaims, or the comedian who struts about on\nstilts. The icy tone of declamation extinguishes all nature here, and\nthe French tragedians, with their superstitious worship of _decorum_,\nmake it quite impossible for them to paint human nature truly. Decorum,\nwherever it is, even in its proper place, always falsifies the\nexpression of nature, and yet this expression is rigorously required by\nart. In a French tragedy, it is difficult for us to believe that the\nhero ever suffers, for he explains the state of his soul, as the coolest\nman would do, and always thinking of the effect he is making on others,\nhe never lets nature pour forth freely. The kings, the princesses, and\nthe heroes of Corneille or Voltaire never forget their _rank_ even in\nthe most violent excess of passion; and they part with their _humanity_\nmuch sooner than with their _dignity_. They are like those kings and\nemperors of our old picturebooks, who go to bed with their crowns on.\n\nWhat a difference from the Greeks and those of the moderns who have been\ninspired with their spirit, in poetry! Never does the Greek poet blush\nat nature; he leaves to the sensuous all its rights, and yet he is quite\ncertain never to be subdued by it. He has too much depth and too much\nrectitude in his mind not to distinguish the accidental, which is the\nprincipal point with false taste, from the really necessary; but all\nthat is not humanity itself is accidental in man. The Greek artist who\nhas to represent a Laocoon, a Niobe, and a Philoctetes, does not care\nfor the king, the princess, or the king\u2019s son; he keeps to the _man_.\nAccordingly the skilful statuary sets aside the drapery, and shows us\nnude figures, though he knows quite well it is not so in real life. This\nis because drapery is to him an accidental thing, and because the\nnecessary ought never to be sacrificed to the accidental. It is also\nbecause, if decency and physical necessities have their laws, these laws\nare not those of art. The statuary ought to show us, and wishes to show\nus, the _man_ himself; drapery conceals him, therefore he sets that\naside, and with reason.\n\nThe Greek sculptor rejects drapery as a useless and embarrassing load,\nto make way for _human nature_; and in like manner the Greek poet\nemancipates the human personages he brings forward from the equally\nuseless constraint of decorum, and all those icy laws of propriety,\nwhich put nothing but what is artificial in man, and conceal nature in\nit. Take Homer and the tragedians; suffering nature speaks the language\nof truth and ingenuousness in their pages, and in a way to penetrate to\nthe depths of our hearts. All the passions play their part freely, nor\ndo the rules of propriety compress any feeling with the Greeks. The\nheroes are just as much under the influence of suffering as other men,\nand what makes them heroes is the very fact that they feel suffering\nstrongly and deeply, without suffering overcoming them. They love life\nas ardently as others; but they are not so ruled by this feeling as to\nbe unable to give up life when the duties of honor or humanity call on\nthem to do so. Philoctetes filled the Greek stage with his lamentations;\nHercules himself, when in fury, does not keep under his grief.\nIphigenia, on the point of being sacrificed, confesses with a touching\ningenuousness that she grieves to part with the light of the sun. Never\ndoes the Greek place his glory in being insensible or indifferent to\nsuffering, but rather in _supporting_ it, though feeling it in its\nfulness. The very gods of the Greeks must pay their tribute to nature,\nwhen the poet wishes to make them approximate to humanity. Mars, when\nwounded, roars like ten thousand men together, and Venus, scratched by\nan iron lance, mounts again to Olympus, weeping, and cursing all\nbattles.\n\nThis lively susceptibility on the score of suffering, this warm,\ningenuous nature, showing itself uncovered and in all truth in the\nmonuments of Greek art, and filling us with such deep and lively\nemotions\u2014this is a model presented for the imitation of all artists; it\nis a law which Greek genius has laid down for the fine arts. It is\nalways and eternally nature which has the first rights over man; she\nought never to be fettered, because man, before being anything else, is\na sensuous creature. After the rights of nature come those of _reason_,\nbecause man is a rational, sensuous being, a moral person, and because\nit is a duty for this person not to let himself be ruled by nature, but\nto rule her. It is only after satisfaction has been given in the _first\nplace_ to _nature_, and after reason in the _second place_ has made its\nrights acknowledged, that it is permitted for decorum in the third place\nto make good its claims, to impose on man, in the expression of his\nmoral feelings and of his sensations, considerations towards society,\nand to show in it the social being, the civilized man. The first law of\nthe tragic art was to represent suffering nature. The second law is to\nrepresent the resistance of morality opposed to suffering.\n\nAffection, as affection, is an unimportant thing; and the portraiture of\naffection, considered, in itself, would be without \u00e6sthetic value; for,\nI repeat it, nothing that only interests sensuous nature is worthy of\nbeing represented by art. Thus not only the affections that do nothing\nbut enervate and soften man, but in general all affections, even those\nthat are exalted, ecstatic, whatever may be their nature, are beneath\nthe dignity of tragic art.\n\nThe soft emotions, only producing tenderness, are of the nature of the\n_agreeable_, with which the fine arts are not concerned. They only\ncaress the senses, while relaxing and creating languidness, and only\nrelate to external nature, not at all to the inner nature of man. A good\nnumber of our romances and of our tragedies, particularly those that\nbear the name of dramas\u2014a sort of compromise between tragedy and\ncomedy\u2014a good number also of those highly-appreciated family portraits,\nbelong to this class. The only effect of these works is to empty the\nlachrymal duct, and soothe the overflowing feelings; but the mind comes\nback from them empty, and the moral being, the noblest part of our\nnature, gathers no new strength whatever from them, \u201cIt is thus,\u201d says\nKant, \u201cthat many persons feel themselves _edified_ by a sermon that has\nnothing _edifying_ in it.\u201d It seems also that modern music only aims at\ninteresting the sensuous, and in this it flatters the taste of the day,\nwhich seeks to be agreeably tickled, but not to be startled, nor\nstrongly moved and elevated. Accordingly we see music prefer all that is\n_tender_; and whatever be the noise in a concert-room, silence is\nimmediately restored, and every one is all ears directly a sentimental\npassage is performed. Then an expression of sensibility common to\nanimalism shows itself commonly on all faces; the eyes are swimming with\nintoxication, the open mouth is all desire, a voluptuous trembling takes\nhold of the entire body, the breath is quick and full, in short, all the\nsymptoms of intoxication appear. This is an evident proof that the\nsenses swim in delight, but that the mind or the principle of freedom in\nman has become a prey to the violence of the sensuous impression. Real\ntaste, that of noble and manly minds, rejects all these emotions as\nunworthy of art, because they only please the _senses_, with which art\nhas nothing in common.\n\nBut, on the other hand, real taste excludes all extreme affections,\nwhich only put sensuousness to the _torture_, without giving the mind\nany compensation. These affections oppress moral liberty by _pain_, as\nthe others by voluptuousness; consequently they can excite aversion, and\nnot the emotion that would alone be worthy of art. Art ought to charm\nthe mind and give satisfaction to the feeling of moral freedom. This man\nwho is a prey to his pain is to me simply a tortured animate being, and\nnot a man tried by suffering. For a moral resistance to painful\naffections is already required of man\u2014a resistance which can alone allow\nthe principle of moral freedom, the intelligence, to make itself known\nin it.\n\nIf it is so, the poets and the artists are poor adepts in their art when\nthey seek to reach the pathetic only by the sensuous force of affection\nand by representing suffering in the most vivid manner. They forget that\nsuffering in itself can never be the last end of imitation, nor the\nimmediate source of the pleasure we experience in tragedy. The pathetic\nonly has \u00e6sthetic value in as far as it is sublime. Now, effects that\nonly allow us to infer a purely sensuous cause, and that are founded\nonly on the affection experienced by the faculty of sense, are never\nsublime, whatever energy they may display, for everything sublime\nproceeds _exclusively_ from the reason.\n\nI imply by passion the affections of pleasure as well as the painful\naffections, and to represent passion only, without coupling with it the\nexpression of the super-sensuous faculty which resists it, is to fall\ninto what is properly called _vulgarity_; and the opposite is called\n_nobility_. Vulgarity and nobility are two ideas which, wherever they\nare applied, have more or less relation with the super-sensuous share a\nman takes in a work. There is nothing noble but what has its source in\nthe reason; all that issues from sensuousness alone is _vulgar_ or\n_common_. We say of a man that he acts in a _vulgar_ manner when he is\nsatisfied with obeying the suggestions of his sensuous instinct; that he\nacts suitably when he only obeys his instinct in conformity with the\nlaws; that he acts _nobly_ when he obeys reason only, without having\nregard to his instincts. We say of a physiognomy that it is _common_\nwhen it does not show any trace of the spiritual man, the intelligence;\nwe say it has expression when it is the mind which has determined its\nfeatures: and that it is noble when a pure spirit has determined them.\nIf an architectural work is in question we qualify it as _common_ if it\naims at nothing but a physical end; we name it noble if, independently\nof all physical aim, we find in it at the same time the expression of a\nconception.\n\nAccordingly, I repeat it, correct taste disallows all painting of the\naffections, however energetic, which rests satisfied with expressing\nphysical suffering and the physical resistance opposed to it by the\nsubject, without making visible at the same time the superior principle\nof the nature of man, the presence of a super-sensuous faculty. It does\nthis in virtue of the principle developed farther back, namely, that it\nis not suffering in itself, but only the resistance opposed to\nsuffering, that is pathetic and deserving of being represented. It is\nfor this reason that all the absolutely extreme degrees of the\naffections are forbidden to the artist as well as to the poet. All of\nthese, in fact, oppress the force that resists from within: or rather,\nall betray of themselves, and without any necessity of other symptoms,\nthe oppression of this force, because no affection can reach this last\ndegree of intensity as long as the intelligence in man makes any\nresistance.\n\nThen another question presents itself. How is this principle of\nresistance, this super-sensuous force, manifested in the phenomenon of\nthe affections? Only in one way, by mastering or, more commonly, by\ncombating affection. I say _affection_, for sensuousness can also fight,\nbut this combat of sensuousness is not carried on with the affection,\nbut with the _cause_ that produces it; a contest which has no moral\ncharacter, but is all physical, the same combat that the earthworm,\ntrodden under foot, and the wounded bull engage in, without thereby\nexciting the pathetic. When suffering man seeks to give an expression to\nhis feelings, to remove his enemy, to shelter the suffering limb, he\ndoes all this in common with the animals, and instinct alone takes the\ninitiative here, without the will being applied to. Therefore, this is\nnot an act that emanates from the man himself, nor does it show him as\nan intelligence. Sensuous nature will always fight the enemy that makes\nit suffer, but it will never fight against itself.\n\nOn the other hand, the contest with affection is a contest with\nsensuousness, and consequently presupposes something that is distinct\nfrom sensuous nature. Man can defend himself with the help of common\nsense and his muscular strength against the object that makes him\nsuffer; against suffering itself he has no other arms than those of\nreason.\n\nThese ideas must present themselves to the eye in the portraiture of the\naffections, or be awakened by this portraiture in order that the\npathetic may exist. But it is impossible to represent ideas, in the\nproper sense of the word, and positively, as nothing corresponds to pure\nideas in the world of sense. But they can be always represented\nnegatively and in an indirect way if the sensuous phenomenon by which\nthey are manifested has some character of which you would seek in vain\nthe conditions in _physical nature_. All phenomena of which the ultimate\nprinciple cannot be derived from the world of sense are an indirect\nrepresentation of the upper-sensuous element.\n\nAnd how does one succeed in representing something that is above nature\nwithout having recourse to supernatural means? What can this phenomenon\nbe which is accomplished by natural forces\u2014otherwise it would not be a\nphenomenon\u2014and yet which cannot be derived from physical causes without\na contradiction? This is the problem; how can the artist solve it?\n\nIt must be remembered that the phenomena observable in a man in a state\nof passion are of two kinds. They are either phenomena connected simply\nwith animal nature, and which, therefore, only obey the physical law,\nwithout the will being able to master them, or the independent force in\nhim being able to exercise an immediate influence over them. It is the\ninstinct which immediately produces these phenomena, and they obey\nblindly the laws of instinct. To this kind belong, for example, the\norgans of the circulation of the blood, of respiration, and all the\nsurface of the skin. But, moreover, the other organs, and those subject\nto the will, do not always await the decision of the will; and often\ninstinct itself sets them immediately, in play, especially when the\nphysical state is threatened with pain or with danger. Thus, the\nmovements of my arm depend, it is true, on my will; but if I place my\nhand, without knowing it, on a burning body, the movement by which I\ndraw it back is certainly not a voluntary act, but a purely instinctive\nphenomenon. Nay more, speech is assuredly subject to the empire of the\nwill, and yet instinct can also dispose of this organ according to its\nwhim, and even of this and of the mind, without consulting beforehand\nthe will, directly a sharp pain, or even an energetic affection, takes\nus by surprise. Take the most impassible stoic and make him see suddenly\nsomething very wonderful, or a terrible and unexpected object. Fancy\nhim, for example, present when a man slips and falls to the bottom of an\nabyss. A shout, a resounding cry, and not only inarticulate, but a\ndistinct word will escape his lips, and nature will have acted in him\nbefore the will: a certain proof that there are in man phenomena which\ncannot be referred to his person as an intelligence, but only to his\ninstinct as a natural force.\n\nBut there is also in man a _second_ order of phenomena, which are\nsubject to the influence and empire of the will, or which may be\nconsidered at all events as being of such a kind that will might _always\nhave prevented_ them, consequently phenomena for which the _person_ and\nnot instinct is responsible. It is the office of instinct to watch with\na blind zeal over the interests of the senses; but it is the office of\nthe _person_ to hold instinct in proper bounds, out of respect for the\nmoral law. Instinct in itself does not hold account of any law; but the\nperson ought to watch that instinct may not infringe in any way on the\ndecrees of reason. It is therefore evident that it is not for instinct\nalone to determine unconditionally all the phenomena that take place in\nman in the state of affection, and that on the contrary the will of man\ncan place limits to instinct. When instinct only determines all\nphenomena in man, there is nothing more that can recall the _person_;\nthere is only a physical creature before you, and consequently an\nanimal; for every physical creature subject to the sway of instinct is\nnothing else. Therefore, if you wish to represent the person itself, you\nmust propose to yourself in man certain phenomena that have been\ndetermined in opposition to instinct, or at least that have not been\ndetermined by instinct. That they have not been determined by instinct\nis sufficient to refer them to a higher source, the moment we see that\ninstinct would no doubt have determined them in another way if its force\nhad not been broken by some obstacle.\n\nWe are now in a position to point out in what way the super-sensuous\nelement, the moral and independent force of man, his Ego in short, can\nbe represented in the phenomena of the affections. I understand that\nthis is possible if the parts which only obey physical nature, those\nwhere will either disposes nothing at all, or only under certain\ncircumstances, betray the presence of suffering; and if those, on the\ncontrary, that escape the blind sway of instinct, that only obey\nphysical nature, show no trace, or only a very feeble trace, of\nsuffering, and consequently appear to have a certain degree of freedom.\nNow this want of harmony between the features imprinted on animal nature\nin virtue of the laws of physical necessity, and those determined with\nthe spiritual and independent faculty of man, is precisely the point by\nwhich that super-sensuous principle is discovered in man capable of\nplacing limits to the effects produced by physical nature, and therefore\ndistinct from the latter. The purely animal part of man obeys the\nphysical law, and consequently may show itself oppressed by the\naffection. It is, therefore, in this part that all the strength of\npassion shows itself, and it answers in some degree as a measure to\nestimate the resistance\u2014that is to say, of the energy of the moral\nfaculty in man\u2014which can only be judged according to the force of the\nattack. Thus in proportion as the affection manifests itself with\ndecision and violence in the field of _animal nature_, without being\nable to exercise the same power in the field of _human nature_, so in\nproportion the latter makes itself manifestly known\u2014in the same\nproportion the moral independence of man shows itself gloriously: the\nportraiture becomes pathetic and the pathetic sublime.\n\nThe statues of the ancients make this principle of \u00e6sthetics sensible to\nus; but it is difficult to reduce to conceptions and express in words\nwhat the very inspection of ancient statues makes the senses feel in so\nlively a manner. The group of Laocoon and his children can give to a\ngreat extent the measure of what the plastic art of the ancients was\ncapable of producing in the matter of pathos. Winckelmann, in his\n\u201cHistory of Art,\u201d says: \u201cLaocoon is nature seized in the highest degree\nof suffering, under the features of a man who seeks to gather up against\npain all the strength of which the mind is conscious. Hence while his\nsuffering swells his muscles and stretches his nerves, the mind, armed\nwith an interior force shows itself on his contracted brow, and the\nbreast rises, because the breathing is broken, and because there is an\ninternal struggle to keep in the expression of pain, and press it back\ninto his heart. The sigh of anguish he wishes to keep in, his very\nbreath which he smothers, exhaust the lower part of his trunk, and works\ninto his flanks, which make us judge in some degree of the palpitations\nof his visceral organs. But his own suffering appears to occasion less\nanguish than the pain of his children, who turn their faces toward their\nfather, and implore him, crying for help. His father\u2019s heart shows\nitself in his eyes, full of sadness, and where pity seems to swim in a\ntroubled cloud. His face expresses lament, but he does not cry; his eyes\nare turned to heaven, and implore help from on high. His mouth also\nmarks a supreme sadness, which depresses the lower lip and seems to\nweigh upon it, while the upper lip, contracted from the top to the\nbottom, expresses at once both physical suffering and that of the soul.\nUnder the mouth there is an expression of indignation that seems to\nprotest against an undeserved suffering, and is revealed in the\nnostrils, which swell out and enlarge and draw upwards. Under the\nforehead, the struggle between pain and moral strength, united as it\nwere in a single point, is represented with great truth, for, while pain\ncontracts and raises the eyebrows, the effort opposed to it by the will\ndraws down towards the upper eyelid all the muscles above it, so that\nthe eyelid is almost covered by them. The artist, not being able to\nembellish nature, has sought at least to develop its means, to increase\nits effect and power. Where is the greatest amount of pain is also the\nhighest beauty. The left side, which the serpent besets with his furious\nbites, and where he instils his poison, is that which appears to suffer\nthe most intensely, because sensation is there nearest to the heart. The\nlegs strive to raise themselves as if to shun the evil; the whole body\nis nothing but movement, and even the traces of the chisel contribute to\nthe illusion; we seem to see the shuddering and icy-cold skin.\u201d\n\nHow great is the truth and acuteness of this analysis! In what a\nsuperior style is this struggle between spirit and the suffering of\nnature developed! How correctly the author has seized each of the\nphenomena in which the animal element and the human element manifest\nthemselves, the constraint of nature and the independence of reason! It\nis well known that Virgil has described this same scene in his \u201c\u00c6neid,\u201d\nbut it did not enter into the plan of the epic poet to pause as the\nsculptor did, and describe the moral nature of Laocoon; for this recital\nis in Virgil only an episode; and the object he proposes is sufficiently\nattained by the simple description of the physical phenomenon, without\nthe necessity on his part of looking into the soul of the unhappy\nsufferer, as his aim is less to inspire us with pity than to fill us\nwith terror. The duty of the poet from this point of view was purely\nnegative; I mean he had only to avoid carrying the picture of physical\nsuffering to such a degree that all expression of human dignity or of\nmoral resistance would cease, for if he had done this indignation and\ndisgust would certainly be felt. He, therefore, preferred to confine\nhimself to the representation of the _least_ of the suffering, and he\nfound it advisable to dwell at length on the formidable nature of the\ntwo serpents, and on the rage with which they attack their victims,\nrather than on the feelings of Laocoon. He only skims over those\nfeelings, because his first object was to represent a chastisement sent\nby the gods, and to produce an impression of terror that nothing could\ndiminish. If he had, on the contrary, detained our looks on the person\nof Laocoon himself with as much perseverance as the statuary, instead of\non the chastizing deity, the suffering man would have become the hero of\nthe scene, and the episode would have lost its propriety in connection\nwith the whole piece.\n\nThe narrative of Virgil is well known through the excellent commentary\nof Lessing. But Lessing only proposed to make evident by this example\nthe limits that separate partial description from painting, and not to\nmake the notion of the pathetic issue from it. Yet the passage of Virgil\ndoes not appear to me less valuable for this latter object, and I crave\npermission to bring it forward again under this point of view:\u2014\n\n     Ecce auterm gemini Tenedo tranquilla per alta\n     (Horresco referens) immensis orbibus angues\n     Incumbunt pelago, pariterque ad litora tendunt;\n     Pectora quorum inter fluctus arrecta jub\u00e6que\n     Sanguin\u00e6 exsuperant undas; pars c\u00e6tera pontum\n     Pone legit, sinuatque immensa volumine terga.\n     Fit sonitus spumante salo, jamque arva tenebant,\n     Ardentes oculos suffecti sanguine et igni,\n     Sibila lambebant linguis vibrantibus ora!\n                                             _\u00c6neid_, ii. 203\u2013211.\n\nWe find here realized the first of the three conditions of the sublime\nthat have been mentioned further back,\u2014a very powerful natural force,\narmed for destruction, and ridiculing all resistance. But that this\nstrong element may at the same time be _terrible_, and thereby\n_sublime_, two distinct operations of the mind are wanted; I mean two\nrepresentations that we produce in ourselves by our own activity.\n_First_, we recognize this irresistible natural force as terrible by\ncomparing it with the weakness of the faculty of resistance that the\nphysical man can oppose to it; and, _secondly_, it is by referring it to\nour will, and recalling to our consciousness that the will is absolutely\nindependent of all influence of physical nature, that this force becomes\nto us a sublime object. But it is _we ourselves_ who represent these two\nrelations; the poet has only given us an object armed with a great force\nseeking to manifest itself. If this object makes us _tremble_, it is\nonly because we in thought suppose ourselves, or some one like us,\nengaged with this force. And if trembling in this way, we experience the\nfeeling of the sublime, it is because our consciousness tells us that,\nif we are the victims of this force, we should have nothing to fear,\nfrom the freedom of our Ego, for the _autonomy_ of the determinations of\nour will. In short the description up to here is sublime, but quite a\ncontemplative, intuitive sublimity:\u2014\n\n              Diffugimus visu exsangues, illi agmine certo\n              Laocoonta petunt....\u2014_\u00c6neid_, ii. 212\u2013213.\n\nHere the force is presented to us as _terrible_ also; and contemplative\nsublimity passes into the pathetic. We see that force enter really into\nstrife with man\u2019s impotence. Whether it concerns Laocoon or ourselves is\nonly a question of degree. The instinct of sympathy excites and\nfrightens in us the instinct of preservation: there are the monsters,\nthey are darting\u2014on ourselves; there is no more safety, flight is vain.\n\nIt is no more in our power to measure this force with ours, and to refer\nit or not to our own existence. This happens without our co-operation,\nand is given us by the object itself. Accordingly our fear has not, as\nin the preceding moment, a purely subjective ground, residing in our\nsoul; it has an objective ground, residing in the object. For, even if\nwe recognize in this entire scene a simple fiction of the imagination,\nwe nevertheless distinguish in this fiction a conception communicated to\nus from without, from another conception that we produce spontaneously\nin ourselves.\n\nThus the mind loses a part of her freedom, inasmuch as she receives now\nfrom without that which she produced before her own activity. The idea\nof danger puts on an appearance of objective reality, and affection\nbecomes now a serious affair.\n\nIf we were only sensuous creatures, obeying no other instinct than that\nof self-preservation, we should stop here, and we should remain in a\nstate of mere and pure affection. But there is something in us which\ntakes no part in the affections of sensuous nature, and whose activity\nis not directed according to physical conditions. According, then, as\nthis independently acting principle (the disposition, the moral faculty)\nhas become to a degree developed in the soul, there is left more or less\nspace for passive nature, and there remains more or less of the\nindependent principle in the affection.\n\nIn the truly moral soul the terrible trial (of the imagination) passes\nquickly and readily into the sublime. In proportion as imagination loses\nits liberty, reason makes its own prevail, and the soul ceases not to\nenlarge within when it thus finds _outward_ limits. Driven from all the\nintrenchments which would give physical protection to sensuous\ncreatures, we seek refuge in the stronghold of our moral liberty, and we\narrive by that means at an absolute and unlimited safety, at the very\nmoment when we seem to be deprived in the world of phenomena of a\nrelative and precarious rampart. But precisely because it was necessary\nto have arrived at the physical oppression before having recourse to the\nassistance of our moral nature, we can only buy this high sentiment of\nour liberty through suffering. An ordinary soul confines itself entirely\nto this suffering, and never comprehends in the sublime or the pathetic\nanything beyond the terrible. An independent soul, on the contrary,\nprecisely seizes this occasion to rise to the feeling of his moral\nforce, in all that is most magnificent in this force, and from every\nterrible object knows how to draw out the sublime.\n\nThe moral man (the father[6]) is here attacked before the physical man,\nand that has a grand effect. All the affections become more \u00e6sthetic\nwhen we receive them second-hand; there is no stronger sympathy than\nthat we feel for sympathy. [7] The moment had arrived when the hero\nhimself had to be recommended to our respect as a moral personage, and\nthe poet seized upon that moment. We already know by his description all\nthe force, all the rage of the two monsters who menace Laocoon, and we\nknow how all resistance would be in vain. If Laocoon were only a common\nman he would better understand his own interests, and, like the rest of\nthe Trojans, he would find safety in rapid flight. But there is a heart\nin that breast; the danger to his children holds him back, and decides\nhim to meet his fate. This trait alone renders him worthy of our pity.\nAt whatever moment the serpents had assailed him, we should have always\nbeen touched and troubled. But because it happens just at the moment\nwhen as father he shows himself so worthy of respect, his fate appears\nto us as the result of having fulfilled his duty as parent, of his\ntender disquietude for his children. It is this which calls forth our\nsympathy in the highest degree. It appears, in fact, as if he\ndeliberately devoted himself to destruction, and his death becomes an\nact of the will.\n\nThus there are two conditions in every kind of the pathetic: 1st.\nSuffering, to interest our sensuous nature; 2d. Moral liberty, to\ninterest our spiritual nature. All portraiture in which the expression\nof suffering nature is wanting remains without \u00e6sthetic action, and our\nheart is untouched. All portraiture in which the expression of moral\naptitude is wanting, even did it possess all the sensuous force\npossible, could not attain to the pathetic, and would infallibly revolt\nour feelings. Throughout moral liberty we require the human being who\nsuffers; throughout all the sufferings of human nature we always desire\nto perceive the independent spirit, or the capacity for independence.\n\nBut the independence of the spiritual being in the state of suffering\ncan manifest itself in two ways. Either negatively, when the moral man\ndoes not receive the law from the physical man, and his state exercises\nno influence over his manner of feeling; or positively, when the moral\nman is a ruler over the physical being, and his manner of feeling\nexercises an influence upon his state. In the first case, it is the\nsublime of disposition; in the second, it is the sublime of action.\n\nThe sublime of disposition is seen in all character independent of the\naccidents of fate. \u201cA noble heart struggling against adversity,\u201d says\nSeneca, \u201cis a spectacle full of attraction even for the gods.\u201d Such for\nexample is that which the Roman Senate offered after the disaster of\nCann\u00e6. Lucifer even, in Milton, when for the first time he contemplates\nhell\u2014which is to be his future abode\u2014penetrates us with a sentiment of\nadmiration by the force of soul he displays:\u2014\n\n              \u201cHail, horrors, hail.\n              Infernal world, and thou, profoundest Hell;\n              Receive thy new possessor!\u2014one who brings\n              A mind not to be changed by place or time;\n              The mind is its own place, and in itself\n              Can make a Heaven of Hell....\n                                Here at least\n              We shall be free,\u201d &c.\n\nThe reply of Medea in the tragedy belongs also to this order of the\nsublime.\n\nThe sublime of disposition makes itself seen, it is visible to the\nspectator, because it rests upon co-existence, the simultaneous; the\nsublime action, on the contrary, is _conceived only by the thought_,\nbecause the impression and the act are successive, and the intervention\nof the mind is necessary to infer from a free determination the idea of\nprevious suffering.\n\nIt follows that the first alone can be expressed by the plastic arts,\nbecause these arts give but that which is simultaneous; but the poet can\nextend his domain over one and the other. Even more; when the plastic\nart has to represent a sublime action, it must necessarily bring it back\nto sublimity.\n\nIn order that the sublimity of action should take place, not only must\nthe suffering of man have no influence upon the moral constitution, but\nrather the opposite must be the case. The affection is the work of his\nmoral character. This can happen in two ways: either mediately, or\naccording to the law of liberty, when out of respect for such and such a\nduty it decides from free choice to suffer\u2014in this case, the idea of\nduty determines as a motive, and its suffering is a voluntary act\u2014or\nimmediately, and according to the necessity of nature, when he expiates\nby a moral suffering the violation of duty; in this second case, the\nidea of duty determines him as a _force_, and his suffering is no longer\nan _effect_. Regulus offers us an example of the first kind, when, to\nkeep his word, he gives himself up to the vengeance of the\nCarthaginians; and he would serve as an example of the second class, if,\nhaving betrayed his trust, the consciousness of this crime would have\nmade him miserable. In both cases suffering has a moral course, but with\nthis difference, that on the one part Regulus shows us its moral\ncharacter, and that, on the other, he only shows us that he was made to\nhave such a character. In the first case he is in our eyes a morally\ngreat person; in the second he is only \u00e6sthetically great.\n\nThis last distinction is important for the tragic art; it consequently\ndeserves to be examined more closely.\n\nMan is already a sublime object, but only in the \u00e6sthetic sense, when\nthe _state_ in which he is gives us an idea of his human destination,\neven though we might not find this destination realized in his _person_.\nHe only becomes sublime to us in a moral point of view, when he acts,\nmoreover, as a person, in a manner conformable with this destination; if\nour respect bears not only on his moral faculty, but on the use he makes\nof this faculty; if dignity, in his case, is due, not only to his moral\naptitude, but to the real morality of his conduct. It is quite a\ndifferent thing to direct our judgment and attention to the moral\nfaculty generally, and to the possibility of a will absolutely free, and\nto be directing it to the use of this faculty, and to the reality of\nthis absolute freedom of willing.\n\nIt is, I repeat, quite a different thing; and this difference is\nconnected not only with the objects to which we may have to direct our\njudgment, but to the very criterion of our judgment. The same object can\ndisplease us if we appreciate it in a moral point of view, and be very\nattractive to us in the \u00e6sthetical point of view. But even if the moral\njudgment and the \u00e6sthetical judgment were both satisfied, this object\nwould produce this effect on one and the other in quite a different way.\nIt is not morally satisfactory because it has an \u00e6sthetical value, nor\nhas it an \u00e6sthetical value because it satisfies us morally. Let us take,\nas example, Leonidas and his devotion at Thermopyl\u00e6. Judged from the\nmoral point of view, this action represents to me the moral law carried\nout notwithstanding all the repugnance of instinct. Judged from the\n\u00e6sthetic point of view, it gives me the idea of the moral faculty,\nindependent of every constraint of instinct. The act of Leonidas\n_satisfies_ the moral sense, the reason; it enraptures the \u00e6sthetical\nsense, the imagination.\n\nWhence comes this difference in the feelings in connection with the same\nobject? I account for it thus:\u2014\n\nIn the same way that our being consists of two principles and natures,\nso also and consequently our feelings are divided into two kinds,\nentirely different. As reasonable beings we experience a feeling of\napprobation or of disapprobation; as sensuous creatures we experience\npleasure or displeasure. The two feelings, approbation and pleasure,\nrepose on satisfaction: one on a satisfaction given to a requirement of\nreason\u2014reason has only requirements, and not wants. The other depends on\na satisfaction given to a sensuous want\u2014sense only knows of wants, and\ncannot prescribe anything. These two terms\u2014requirements of reason, wants\nof the senses\u2014are mutually related, as absolute necessity and the\nnecessity of nature. Accordingly, both are included in the idea of\nnecessity, but with this difference, that the necessity of reason is\nunconditional, and the necessity of sense only takes place under\nconditions. But, for both, satisfaction is a purely contingent thing.\nAccordingly every feeling, whether of pleasure or approbation, rests\ndefinitively on an agreement between the contingent and the necessary.\nIf the necessary has thus an imperative character, the feeling\nexperienced will be that of approbation. If necessity has the character\nof a want, the feeling experienced will be that of pleasure, and both\nwill be strong in proportion as the satisfaction will be contingent.\nNow, underlying every moral judgment there is a requirement of reason\nwhich requires us to act conformably with the moral law, and it is an\nabsolute necessity that we should wish what is good. But as the will is\nfree, it is physically an accidental thing that we should do in fact\nwhat is good. If we actually do it, this agreement between the\ncontingent in the use of free will and the imperative demand of reason\ngives rise to our assent or approbation, which will be greater in\nproportion as the resistance of the inclinations made this use that we\nmake of our free will more accidental and more doubtful. Every \u00e6sthetic\njudgment, on the contrary, refers the object to the necessity which\ncannot help willing imperatively, but only desires that there should be\nan agreement between the accidental and its own interest. Now what is\nthe interest of imagination? It is to emancipate itself from all laws,\nand to play its part freely. The obligation imposed on the will by the\nmoral law, which prescribes its object in the strictest manner, is by no\nmeans favorable to this need of independence. And as the moral\nobligation of the will is the object of the moral judgment, it is clear\nthat in this mode of judging, the imagination could not find its\ninterest. But a moral obligation imposed on the will cannot be\nconceived, except by supposing this same will absolutely independent of\nthe moral instincts and from their constraint. Accordingly the\n_possibility_ of the moral act requires liberty, and therefore agrees\nhere in the most perfect manner with the interest of imagination. But as\nimagination, through the medium of its wants, cannot give orders to the\nwill of the individual, as reason does by its imperative character, it\nfollows that the faculty of freedom, in relation to imagination, is\nsomething accidental, and consequently that the agreement between the\naccidental and the necessary (conditionally necessary) must excite\npleasure. Therefore, if we bring to bear a _moral_ judgment on this act\nof Leonidas, we shall consider it from a point of view where its\naccidental character strikes the eye less than its necessary side. If,\non the other hand, we apply the _\u00e6sthetical_ judgment to it, this is\nanother point of view, where its character of necessity strikes us less\nforcibly than its accidental character. It is a duty for every will to\nact thus, directly it is a free will; but the fact that there is a free\nwill that makes this act possible is a favor of nature in regard to this\nfaculty, to which freedom is a necessity. Thus an act of virtue judged\nby the moral sense\u2014by reason\u2014will give us as its only satisfaction the\nfeeling of approbation, because reason can never find _more_, and seldom\nfinds _as much_ as it requires. This same act, judged, on the contrary,\nby the \u00e6sthetic sense\u2014by imagination\u2014will give us a positive pleasure,\nbecause the imagination, never requiring the end to agree with the\ndemand, must be surprised, enraptured, at the real satisfaction of this\ndemand as at a happy chance. Our reason will merely approve, and only\napprove, of Leonidas actually taking this heroic resolution; but that he\n_could_ take this resolution is what delights and enraptures us.\n\nThis distinction between the two sorts of judgments becomes more evident\nstill, if we take an example where the moral sense and the \u00e6sthetic\nsense pronounce a different verdict. Suppose we take the act of\nPeregrinus Proteus burning himself at Olympia. Judging this act morally,\nI cannot give it my approbation, inasmuch as I see it determined by\nimpure motives, to which Proteus sacrifices the _duty_ of respecting his\nown existence. But in the \u00e6sthetic judgment this same act delights me;\nit delights me precisely because it testifies to a power of will capable\nof resisting even the most potent of _instincts_, that of\nself-preservation. Was it a moral feeling, or only a more powerful\nsensuous attraction, that silenced the instinct of self-preservation in\nthis enthusiast. It matters little, when I appreciate the act from an\n\u00e6sthetic point of view. I then drop the individual, I take away the\nrelation of his will to the law that ought to govern him; I think of\nhuman will in general, considered as a common faculty of the race, and I\nregard it in connection with all the forces of nature. We have seen that\nin a moral point of view, the preservation of our being seemed to us a\nduty, and therefore we were offended at seeing Proteus violate this\nduty. In an \u00e6sthetic point of view the self-preservation only appears as\nan interest, and therefore the sacrifice of this interest pleases us.\nThus the operation that we perform in the judgments of the second kind\nis precisely the inverse of that which we perform in those of the first.\nIn the former we oppose the individual, a sensuous and limited being,\nand his personal will, which can be effected pathologically, to the\nabsolute law of the will in general, and of unconditional duty which\nbinds every spiritual being; in the second case, on the contrary, we\noppose the _faculty_ of willing, absolute volition, and the spiritual\nforce as an infinite thing, to the solicitations of nature and the\nimpediments of sense. This is the reason why the \u00e6sthetical judgment\nleaves us free, and delights and enraptures us. It is because the mere\nconception of this faculty of willing in an absolute manner, the mere\nidea of this moral aptitude, gives us in itself a consciousness of a\nmanifest advantage over the sensuous. It is because the mere possibility\nof emancipating ourselves from the impediments of nature is in itself a\nsatisfaction that flatters our thirst for freedom. This is the reason\nwhy moral judgment, on the contrary, makes us experience a feeling of\nconstraint that humbles us. It is because in connection with each\nvoluntary act we appreciate in this manner, we feel, as regards the\nabsolute law that ought to rule the will in general, in a position of\ninferiority more or less decided, and because the constraint of the will\nthus limited to a single determination, which duty requires of it at all\ncosts, contradicts the instinct of freedom which is the property of\nimagination. In the former case we soared from the real to the possible,\nand from the individual to the species; in the latter, on the contrary,\nwe descend from the possible to the real, and we shut up the species in\nthe narrow limits of the individual. We cannot therefore be surprised if\nthe \u00e6sthetical judgment enlarges the heart, while the moral judgment\nconstrains and straitens it.\n\nIt results, therefore, from all that which precedes, that the moral\njudgment and the \u00e6sthetic, far from mutually corroborating each other,\nimpede and hinder each other, because they impress on the soul two\ndirections entirely opposite. In fact, this observance of rule which\nreason requires of us as moral judge is incompatible with the\nindependence which the imagination calls for as \u00e6sthetic judge. It\nfollows that an object will have so much the less \u00e6sthetic value the\nmore it has the character of a moral object, and if the poet were\nobliged notwithstanding that to choose it, he would do well in treating\nof it, not to call the attention of our reason to the rule of the will,\nbut that of our imagination to the power of the will. In his own\ninterest it is necessary for the poet to enter on this path, for with\nour liberty his empire finishes. We belong to him only inasmuch as we\nlook beyond ourselves; we escape from him the moment we re-enter into\nour innermost selves, and that is what infallibly takes place the moment\nan object ceases to be a phenomenon in our consideration, and takes the\ncharacter of a law which judges us.\n\nEven in the manifestation of the most sublime virtue, the poet can only\nemploy for his own views that which in those acts belongs to force. As\nto the direction of the force, he has no reason to be anxious. The poet,\neven when he places before our eyes the most perfect models of morality,\nhas not, and ought not to have, any other end than that of rejoicing our\nsoul by the contemplation of this spectacle. Moreover, nothing can\nrejoice our soul except that which improves our personality, and nothing\ncan give us a spiritual joy except that which elevates the spiritual\nfaculty. But in what way can the morality of another improve our own\npersonality, and raise our spiritual force? That this other one\naccomplishes really his duty results from an accidental use which he\nmakes of his liberty, and which for that very reason can prove nothing\nto us. We only have in common with him the faculty to conform ourselves\nequally to duty; the moral power which he exhibits reminds us also of\nour own, and that is why we then feel something which upraises our\nspiritual force. Thus it is only the idea of the possibility of an\nabsolutely free will which makes the real exercise of this will in us\ncharming to the \u00e6sthetic feeling.\n\nWe shall be still more convinced when we think how little the poetic\nforce of impression which is awakened in us by an act or a moral\ncharacter is dependent on their historic reality. The pleasure which we\ntake in considering an ideal character will in no way be lessened when\nwe come to think that this character is nothing more than a poetic\nfiction; for it is on the poetic truth, and not on historic truth, that\nevery \u00e6sthetic impression of the feelings rest. Moreover, poetic truth\ndoes not consist in that this or that thing has effectually taken place,\nbut in that it may have happened, that is to say, that the thing is in\nitself possible. Thus the \u00e6sthetic force is necessarily obliged to rest\nin the first place in the idea of possibility.\n\nEven in real subjects, for which the actors are borrowed from history,\nit is not the reality of the simple possibility of the fact, but that\nwhich is guaranteed to us by its very reality which constitutes the\npoetic element. That these personages have indeed existed, and that\nthese events have in truth taken place, is a circumstance which can, it\nis true, in many cases add to our pleasure, but that which it adds to it\nis like a foreign addition, much rather unfavorable than advantageous to\nthe poetical impression.\n\nIt was long thought that a great service was rendered to German poetry\nby recommending German poets to treat of national themes. Why, it was\nasked, did Greek poetry have so much power over the mind? Because it\nbrought forward national events and immortalized domestic exploits. No\ndoubt the poetry of the ancients may have been indebted to this\ncircumstance for certain effects of which modern poetry cannot boast;\nbut do these effects belong to art and the poet? It is small glory for\nthe Greek genius if it had only this accidental advantage over modern\ngenius; still more if it were necessary for the poets, in order to gain\nthis advantage, to obtain it by this conformity of their invention with\nreal history! It is only a barbarous taste that requires this stimulant\nof a national interest to be captivated by beautiful things; and it is\nonly a scribbler who borrows from matter a force to which he despairs of\ngiving a form.\n\nPoetry ought not to take its course through the frigid region of memory;\nit ought never to convert learning into its interpreter, nor private\ninterest its advocate with the popular mind. It ought to go straight to\nthe heart, because it has come from the heart; and aim at the man in the\ncitizen, not the citizen in the man.\n\nHappily, true genius does not make much account of all these counsels\nthat people are so anxious to give her with better intentions than\ncompetence. Otherwise, Sulzer and his school might have made German\npoetry adopt a very equivocal style. It is no doubt a very honorable aim\nin a poet to moralize the man, and excite the patriotism of the citizen,\nand the Muses know better than any one how well the arts of the sublime\nand of the beautiful are adapted to exercise this influence. But that\nwhich poetry obtains excellently by indirect means it would accomplish\nvery badly as an immediate end. Poetry is not made to serve in man for\nthe accomplishment of a particular matter, nor could any instrument be\nselected less fitted to cause a particular object to succeed, or to\ncarry out special projects and details. Poetry acts on the whole of\nhuman nature, and it is only by its general influence on the character\nof a man that it can influence particular acts. Poetry can be for man\nwhat love is for the hero. It can neither counsel him, nor strike for\nhim, nor do anything for him in short; but it can form a hero in him,\ncall him to great deeds, and arm him with a strength to be all that he\nought to be.\n\nThus the degree of \u00e6sthetical energy with which sublime feelings and\nsublime acts take possession of our souls, does not rest at all on the\ninterest of reason, which requires every action to be _really_\nconformable with the idea of good. But it rests on the interest of the\nimagination, which requires conformity with good should be possible, or,\nin other terms, that no feeling, however strong, should oppress the\nfreedom of the soul. Now this possibility is found in every act that\ntestifies with energy to liberty, and to the force of the will; and if\nthe poet meets with an action of this kind, it matters little where, he\nhas a subject suitable for his art. To _him_, and to the interest we\nhave in him, it is quite the same, to take his hero in one class of\ncharacters or in another, among the good or the wicked, as it often\nrequires as much strength of character to do evil conscientiously and\npersistently as to do good. If a proof be required that in our \u00e6sthetic\njudgments we attend more to the force than to its direction, to its\nfreedom than to its lawfulness, this is sufficient for our evidence. We\nprefer to see force and freedom manifest themselves at the cost of moral\nregularity, rather than regularity at the cost of freedom and strength.\nFor directly one of those cases offers itself, in which the general law\nagrees with the instincts which by their strength threaten to carry away\nthe will, the \u00e6sthetic value of the character is increased, if he be\ncapable of resisting these instincts. A vicious person begins to\ninterest us as soon as he must risk his happiness and life to carry out\nhis perverse designs; on the contrary, a virtuous person loses in\nproportion as he finds it useful to be virtuous. Vengeance, for\ninstance, is certainly an ignoble and a vile affection, but this does\nnot prevent it from becoming \u00e6sthetical, if to satisfy it we must endure\npainful sacrifice. Medea slaying her children aims at the heart of\nJason, but at the same time she strikes a heavy blow at her own heart,\nand her vengeance \u00e6sthetically becomes sublime directly we see in her a\ntender mother.\n\nIn this sense the \u00e6sthetic judgment has more of truth than is ordinarily\nbelieved. The vices which show a great force of will evidently announce\na greater aptitude for real moral liberty than do virtues which borrow\nsupport from inclination; seeing that it only requires of the man who\npersistently does evil to gain a single victory over himself, one simple\nupset of his maxims, to gain ever after to the service of virtue his\nwhole plan of life, and all the force of will which he lavished on evil.\nAnd why is it we receive with dislike medium characters, whilst we at\ntimes follow with trembling admiration one which is altogether wicked?\nIt is evident, that with regard to the former, we renounce all hope, we\ncannot even conceive the possibility of finding absolute liberty of the\nwill; whilst with the other, on the contrary, each time he displays his\nfaculties, we feel that one single act of the will would suffice to\nraise him up to the fullest height of human dignity.\n\nThus, in the \u00e6sthetic judgment, that which excites our interest is not\nmorality itself, but liberty alone; and moral purity can only please our\nimagination when it places in relief the forces of the will. It is then\nmanifestly to confound two very distinct orders of ideas, to require in\n\u00e6sthetic things so exact a morality, and, in order to stretch the domain\nof reason, to exclude the imagination from its own legitimate sphere.\n\nEither it would be necessary to subject it entirely, then there would be\nan end to all \u00e6sthetic effect; or it would share the realm of reason,\nthen morality would not gain much. For if we pretend to pursue at the\nsame time two different ends, there would be risk of missing both one\nand the other. The liberty of the imagination would be fettered by too\ngreat respect for the moral law; and violence would be done to the\ncharacter of _necessity_ which is in the reason, in missing the\n_liberty_ which belongs to the imagination.\n\n\n                         ON GRACE AND DIGNITY.\n\nThe Greek fable attributes to the goddess of beauty a wonderful girdle\nwhich has the quality of lending _grace_ and of gaining hearts in all\nwho wear it. This same divinity is accompanied by the Graces, or\ngoddesses of grace. From this we see that the Greeks distinguished from\nbeauty grace and the divinities styled the Graces, as they expressed the\nideas by proper attributes, separable from the goddess of beauty. All\nthat is graceful is beautiful, for the girdle of love winning\nattractions is the property of the goddess of Cnidus; but all beauty is\nnot of necessity grace, for Venus, even without this girdle, does not\ncease to be what she is.\n\nHowever, according to this allegory, the goddess of beauty is the _only_\none who wears and who lends to others the girdle of attractions. Juno,\nthe powerful queen of Olympus, must begin by _borrowing_ this girdle\nfrom Venus, when she seeks to charm Jupiter on Mount Ida.[8] Thus\ngreatness, even clothed with a certain degree of beauty, which is by no\nmeans disputed in the spouse of Jupiter, is never sure of pleasing\nwithout the grace, since the august queen of the gods, to subdue the\nheart of her consort, expects the victory not from her own charms but\nfrom the girdle of Venus.\n\nBut we see, moreover, that the goddess of beauty can part with this\ngirdle, and _grant_ it, with its quality and effects, to a being less\nendowed with beauty. Thus grace is not the _exclusive_ privilege of the\nbeautiful; it can also be handed over, but only by beauty, to an object\nless beautiful, or even to an object deprived of beauty.\n\nIf these same Greeks saw a man gifted in other respects with all the\nadvantages of mind, but lacking grace, they advised him to sacrifice to\nthe Graces. If, therefore, they conceived these deities as forming an\nescort to the beauty of the other sex, they also thought that they would\nbe favorable to man, and that to please he absolutely required their\nhelp.\n\nBut what then is grace, if it be true that it prefers to unite with\nbeauty, yet not in an exclusive manner? What is grace if it proceeds\nfrom beauty, but yet produces the effects of beauty, even when beauty is\nabsent. What is it, if beauty can exist indeed _without it_, and yet has\nno attraction except with it? The delicate feeling of the Greek people\nhad marked at an early date this distinction between grace and beauty,\nwhereof the reason was not then able to give an account; and, seeking\nthe means to express it, it borrowed images from the imagination,\nbecause the understanding could not offer notions to this end. On this\nscore, the myth of the girdle deserves to fix the attention of the\nphilosopher, who, however, ought to be satisfied to seek ideas\ncorresponding with these pictures when the pure instinctive feeling\nthrows out its discoveries, or, in other words, with explaining the\nhieroglyphs of sensation. If we strip off its allegorical veil from this\nconception of the Greeks, the following appears the only meaning it\nadmits.\n\nGrace is a kind of _movable_ beauty, I mean a beauty which does not\nbelong essentially to its subject, but which may be produced\naccidentally in it, as it may also disappear from it. It is in this that\ngrace is distinguished from beauty properly so called, or _fixed_\nbeauty, which is necessarily inherent in the subject itself. Venus can\nno doubt take off her girdle and give it up for the moment to Juno, but\nshe could only give up her beauty with her very person. Venus, without a\ngirdle, is no longer the charming Venus, without beauty she is no longer\nVenus.\n\nBut this girdle as a symbol of movable beauty has this particular\nfeature, that the person adorned with it not only appears more graceful,\nbut actually becomes so. The girdle communicates _objectively_ this\nproperty of grace, in this contrasting with other articles of dress,\nwhich have only subjective effects, and without modifying the person\nherself, only modify the impression produced on the imagination of\nothers. Such is the express meaning of the Greek myth; grace becomes the\nproperty of the person who puts on this girdle; she does more than\nappear amiable, it _is_ so in fact.\n\nNo doubt it may be thought that a girdle, which after all is only an\noutward, artificial ornament, does not prove a perfectly correct emblem\nto express grace as a _personal_ quality. But a personal quality that is\nconceived at the same time as separable from the subject, could only be\nrepresented to the senses by an accidental ornament which can be\ndetached from the person, without the essence of the latter being\naffected by it.\n\nThus the girdle of charms operates not by a _natural_ effect (for then\nit would not change anything in the person itself) but by a magical\neffect; that is to say, its virtue extends beyond all natural\nconditions. By this means, which is nothing more, I admit, than an\nexpedient, it has been attempted to avoid the contradiction to which the\nmind, as regards its representative faculty, is unavoidably reduced,\nevery time it asks an expression from nature herself, for an object\nforeign to nature and which belongs to the free field of the ideal. If\nthis magic girdle is the symbol of an objective property which can be\nseparated from its subject without modifying in any degree its nature,\nthis myth can only express one thing\u2014the beauty of movement, because\nmovement is the only modification that can affect an object without\nchanging its identity.\n\nThe beauty of movement is an idea that satisfies the two conditions\ncontained in the myth which now occupies us. In the first place, it is\nan objective beauty, not entirely depending upon the impression that we\nreceive from the object, but belonging to the object itself. In the\nsecond place, this beauty has in itself something accidental, and the\nobject remains identical even when we conceive it to be deprived of this\nproperty. The girdle of attractions does not lose its magic virtue in\npassing to an object of less beauty, or even to that which is without\nbeauty; that is to say, that a being less beautiful, or even one which\nis not beautiful, may also lay claim to the beauty of movement. The myth\ntells us that grace is something accidental in the subject in which we\nsuppose it to be. It follows that we can attribute this property only to\naccidental movements. In an ideal of beauty the necessary movements must\nbe beautiful, because inasmuch as necessary they form an integral part\nof its nature; the idea of Venus once given, the idea of this beauty of\nnecessary movements is that implicitly comprised in it; but it is not\nthe same with the beauty of accidental movements; this is an extension\nof the former; there can be a grace in the voice, there is none in\nrespiration.\n\nBut all this beauty in accidental movements\u2014is it necessarily grace? It\nis scarcely necessary to notice that the Greek fable attributes grace\nexclusively to humanity. It goes still further, for even the beauty of\nform it restricts within the limits of the human species, in which, as\nwe know, the Greeks included also their gods. But if grace is the\nexclusive privilege of the human form, none of the movements which are\ncommon to man with the rest of nature can evidently pretend to it. Thus,\nfor example, if it were admitted that the ringlets of hair on a\nbeautiful head undulate with grace, there would also be no reason to\ndeny a grace of movement to the branches of trees, to the waves of the\nstream, to the ears of a field of corn, or to the limbs of animals. No,\nthe goddess of Cnidus represents exclusively the human species;\ntherefore, as soon as you see only a physical creature in man, a purely\nsensuous object, she is no longer concerned with him. Thus, grace can\nonly be met with in voluntary movements, and then in those only which\nexpress some sentiment of the _moral order_. Those which have as\nprinciple only animal sensuousness belong only, however voluntary we may\nsuppose them to be, to physical nature, which never reaches of itself to\ngrace. If it were possible to have grace in the manifestations of the\nphysical appetites and instincts, grace would no longer be either\ncapable or worthy to serve as the expression of humanity. Yet it is\n_humanity_ alone which to the Greek contains all the idea of beauty and\nof perfection. He never consents to see separated from the soul the\npurely sensuous part, and such is with him that which might be called\nman\u2019s sensuous nature, which it is equally impossible for him to\n_isolate_ either from his lower nature or from his intelligence. In the\nsame way that no idea presents itself to his mind without taking at once\na visible form, and without his endeavoring to give a bodily envelope\neven to his intellectual conceptions, so he desires in man that all his\ninstinctive acts should express at the same time his moral destination.\nNever for the Greek is nature purely physical nature, and for that\nreason he does not blush to honor it; never for him is reason purely\nreason, and for that reason he has not to tremble in submitting to its\nrule. The physical nature and moral sentiments, matter and mind, earth\nand heaven, melt together with a marvellous beauty in his poetry. Free\nactivity, which is truly at home only in Olympus, was introduced by him\neven into the domain of sense, and it is a further reason for not\nattaching blame to him if reciprocally he transported the affections of\nthe sense into Olympus. Thus, this delicate sense of the Greeks, which\nnever suffered the material element unless accompanied by the spiritual\nprinciple, recognizes in man no voluntary movement belonging only to\nsense which did not at the same time manifest the moral sentiment of the\nsoul. It follows that for them grace is one of the manifestations of the\nsoul, revealed through beauty in voluntary movements; therefore,\nwherever there is grace, it is the soul which is the mobile, and it is\nin her that beauty of movement has its principle. The mythological\nallegory thus expresses the thought, \u201cGrace is a beauty not given by\nnature, but produced by the subject itself.\u201d\n\nUp to the present time I have confined myself to unfolding the idea of\ngrace from the Greek myth, and I hope I have not forced the sense: may I\nnow be permitted to try to what result a philosophical investigation on\nthis point will lead us, and to see if this subject, as so many others,\nwill confirm this truth, that the spirit of philosophy can hardly\nflatter itself that it can discover anything which has not already been\nvaguely perceived by sentiment and revealed in poetry?\n\nWithout her girdle, and without the Graces, Venus represents the ideal\nof beauty, such as she could have come forth from the hands of nature,\nand such as she is made without the intervention of mind endowed with\nsentiment and by the virtue alone of plastic forces. It is not without\nreason that the fable created a particular divinity to represent this\nsort of beauty, because it suffices to see and to feel in order to\ndistinguish it very distinctly from the other, from that which derives\nits origin from the influence of a mind endowed with sentiments.\n\nThis first beauty, thus formed by nature solely and in virtue of the\nlaws of necessity, I shall distinguish from that which is regulated upon\nconditions of liberty, in calling it, if allowed, beauty of structure\n(architectonic beauty). It is agreed, therefore, to designate under this\nname that portion of human beauty which not only has as efficient\nprinciple the forces and agents of physical nature (for we can say as\nmuch for every phenomenon), but which also is determined, so far as it\nis beauty solely, by the forces of this nature.\n\nWell-proportioned limbs, rounded contours, an agreeable complexion,\ndelicacy of skin, an easy and graceful figure, a harmonious tone of\nvoice, etc., are advantages which are gifts of nature and fortune: of\nnature, which predisposed to this, and developed it herself; of fortune,\nwhich protects against all influence adverse to the work of nature.\n\nVenus came forth perfect and complete from the foam of the sea. Why\nperfect? because she is the finished and exactly determined work of\nnecessity, and on that account she is neither susceptible of variety nor\nof progress. In other terms, as she is only a beautiful representation\nof the various ends which nature had in view in forming man, and thence\neach of her properties is perfectly determined by the idea that she\nrealizes; hence it follows that we can consider her as definitive and\ndetermined (with regard to its connection with the first conception)\nalthough this conception is subject, in its development, to the\nconditions of time.\n\nThe architectonic beauty of the human form and its technical perfection\nare two ideas, which we must take good care not to confound. By the\nlatter, the _ensemble_ of particular ends must be understood, such as\nthey co-ordinate between themselves towards a general and higher end; by\nthe other, on the contrary, a character suited to the representation of\nthese ends, as far as these are revealed, under a visible form, to our\nfaculty of seeing and observing. When, then, we speak of beauty, we\nneither take into consideration the justness of the aims of nature in\nthemselves, nor formally, the degree of adaptation to the principles of\nart which their combination could offer. Our contemplative faculties\nhold to the manner in which the object appears to them, without taking\nheed to its logical constitution. Thus, although the architectonic\nbeauty, in the structure of man, be determined by the idea which has\npresided at this structure, and by the ends that nature proposes for it,\nthe \u00e6sthetic judgment, making abstraction of these ends, considers this\nbeauty in itself; and in the idea which we form of it, nothing enters\nwhich does not immediately and properly belong to the exterior\nappearance.\n\nWe are, then, not obliged to say that the dignity of man and of his\ncondition heightens the beauty of his structure. The idea we have of his\ndignity may influence, it is true, the judgment that we form on the\nbeauty of his structure; but then this judgment ceases to be purely\n\u00e6sthetic. Doubtless, the technical constitution of the human form is an\nexpression of its destiny, and, as such, it ought to excite our\nadmiration; but this technical constitution is represented to the\nunderstanding and not to sense; it is a conception and not a phenomenon.\nThe architectonic beauty, on the contrary, could never be an expression\nof the destiny of man, because it addresses itself to quite a different\nfaculty from that to which it belongs to pronounce upon his destiny.\n\nIf, then, man is, amongst all the technical forces created by nature,\nthat to whom more especially we attribute beauty, this is exact and true\nonly under one condition, which is, that at once and upon the simple\nappearance he justifies this superiority, without the necessity, in\norder to appreciate it, that we bring to mind his humanity. For, to\nrecall this, we must pass through a conception; and then it would no\nlonger be the sense, but the understanding, that would become the judge\nof beauty, which would imply contradiction. Man, therefore, cannot put\nforward the dignity of his moral destiny, nor give prominence to his\nsuperiority as intelligence, to increase the price of his beauty. Man,\nhere, is but a being thrown like others into space\u2014a phenomenon amongst\nother phenomena. In the world of sense no account is made of the rank he\nholds in the world of ideas; and if he desires in that to hold the first\nplace, he can only owe it to that in him which belongs to the _physical\norder_.\n\nBut his physical nature is determined, we know, by the idea of his\nhumanity; from which it follows that his architectonic beauty is so also\nmediately. If, then he is distinguished by superior beauty from all\nother creatures of the sensuous world, it is incontestable that he owes\nthis advantage to his destiny as man, because it is in it that the\nreason is of the differences which in general separate him from the rest\nof the sensuous world. But the beauty of the human form is not due to\nits being the expression of this superior destiny, for if it were so,\nthis form would necessarily cease to be beautiful, from the moment it\nbegan to express a less high destiny, and the contrary to this form\nwould be beautiful as soon as it could be admitted that it expresses\nthis higher destination. However, suppose that at the sight of a fine\nhuman face we could completely forget that which it expresses, and put\nin its place, without changing anything of its outside, the savage\ninstincts of the tiger, the judgment of the eyesight would remain\nabsolutely the same, and the tiger would be for it the _chef-d\u2019\u0153uvre_ of\nthe Creator.\n\nThe destiny of man as intelligence contributes, then, to the beauty of\nhis structure only so far as the form that represents this destiny, the\nexpression that makes it felt, satisfies at the same time the conditions\nwhich are prescribed in the world of sense to the manifestations of the\nbeautiful; which signifies that beauty ought always to remain a pure\neffect of physical nature, and that the rational conception which had\ndetermined the technical utility of the human structure cannot confer\nbeauty, but simply be compatible with beauty.\n\nIt could be objected, it is true, that in general all which is\nmanifested by a sensuous representation is produced by the forces of\nnature, and that consequently this character cannot be exclusively an\nindication of the beautiful. Certainly, and without doubt, all technical\ncreations are the work of nature; but it is not by the fact of nature\nthat they are technical, or at least that they are so judged to be. They\nare technical only through the understanding, and thus their technical\nperfection has already its existence in the understanding, before\npassing into the world of sense, and becoming a sensible phenomenon.\nBeauty, on the contrary, has the peculiarity, that the sensuous world is\nnot only its theatre, but the first source from whence it derives its\nbirth, and that it owes to nature not only its expression, but also its\ncreation. Beauty is absolutely but a property of the world of sense; and\nthe artist, who has the beautiful in view, would not attain to it but\ninasmuch as he entertains this illusion, that his work is the work of\nnature.\n\nIn order to appreciate the technical perfection of the human body, we\nmust bear in mind the ends to which it is appropriated; this being quite\nunnecessary for the appreciation of its _beauty_. Here the senses\nrequire no aid, and of themselves judge with full competence; however\nthey would not be competent judges of the beautiful, if the world of\nsense (the senses have no other object) did not contain all the\nconditions of beauty and was therefore competent to produce it. The\nbeauty of man, it is true, has for mediate reason the idea of his\nhumanity, because all his physical nature is founded on this idea; but\nthe senses, we know, hold to immediate phenomena, and for them it is\nexactly the same as if this beauty were a simple effect of nature,\nperfectly independent.\n\nFrom what we have said, up to the present time, it would appear that the\nbeautiful can offer absolutely no interest to the understanding, because\nits principle belongs solely to the world of sense, and amongst all our\nfaculties of knowledge it addresses itself only to our senses. And in\nfact, the moment that we sever from the idea of the beautiful, as a\nforeign element, all that is mixed with the idea of technical\nperfection, almost inevitably, in the judgment of beauty, it appears\nthat nothing remains to it by which it can become the object of an\nintellectual pleasure. And nevertheless, it is quite as incontestable\nthat the beautiful pleases the understanding, as it is beyond doubt that\nthe beautiful rests upon no property of the object that could not be\ndiscovered but by the understanding.\n\nTo solve this apparent contradiction, it must be remembered that the\nphenomena can in two different ways pass to the state of objects of the\nunderstanding and express ideas. It is not always necessary that the\nunderstanding draws these ideas from phenomena; it can also put them\ninto them. In the two cases, the phenomena will be adequate to a\nrational conception, with this simple difference, that, in the first\ncase, the understanding finds it objectively given, and to a certain\nextent only receives it from the object because it is necessary that the\nidea should be given to explain the nature and often even the\npossibility of the object; whilst in the second case, on the contrary,\nit is the understanding which of itself interprets, in a manner to make\nof it the expression of its idea, that which the phenomenon offers us,\nwithout any connection with this idea, and thus treats by a metaphysical\nprocess that which in reality is purely physical. There, then, in the\nassociation of the idea with the object there is an objective necessity:\nhere, on the contrary, a subjective necessity at the utmost. It is\nunnecessary to say that, in my mind, the first of these two connections\nought to be understood of technical perfection, the second, of the\nbeautiful.\n\nAs then in the second case it is a thing quite contingent for the\nsensuous object that there should or should not be outside of it an\nobject which perceives it\u2014an understanding that associates one of its\nown ideas with it, consequently, the _ensemble_ of these objective\nproperties ought to be considered as fully independent of this idea; we\nhave perfectly the right to reduce the beautiful, objectively, to the\nsimple conditions of physical nature, and to see nothing more in beauty\nthan effect belonging purely to the world of sense. But as, on the other\nside, the understanding makes of this simple fact of the world of sense\na transcendent usage, and in lending it a higher signification inasmuch\nas he marks it, as it were, with his image, we have equally the right to\ntransport the beautiful, subjectively, into the world of intelligence.\nIt is in this manner that beauty belongs at the same time to the two\nworlds\u2014to one by the right of birth, to the other by adoption; it takes\nits being in the world of sense, it acquires the rights of citizenship\nin the world of understanding. It is that which explains how it can be\nthat taste, as the faculty for appreciating the beautiful, holds at once\nthe spiritual element and that of sense; and that these two natures,\nincompatible one with the other, approach in order to form in it a happy\nunion. It is this that explains how taste can conciliate respect for the\nunderstanding with the material element, and with the rational principle\nthe favor and the sympathy of the senses, how it can ennoble the\nperceptions of the senses so as to make ideas of them, and, in a certain\nmeasure, transform the physical world itself into a domain of the ideal.\n\nAt all events, if it is accidental with regard to the object, that the\nunderstanding associates, at the representation of this object, one of\nits own ideas with it, it is not the less necessary for the subject\nwhich represents it to attach to such a representation such an idea.\nThis idea, and the sensuous indication which corresponds to it in the\nobject, ought to be one with the other in such relation, that the\nunderstanding be forced to this association by its own immutable laws;\nthe understanding then must have in itself the reason which leads it to\nassociate exclusively a certain phenomenon with a certain determined\nidea, and, reciprocally, the object should have in itself the reason for\nwhich it exclusively provokes that idea and not another. As to knowing\nwhat the idea can be which the understanding carries into the beautiful,\nand by what objective property the object gifted with beauty can be\ncapable of serving as symbol to this idea, is then a question much too\ngrave to be solved here in passing, and I reserve this examination for\nan analytical theory of the beautiful.\n\nThe architectonic beauty of man is then, in the way I have explained it,\nthe visible expression of a rational conception, but it is so only in\nthe same sense and the same title as are in general all the beautiful\ncreations of nature. As to the _degree_, I agree that it surpasses all\nthe other beauties; but with regard to _kind_, it is upon the same rank\nas they are, because it also manifests that which alone is perceptible\nof its subject, and it is only when we represent it to ourselves that it\nreceives a super-sensuous value.\n\nIf the ends of creation are marked in man with more of success and of\nbeauty than in the organic beings, it is to some extent a favor which\nthe intelligence, inasmuch as it dictated the laws of the human\nstructure, has shown to nature charged to execute those laws. The\nintelligence, it is true, pursues its end in the technique of man with a\nrigorous necessity, but happily its exigencies meet and accord with the\nnecessary laws of nature so well, that one executes the order of the\nother whilst acting according to its own inclination.\n\nBut this can only be true respecting the architectonic beauty of man,\nwhere the necessary laws of physical nature are sustained by another\nnecessity, that of the teleological principle which determines them. It\nis here only that the beautiful could be calculated by relation to the\ntechnique of the structure, which can no longer take place when the\nnecessity is on one side alone, and the super-sensuous cause which\ndetermines the phenomenon takes a contingent character. Thus, it is\nnature alone who takes upon herself the architectonic beauty of man,\nbecause here, from the first design, she had been charged once for all\nby the creating intelligence with the execution of all that man needs in\norder to arrive at the ends for which he is destined, and she has in\nconsequence no change to fear in this organic work which she\naccomplishes.\n\nBut man is moreover a _person_\u2014that is to say, a being whose different\nstates can have their cause in himself, and absolutely their last cause;\na being who can be modified by reason that he draws from himself. The\nmanner in which he appears in the world of sense depends upon the manner\nin which he feels and wills, and, consequently, upon certain states\nwhich are freely determined by himself, and not fatally by nature.\n\nIf man were only a physical creature, nature, at the same time that she\nestablishes the general laws of his being, would determine also the\nvarious cases of application. But here she divides her empire with free\narbitration; and, although its laws are fixed, it is the mind that\npronounces upon particular cases.\n\nThe domain of mind extends as far as living nature goes, and it finishes\nonly at the point at which organic life loses itself in unformed matter,\nat the point at which the animal forces cease to act. It is known that\nall the motive forces in man are connected one with the other, and this\nmakes us understand how the mind, even considered as principle of\nvoluntary movement, can propagate its action through all organisms. It\nis not only the instruments of the will, but the organs themselves upon\nwhich the will does not immediately exercise its empire, that undergo,\nindirectly at least, the influence of mind; the mind determines them,\nnot only designedly when it acts, but again, without design, when it\nfeels.\n\nFrom nature in herself (this result is clearly perceived from what\nprecedes) we must ask nothing but a fixed beauty, that of the phenomena\nthat she alone has determined according to the law of necessity. But\nwith free arbitration, chance (the accidental), interferes in the work\nof nature, and the modifications that affect it thus under the empire of\nfree will are no longer, although all behave according to its own laws,\ndetermined by these laws. From thence it is to the mind to decide the\nuse it will make of its instruments, and with regard to that part of\nbeauty which depends on this use, nature has nothing further to command,\nnor, consequently, to incur any responsibility.\n\nAnd thus man by reason that, making use of his liberty, he raises\nhimself into the sphere of pure intelligences, would find himself in\ndanger of sinking, inasmuch as he is a creature of sense, and of losing\nin the judgment of taste that which he gains at the tribunal of reason.\nThis moral destiny, therefore, _accomplished_ by the moral action of\nman, would cost him a privilege which was assured to him by this same\nmoral destiny _when only indicated_ in his structure; a purely sensuous\nprivilege, it is true, but one which receives, as we have seen, a\nsignification and a higher value from the understanding. No; nature is\ntoo much enamored with harmony to be guilty of so gross a contradiction,\nand that which is harmonious in the world of the understanding could not\nbe rendered by a discord in the world of sense.\n\nAs soon, then, as in man the _person_, the moral and free agent, takes\nupon himself to determine the play of phenomena, and by his intervention\ntakes from nature the power to protect the beauty of _her_ work, he\nthen, as it were, substitutes himself for nature, and assumes in a\ncertain measure, with the rights of nature, a part of the obligations\nincumbent on her. When the mind, taking possession of the sensuous\nmatter subservient to it, implicates it in his destiny and makes it\ndepend on its own modifications, it transforms itself to a certain point\ninto a sensuous phenomenon, and, as such, is obliged to recognize the\nlaw which regulates in general all the phenomena. In its own interest it\nengages to permit that nature in its service, placed under its\ndependence, shall still preserve its character of nature, and never act\nin a manner contrary to its anterior obligations. I call the beautiful\nan obligation of phenomena, because the want which corresponds to it in\nthe subject has its reason in the understanding itself, and thus it is\nconsequently universal and necessary. I call it an anterior obligation\nbecause the senses, in the matter of beauty, have given their judgment\nbefore the understanding commences to perform its office.\n\nThus it is now free arbitration which rules the beautiful. If nature has\nfurnished the architectonic beauty, the soul in its turn determines the\n_beauty of the play_, and now also we know what we must understand by\ncharm and grace. Grace is the beauty of the form under the influence of\nfree will; it is the beauty of this kind of phenomena that the person\nhimself determines. The architectonic beauty does honor to the author of\nnature; grace does honor to him who possesses it. That is a _gift_, this\nis a _personal merit_.\n\nGrace can be found only in _movement_, for a modification which takes\nplace in the soul can only be manifested in the sensuous world as\nmovement. But this does not prevent features fixed and in repose also\nfrom possessing grace. There immobility is, in its origin, movement\nwhich, from being frequently repeated, at length becomes habitual,\nleaving durable traces.\n\nBut all the movements of man are not capable of grace. Grace is never\notherwise than _beauty of form animated into movement by free will_; and\nthe movements which belong only to _physical nature_ could not merit the\nname. It is true that an intellectual man, if he be keen, ends by\nrendering himself master of almost all the movements of the body; but\nwhen the chain which links a fine lineament to a moral sentiment\nlengthens much, this lineament becomes the property of the structure,\nand can no longer be counted as a grace. It happens, ultimately, that\nthe mind moulds the body, and that the structure is forced to modify\nitself according to the _play_ that the soul imprints upon the organs,\nso entirely, that grace finally is transformed\u2014and the examples are not\nrare\u2014into architectonic beauty. As at one time an antagonistic mind\nwhich is ill at ease with itself alters and destroys the most perfect\nbeauty of structure, until at last it becomes impossible to recognize\nthis magnificent _chef-d\u2019\u0153uvre_ of nature in the state to which it is\nreduced under the unworthy hands of free will, so at other times the\nserenity and perfect harmony of the soul come to the aid of the hampered\ntechnique, unloose nature and develop with divine splendor the beauty of\nform, enveloped until then, and oppressed.\n\nThe plastic nature of man has in it an infinity of resources to retrieve\nthe negligencies and repair the faults that she may have committed. To\nthis end it is sufficient that the mind, the moral agent, sustain it, or\neven withhold from troubling it in the labor of rebuilding.\n\nSince the movements become fixed (gestures pass to a state of\nlineament), are themselves capable of grace, it would perhaps appear to\nbe rational to comprehend equally under this idea of beauty some\napparent or imitative movements (the flamboyant lines for example,\nundulations). It is this which Mendelssohn upholds. But then the idea of\ngrace would be confounded with the ideal of beauty in general, for all\nbeauty is definitively but a property of true or apparent movement\n(objective or subjective), as I hope to demonstrate in an analysis of\nbeauty. With regard to grace, the only movements which can offer any are\nthose which respond at the same time to a sentiment.\n\nThe person (it is known what I mean by the expression) prescribes the\nmovements of the body, either through the will, when he desires to\nrealize in the world of sense an effect of which he has proposed the\nidea, and in that case the movements are said to be voluntary or\nintentional; or, on the other hand, they take place without its will\ntaking any part in it\u2014in virtue of a fatal law of the organism\u2014but on\nthe occasion of a sentiment, in the latter case, I say that the\nmovements are sympathetic. The sympathetic movement, though it may be\ninvoluntary and provoked by a sentiment, ought not to be confounded with\nthose purely instinctive movements that proceed from physical\nsensibility. Physical instinct is not a free agent, and that which it\nexecutes is not an act of the person; I understand then here\nexclusively, by sympathetic movements, those which accompany a\nsentiment, a disposition of the moral order.\n\nThe question that now presents itself is this: Of these two kinds of\nmovement, having their principle in the person, which is capable of\ngrace?\n\nThat which we are rigorously forced to distinguish in philosophic\nanalysis is not always separated also in the real. Thus it is rare that\nwe meet intentional movements without sympathetic movements, because the\nwill determines the intentional movements only after being decided\nitself by the moral sentiments which are the principle of the\nsympathetic movements. When a person speaks, we see his looks, his\nlineaments, his hands, often the whole person all together speaks to us;\nand it is not rare that this mimic part of the discourse is the most\neloquent. Still more there are cases where an intentional movement can\nbe considered at the same time as sympathetic; and it is that which\nhappens when something involuntary mingles with the voluntary act which\ndetermines this movement.\n\nI will explain: the mode, the manner in which a voluntary movement is\nexecuted, is not a thing so exactly determined by the intention which is\nproposed by it that it cannot be executed in several different ways.\nWell, then, that which the will or intention leaves undetermined can be\nsympathetically determined by the state of moral sensibility in which\nthe person is found to be, and consequently can express this state. When\nI extend the arm to seize an object, I execute, in truth, an intention,\nand the movement I make is determined in general by the end that I have\nin view; but in what way does my arm approach the object? how far do the\nother parts of my body follow this impulsion? What will be the degree of\nslowness or of the rapidity of the movement? What amount of force shall\nI employ? This is a calculation of which my will, at the instant, takes\nno account, and in consequence there is a something left to the\ndiscretion of nature.\n\nBut nevertheless, though that part of the movement is not determined by\nthe intention itself, it must be decided at length in one way or the\nother, and the reason is that the manner in which my moral sensibility\nis affected can have here decisive influence: it is this which will give\nthe _tone_, and which thus determines the mode and the manner of the\nmovement. Therefore this influence, which exercises upon the voluntary\nmovement the state of moral sensibility in which the subject is found,\nrepresents precisely the involuntary part of this movement, and it is\nthere then that we must seek for grace.\n\nA voluntary movement, if it is not linked to any sympathetic movement\u2014or\nthat which comes to the same thing, if there is nothing involuntary\nmixed up with it having for principle the moral state of sensibility in\nwhich the subject happens to be\u2014could not in any manner present _grace_,\nfor grace always supposes as a cause a disposition of the soul.\nVoluntary movement is produced after an operation of the soul, which in\nconsequence is already completed at the moment in which the movement\ntakes place.\n\nThe sympathetic movement, on the contrary, accompanies this operation of\nthe soul, and the moral state of sensibility which decides it to this\noperation. So that this movement ought to be considered as simultaneous\nwith regard to both one and the other.\n\nFrom that alone it results that voluntary movement not proceeding\nimmediately from the disposition of the subject could not be an\nexpression of this disposition also. For between the disposition and the\nmovement itself the volition has intervened, which, considered in\nitself, is something perfectly indifferent. This movement is the work of\nthe volition, it is determined by the aim that is proposed; it is not\nthe work of the person, nor the product of the sentiments that affect\nit.\n\nThe voluntary movement is united but accidentally with the disposition\nwhich precedes it; the concomitant movement, on the contrary, is\nnecessarily linked to it. The first is to the soul that which the\nconventional signs of speech are to the thoughts which they express. The\nsecond, on the contrary, the sympathetic movement or concomitant, is to\nthe soul that which the cry of passion is to the passion itself. The\ninvoluntary movement is, then, an expression of the mind, not by its\n_nature_, but only by its _use_. And in consequence we are not\nauthorized to say that the mind is revealed in a voluntary movement;\nthis movement never expresses more than the substance of the will (the\naim), and not the form of the will (the disposition). The disposition\ncan only manifest itself to us by concomitant movements.\n\nIt follows that we can infer from the words of a man the kind of\ncharacter he desires to have attributed to him; but if we desire to know\nwhat is in reality his character we must seek to divine it in the mimic\nexpression which accompanies his words, and in his gestures, that is to\nsay, in the movements which he did not desire. If we perceive that this\nman _wills_ even the expression of his features, from the instant we\nhave made this discovery we cease to believe in his physiognomy and to\nsee in it an indication of his sentiments.\n\nIt is true that a man, by dint of art and of study, can at last arrive\nat this result, to subdue to his will even the concomitant movements;\nand, like a clever juggler, to shape according to his pleasure such or\nsuch a physiognomy upon the mirror from which his soul is reflected\nthrough mimic action. But then, with such a man all is dissembling, and\nart entirely absorbs nature. The true grace, on the contrary, ought\nalways to be pure nature, that is to say, involuntary (or at least\nappear to be so), to be graceful. The subject even ought not to _appear\nto know that it possesses grace_.\n\nBy which we can also see incidentally what we must think of grace,\neither imitated or learned (I would willingly call it theatrical grace,\nor the grace of the dancing-master). It is the pendant of that sort of\nbeauty which a woman seeks from her toilet-table, reinforced with rouge,\nwhite paint, false ringlets, pads, and whalebone. Imittative grace is to\ntrue grace what beauty of toilet is to architectonic beauty. One and the\nother could act in absolutely the same manner upon the senses badly\nexercised, as the original of which they wish to be the imitation; and\nat times even, if much art is put into it, they might create an illusion\nto the _connoisseur_. But there will be always some indication through\nwhich the intention and constraint will betray it in the end, and this\ndiscovery will lead inevitably to indifference, if not even to contempt\nand disgust. If we are warned that the architectonic beauty is\nfactitious, at once, the more it has borrowed from a nature which is not\nits own, the more it loses in our eyes of that which belongs to humanity\n(so far as it is phenomenal), and then we, who forbid the renunciation\nlightly of an accidental advantage, how can we see with pleasure or even\nwith indifference an exchange through which man sacrifices a part of his\nproper nature in order to substitute elements taken from inferior\nnature? How, even supposing we could forgive the illusion produced, how\ncould we avoid despising the deception? If we are told that _grace_ is\nartificial, our heart at once closes; our soul, which at first advanced\nwith so much vivacity to meet the graceful object, shrinks back. That\nwhich was mind has suddenly become matter. Juno and her celestial beauty\nhas vanished, and in her place there is nothing but a phantom of vapor.\n\nAlthough grace ought to be, or at least ought to appear, something\ninvoluntary, still we seek it only in the movements that depend more or\nless on the will. I know also that grace is attributed to a certain\nmimic language, and we say a pleasing smile, a charming blush, though\nthe smile and the blush are sympathetic movements, not determined by the\nwill, but by moral sensibility. But besides that, the first of these\nmovements is, after all, in our power, and that it is not shown that in\nthe second there is, properly speaking, any grace, it is right to say,\nin general, that most frequently when grace appears it is on the\noccasion of a voluntary movement. Grace is desired both in language and\nin song; it is asked for in the play of the eyes and of the mouth, in\nthe movements of the hands and the arms whenever these movements are\nfree and voluntary; it is required in the walk, in the bearing, and\nattitude, in a word, in all exterior demonstrations of man, so far as\nthey depend on his will. As to the movements which the instinct of\nnature produces in us, or which an overpowering affection excites, or,\nso to speak, is lord over; that which we ask of these movements, in\norigin purely physical, is, as we shall see presently, quite another\nthing than grace. These kinds of movements belong to _nature_, and not\nto the _person_; but it is from the person alone, as we have seen, that\nall grace issues.\n\nIf, then, grace is a property that we demand only from voluntary\nmovements, and if, on the other hand, all voluntary element should be\nrigorously excluded from grace, we have no longer to seek it but in that\nportion of the intentional movements to which the intention of the\nsubject is unknown, but which, however, does not cease to answer in the\nsoul to a moral cause.\n\nWe now know in what kind of movements he must ask for grace; but we know\nnothing more, and a movement can have these different characters,\nwithout on that account being graceful; it is as yet only speaking (or\nmimic).\n\nI call _speaking_ (in the widest sense of the word) every physical\nphenomenon which accompanies and expresses a certain state of the soul;\nthus, in this acceptation, all the sympathetic movements are speaking,\nincluding those which accompany the simple affections of the animal\nsensibility.\n\nThe aspect, even, under which the animals present themselves, can be\nspeaking, as soon as they outwardly show their inward dispositions. But,\nwith them, it is nature alone which speaks, and NOT LIBERTY. By the\npermanent configuration of animals through their fixed and architectonic\nfeatures, nature expresses the aim she proposed in creating them; by\ntheir mimic traits she expresses the want awakened and the want\nsatisfied. Necessity reigns in the animal as well as in the plant,\nwithout meeting the obstacle of a person. The animals have no\nindividuality farther than each of them is a specimen by itself of a\ngeneral type of nature, and the aspect under which they present\nthemselves at such or such an instant of their duration is only a\nparticular example of the accomplishment of the views of nature under\ndetermined natural conditions.\n\nTo take the word in a more _restricted_ sense, the configuration of man\nalone is speaking, and it is itself so only in those of the phenomena\nthat accompany and express the state of its moral sensibility.\n\nI say it is only in this sort of phenomena; for, in all the others, man\nis in the same rank as the rest of sensible beings. By the permanent\nconfiguration of man, by his architectonic features, nature only\nexpresses, just as in the animals and other organic beings, her own\nintention. It is true the intention of nature may go here much further,\nand the means she employs to reach her end may offer in their\ncombination more of art and complication; but all that ought to be\nplaced solely to the account of nature, and can confer no advantage on\nman himself.\n\nIn the animal, and in the plant, nature gives not only the destination;\nshe _acts herself and acts alone in the accomplishment of her ends_. In\nman, nature limits herself in marking her views; she leaves to himself\ntheir accomplishment, it is this alone that makes of him a man.\n\nAlone of all known beings\u2014man, in his quality of person, has the\nprivilege to break the chain of necessity by his will, and to determine\nin himself an entire series of fresh spontaneous phenomena. The act by\nwhich he thus determines himself is properly that which we call an\naction, and the things that result from this sort of action are what we\nexclusively name his acts. Thus man can only show his personality by his\nown acts.\n\nThe configuration of the animal not only expresses the idea of his\ndestination, but also the relation of his present state with this\ndestination. And as in the animal it is nature which determines and at\nthe same time accomplishes its destiny, the configuration of the animal\ncan never express anything else than the work of nature.\n\nIf then nature, whilst determining the destiny of man, abandons to the\nwill of man himself the care to accomplish it, the relation of his\npresent state with his destiny cannot be a work of nature, but ought to\nbe the work of the person; it follows, that all in the configuration\nwhich expresses this relation will belong, not to nature, but to the\nperson, that is to say, will be considered as a personal expression; if\nthen, the architectonic part of his configuration tells us the views\nthat nature proposed to herself in creating him, the mimic part of his\nface reveals what he has himself done for the accomplishment of these\nviews.\n\nIt is not then enough for us, when there is question of the form of man,\nto find in it the expression of humanity in general, or even of that\nwhich nature has herself contributed to the individual in particular, in\norder to realize the human type in it; for he would have that in common\nwith every kind of technical configuration. We expect something more of\nhis face; we desire that it reveal to us at the same time, up to what\npoint man himself, in his liberty, has contributed towards the aim of\nnature; in other words, we desire that his face bear witness to his\ncharacter. In the first case we see that nature proposed to create in\nhim a man; but it is in the second case only that we can judge if he has\nbecome so in reality.\n\nThus, the face of a man is truly his own only inasmuch as his face is\nmimic; but also all that is mimic in his face is entirely his own. For,\nif we suppose the case in which the greatest part, and even the\ntotality, of these mimic features express nothing more than animal\nsensations or instincts, and, in consequence, would show nothing more\nthan the animal in him, it would still remain that it was in his destiny\nand in his power to limit, by his liberty, his sensuous nature. The\npresence of these kinds of traits clearly witness that he has not made\nuse of this faculty. We see by that he has not accomplished his destiny,\nand in this sense his face is speaking; it is still a moral expression,\nthe same as the non-accomplishment of an act commanded by duty is\nlikewise a sort of action.\n\nWe must distinguish from these speaking features which, are always an\nexpression of the soul, the features nonspeaking or dumb, which are\nexclusively the work of plastic nature, and which it impresses on the\nhuman face when it acts independently of all influence of the soul. I\ncall them dumb, because, like incomprehensible figures put there by\nnature, they are silent upon the character. They mark only distinctive\nproperties attributed by nature to all the kind; and if at times they\nare sufficient to distinguish the individual, they at least never\nexpress anything of the person.\n\nThese features are by no means devoid of signification for the\nphysiognomist, because the physiognomist not only studies that which man\nhas made of his being, but also that which nature has done for him and\nagainst him.\n\nIt is not also easy to determine with precision where the dumb traits or\nfeatures end, where the speaking traits commence. The plastic forces on\none side, with their uniform action, and, on the other, the affections\nwhich depend on no law, dispute incessantly the ground; and that which\nnature, in its dumb and indefatigable activity, has succeeded in raising\nup, often is overturned by liberty, as a river that overflows and\nspreads over its banks: the mind when it is gifted with vivacity\nacquires influence over all the movements of the body, and arrives at\nlast indirectly to modify by force the sympathetic play as far as the\narchitectonic and fixed forms of nature, upon which the will has no\nhold. In a man thus constituted it becomes at last characteristic; and\nit is that which we can often observe upon certain heads which a long\nlife, strange accidents, and an active mind have moulded and worked. In\nthese kinds of faces there is only the generic character which belongs\nto plastic nature; all which here forms individuality is the act of the\n_person_ himself, and it is this which causes it to be said, with much\nreason, that those faces are all soul.\n\nLook at that man, on the contrary, who has made for himself a mechanical\nexistence, those disciples of the rule. The rule can well calm the\nsensuous nature, but not awaken human nature, the superior faculties:\nlook at those flat and inexpressive physiognomies; the finger of nature\nhas alone left there its impression; a soul inhabits these bodies, but\nit is a sluggish soul, a discreet guest, and, as a peaceful and silent\nneighbor who does not disturb the plastic force at its work, left to\nitself. Never a thought which requires an effort, never a movement of\npassion, hurries the calm cadence of physical life. There is no danger\nthat the architectonic features ever become changed by the play of\nvoluntary movements, and never would liberty trouble the functions of\nvegetative life. As the profound calm of the mind does not bring about a\nnotable degeneracy of forces, the expense would never surpass the\nreceipts; it is rather the animal economy which would always be in\nexcess. In exchange for a certain sum of well-being which it throws as\nbait, the mind makes itself the servant, the punctual major-domo of\nphysical nature, and places all his glory in keeping his books in order.\nThus will be accomplished that which organic nature can accomplish; thus\nwill the work of nutrition and of reproduction prosper. So happy a\nconcord between animal nature and the will cannot but be favorable to\narchitectonic beauty, and it is there that we can observe this beauty in\nall its purity. But the general forces of nature, as every one knows,\nare eternally at warfare with the particular or organic forces, and,\nhowever cleverly balanced is the technique of a body, the cohesion and\nthe weight end always by getting the upper hand. Also architectonic\nbeauty, so far as it is a simple production of nature, has its fixed\nperiods, its blossoming, its maturity, and its decline\u2014periods the\nrevolution of which can easily be accelerated, but not retarded in any\ncase, by the play of the will, and this is the way in which it most\nfrequently finishes; little by little matter takes the upper hand over\nform, and the plastic principle, which vivified the being, prepares for\nitself its tomb under the accumulation of matter.\n\nHowever, although no dumb trait, considered in an isolated point of\nview, can be an expression of the mind, a face composed entirely of\nthese kinds of features can be characterized in its entireness by\nprecisely the same reason as a face which is speaking only as an\nexpression of sensuous nature can be nevertheless characteristic. I mean\nto say that the mind is obliged to exercise its activity and to feel\nconformably to its moral nature, and it accuses itself and betrays its\nfault when the face which it animates shows no trace of this moral\nactivity. If, therefore, the pure and beautiful expression of the\ndestination of man, which is marked in his architectonic structure,\npenetrates us with satisfaction and respect for the sovereign, reason,\nwho is the author of it, at all events these two sentiments will not be\nfor us without mixture but in as far as we see in man a simple creation\nof nature. But if we consider in him the moral person, we have a right\nto demand of his face an expression of the person, and if this\nexpectation is deceived contempt will infallibly follow. Simply organic\nbeings have a right to our respect as creatures; man cannot pretend to\nit but in the capacity of creator, that is to say, as being himself the\ndeterminer of his own condition. He ought not only, as the other\nsensuous creatures, to reflect the rays of a foreign intelligence, were\nit even the divine intelligence; man ought, as a sun, to shine by his\nown light.\n\nThus we require of man a speaking expression as soon as he becomes\n_conscious_ of his moral destiny; but we desire at the same time that\nthis expression speak to his advantage, that is to say, it marks in him\nsentiments conformable to his moral destiny, and a superior moral\naptitude. This is what reason requires in the human face.\n\nBut, on the other side, man, as far as he is a phenomenon, is an object\nof sense; there, where the _moral_ sentiment is satisfied, the \u00e6sthetic\nsentiment does not understand its being made a sacrifice, and the\nconcomity with an idea ought not to lessen the beauty of the phenomenon.\nThus, as much as reason requires an expression of the morality of the\nsubject in the human face, so much, and with no less rigor, does the eye\ndemand beauty. As these two requirements, although coming from the\nprinciples of the appreciation of different degrees, address themselves\nto the same object, also both one and the other must be given\nsatisfaction by one and the same cause. The disposition of the soul\nwhich places man in the best state for accomplishing his moral destiny\nought to give place to an expression that will be at the same time the\nmost advantageous to his beauty as phenomenon; in other terms, his moral\nexercise ought to be revealed by _grace_.\n\nBut a great difficulty now presents itself from the idea alone of the\nexpressive movements which bear witness to the morality of the subject:\nit appears that the cause of these movements is necessarily a moral\ncause, a principle which resides beyond the world of sense; and from the\nsole idea of beauty it is not less evident that its principle is purely\nsensuous, and that it ought to be a simple effect of nature, or at the\nleast appear to be such. But if the ultimate reason of the movements\nwhich offer a moral expression is necessarily _without_, and the\nultimate reason of the beautiful necessarily _within_, the sensuous\nworld, it appears that _grace_, which ought to unite both of them,\ncontains a manifest contradiction.\n\nTo avoid this contradiction we must admit that the moral cause, which in\nour soul is the foundation of grace, brings, in a necessary manner, in\nthe sensibility which depends on that cause, precisely that state which\ncontains in itself the natural conditions of beauty. I will explain. The\nbeautiful, as each sensuous phenomenon, supposes certain conditions,\nand, in as far as it is beautiful, these are purely conditions of the\nsenses; well, then, in that the mind (in virtue of a law that we cannot\nfathom), from the state in which it is, itself prescribes to physical\nnature which accompanies it, its own state, and in that the state of\nmoral perfection is precisely in it the most favorable for the\naccomplishment of the physical conditions of beauty, it follows that it\nis the mind which renders beauty possible; and there its action ends.\nBut whether real beauty comes forth from it, that depends upon the\nphysical conditions alluded to, and is consequently a free effect of\nnature. Therefore, as it cannot be said that nature is properly free in\nthe voluntary movements, in which it is employed but as a means to\nattain an end, and as, on the other side, it cannot be said that it is\nfree in its involuntary movements, which express the moral, the liberty\nwith which it manifests itself, dependent as it is on the will of the\nsubject, must be a concession that the mind makes to nature; and,\nconsequently, it can be said that _grace_ is a _favor_ in which the\nmoral has desired to gratify the sensuous element; the same as the\narchitectonic beauty may be considered as nature acquiescing to the\ntechnical form.\n\nMay I be permitted a comparison to clear up this point? Let us suppose a\nmonarchical state administered in such a way that, although all goes on\naccording to the will of one person, each citizen could persuade himself\nthat he governs and obeys only his own inclination, we should call that\ngovernment a liberal government.\n\nBut we should look twice before we should thus qualify a government in\nwhich the chief makes his will outweigh the wishes of the citizens, or a\ngovernment in which the will of the citizens outweighs that of the\nchief. In the first case, the government would be no more liberal; in\nthe second, it would not be a government at all.\n\nIt is not difficult to make application of these examples to what the\nhuman face could be under the government of the mind. If the mind is\nmanifested in such a way through the sensuous nature subject to its\nempire that it executes its behests with the most faithful exactitude,\nor expresses its sentiments in the most perfectly speaking manner,\nwithout going in the least against that which the \u00e6sthetic sense demands\nfrom it as a phenomenon, then we shall see produced that which we call\n_grace_. But this is far from being grace, if mind is manifested in a\nconstrained manner by the sensuous nature, or if sensuous nature acting\nalone in all liberty the expression of moral nature was absent. In the\nfirst case there would not be beauty; in the second the beauty would be\ndevoid of _play_.\n\nThe super-sensuous cause, therefore, the cause of which the principle is\nin the soul, can alone render grace speaking, and it is the purely\nsensuous cause having its principle in nature which alone can render it\nbeautiful. We are not more authorized in asserting that mind engenders\nbeauty than we should be, in the former example, in maintaining that the\nchief of the state produces liberty; because we can indeed leave a man\nin his liberty, but not give it to him.\n\nBut just as when a people feels itself free under the constraint of a\nforeign will, it is in a great degree due to the sentiments animating\nthe prince; and as this liberty would run great risks if the prince took\nopposite sentiments, so also it is in the moral dispositions of the mind\nwhich suggests them that we must seek the beauty of free movements. And\nnow the question which is presented is this one: What then are the\nconditions of personal morality which assure the utmost amount of\nliberty to the sensuous instruments of the will? and what are the moral\nsentiments which agree the best in their expression with the beautiful?\n\nThat which is evident is that neither the will, in the intentional\nmovement, nor the passion, in the sympathetic movement, ought to act as\na force with regard to the physical nature which is subject to it, in\norder that this, in obeying it, may have beauty. In truth, without going\nfurther, common sense considers _ease_ to be the first requisite of\ngrace. It is not less evident that, on another side, nature ought not to\nact as a force with regard to mind, in order to give occasion for a fine\nmoral expression; for there, where physical nature commands alone, it is\nabsolutely necessary that the character of the man should vanish.\n\nWe can conceive three sorts of relation of man with himself: I mean the\nsensuous part of man with the reasonable part. From these three\nrelations we have to seek which is that one which best suits him in the\nsensuous world, and the expression of which constitutes the beautiful.\nEither man enforces silence upon the exigencies of his sensuous nature,\nto govern himself conformably with the superior exigencies of his\nreasonable nature; or else, on the contrary, he subjects the reasonable\nportion of his being to the sensuous part, reducing himself thus to obey\nonly the impulses which the necessity of nature imprints upon him, as\nwell as upon the other phenomena; or lastly, harmony is established\nbetween the impulsions of the one and the laws of the other, and man is\nin perfect accord with himself.\n\nIf he has the consciousness of his spiritual person, of his pure\nautonomy, man rejects all that is sensuous, and it is only when thus\nisolated from matter that he feels to the full his moral liberty. But\nfor that, as his sensuous nature opposes an obstinate and vigorous\nresistance to him, he must, on his side, exercise upon it a notable\npressure and a strong effort, without which he could neither put aside\nthe appetites nor reduce to silence the energetic voice of instinct. A\nmind of this quality makes the physical nature which depends on him feel\nthat it has a master in him, whether it fulfils the orders of the will\nor endeavors to anticipate them. Under its stern discipline sensuousness\nappears then repressed, and interior resistance will betray itself\nexteriorly by the constraint. This moral state cannot, then, be\nfavorable to beauty, because nature cannot produce the beautiful but as\nfar as it is free, and consequently that which betrays to us the\nstruggles of moral liberty against matter cannot either be grace.\n\nIf, on the contrary, subdued by its wants, man allows himself to be\ngoverned without reserve by the instinct of nature, it is his interior\nautonomy that vanishes, and with it all trace of this autonomy is\nexteriorly effaced. The animal nature is alone visible upon his visage;\nthe eye is watery and languishing, the mouth rapaciously open, the voice\ntrembling and muffled, the breathing short and rapid, the limbs\ntrembling with nervous agitation: the whole body by its languor betrays\nits moral degradation. Moral force has renounced all resistance, and\nphysical nature, with such a man, is placed in full liberty. But\nprecisely this complete abandonment of moral independence, which occurs\nordinarily at the moment of sensuous desire, and more still at the\nmoment of enjoyment, sets suddenly brute matter at liberty which until\nthen had been kept in equilibrium by the active and passive forces. The\ninert forces of nature commence from thence to gain the upper hand over\nthe living forces of the organism; the form is oppressed by matter,\nhumanity by common nature. The eye, in which the soul shone forth,\nbecomes dull, or it protrudes from its socket with I know not what\nglassy haggardness; the delicate pink of the cheeks thickens, and\nspreads as a coarse pigment in uniform layers. The mouth is no longer\nanything but a simple opening, because its form no longer depends upon\nthe action of forces, but on their non-resistance; the gasping voice and\nbreathing are no more than an effort to ease the laborious and oppressed\nlungs, and which show a simple mechanical want, with nothing that\nreveals a soul. In a word, in that state of liberty which physical\nnature arrogates to itself from its chief, we must not think of beauty.\nUnder the empire of the moral agent, the liberty of form was only\nrestrained, here it is crushed by brutal matter, which gains as much\nground as is abstracted from the will. Man in this state not only\nrevolts the moral sense, which incessantly claims of the face an\nexpression of human dignity, but the _\u00e6sthetic_ sense, which is not\ncontent with simple matter, and which finds in the form an unfettered\npleasure\u2014the \u00e6sthetic sense will turn away with disgust from such a\nspectacle, where _concupiscence_ could alone find its gratification.\n\nOf these two relations between the moral nature of man and his physical\nnature, the first makes us think of a monarchy, where strict\n_surveillance_ of the prince holds in hand all free movement; the second\nis an ochlocracy, where the citizen, in refusing to obey his legitimate\nsovereign, finds he has liberty quite as little as the human face has\nbeauty when the moral autonomy is oppressed; nay, on the contrary, just\nas the citizens are given over to the brutal despotism of the lowest\nclasses, so the form is given over here to the despotism of matter. Just\nas liberty finds itself between the two extremes of legal oppression and\nanarchy, so also we shall find the beautiful between two extremes,\nbetween the expression of dignity which bears witness to the domination\nexercised by the mind, and the voluptuous expression which reveals the\ndomination exercised by instinct.\n\nIn other terms, if the beauty of expression is incompatible with the\nabsolute government of reason over sensuous nature, and with the\ngovernment of sensuous nature over the reason, it follows that the third\nstate (for one could not conceive a fourth)\u2014that in which the reason and\nthe senses, duty and inclination, are in harmony\u2014will be that in which\nthe beauty of play is produced. In order that obedience to reason may\nbecome an object of inclination, it must represent for us the principle\nof pleasure; for pleasure and pain are the only springs which set the\ninstincts in motion. It is true that in life it is the reverse that\ntakes place, and pleasure is ordinarily the motive for which we act\naccording to reason. If morality itself has at last ceased to hold this\nlanguage, it is to the immortal author of the \u201cCritique\u201d to whom we must\noffer our thanks; it is to him to whom the glory is due of having\nrestored the healthy reason in separating it from all systems. But in\nthe manner in which the principles of this philosopher are ordinarily\nexpressed by himself and also by others, it appears that the inclination\ncan never be for the moral sense otherwise than a very suspicious\ncompanion, and pleasure a dangerous auxiliary for moral determinations.\nIn admitting that the instinct of happiness does not exercise a blind\ndomination over man, it does not the less desire to interfere in the\nmoral actions which depend on free arbitration, and by that it changes\nthe pure action of the will, which ought always to obey the law alone,\nnever the _instinct_. Thus, to be altogether sure that the inclination\nhas not interfered with the demonstrations of the will, we prefer to see\nit in opposition rather than in accord with the law of reason; because\nit may happen too easily, when the inclination speaks in favor of duty,\nthat duty draws from the recommendation all its credit over the will.\nAnd in fact, as in practical morals, it is not the conformity of the\nacts with the law, but only the conformity of the sentiments with duty,\nwhich is important. We do not attach, and with reason, any value to this\nconsideration, that it is ordinarily more favorable to the conformity of\nacts with the law that inclination is on the side of duty. As a\nconsequence, this much appears evident: that the assent of sense, if it\ndoes not render suspicious the conformity of the will with duty, at\nleast does not guarantee it. Thus the sensuous expression of this\nassent, expression that grace offers to us, could never bear a\nsufficient available witness to the morality of the act in which it is\nmet; and it is not from that which an action or a sentiment manifests to\nthe eyes by graceful expression that we must judge of the moral merit of\nthat sentiment or of that action.\n\nUp to the present time I believe I have been in perfect accord with the\nrigorists in morals. I shall not become, I hope, a relaxed moralist in\nendeavoring to maintain in the world of phenomena and in the real\nfulfilment of the law of duty those rights of sensuous nature which,\nupon the ground of pure reason and in the jurisdiction of the moral law,\nare completely set aside and excluded.\n\nI will explain. Convinced as I am, and precisely because I am convinced,\nthat the inclination in associating itself to an act of the will offers\nno witness to the pure conformity of this act with the duty, I believe\nthat we are able to infer from this that the moral perfection of man\ncannot shine forth except from this very association of his inclination\nwith his moral conduct. In fact, the destiny of man is not to accomplish\nisolated moral acts, but to be a moral being. That which is prescribed\nto him does not consist of virtues, but of virtue, and virtue is not\nanything else \u201cthan an inclination for duty.\u201d Whatever, then, in the\nobjective sense, may be the opposition which separates the acts\nsuggested by the inclination from those which duty determines, we cannot\nsay it is the same in the subjective sense; and not only is it permitted\nto man to accord duty with pleasure, but he ought to establish between\nthem this accord, he ought to obey his reason with a sentiment of joy.\nIt is not to throw it off as a burden, nor to cast it off as a too\ncoarse skin. No, it is to unite it, by a union the most intimate, with\nhis Ego, with the most noble part of his being, that a sensuous nature\nhas been associated in him to his purely spiritual nature. By the fact\nthat nature has made of him a being both at once reasonable and\nsensuous, that is to say, a man, it has prescribed to him the obligation\nnot to separate that which she has united; not to sacrifice in him the\nsensuous being, were it in the most pure manifestations of the divine\npart; and never to found the triumph of one over the oppression and the\nruin of the other. It is only when he gathers, so to speak, his entire\n_humanity_ together, and his way of thinking in morals becomes the\nresult of the united action of the two principles, when morality has\nbecome to him a second nature, it is then only that it is secure; for,\nas far as the mind and the duty are obliged to employ violence, it is\nnecessary that the instinct shall have force to resist them. The enemy\nwhich only is overturned can rise up again, but the enemy reconciled is\ntruly vanquished. In the moral philosophy of Kant the idea of duty is\nproposed with a harshness enough to ruffle the Graces, and one which\ncould easily tempt a feeble mind to seek for moral perfection in the\nsombre paths of an ascetic and monastic life. Whatever precautions the\ngreat philosopher has been able to take in order to shelter himself\nagainst this false interpretation, which must be repugnant more than all\nelse to the serenity of the free mind, he has lent it a strong impulse,\nit seems to me, in opposing to each other by a harsh contrast the two\nprinciples which act upon the human will. Perhaps it was hardly\npossible, from the point of view in which he was placed, to avoid this\nmistake; but he has exposed himself seriously to it. Upon the basis of\nthe question there is no longer, after the demonstration he has given,\nany discussion possible, at least for the heads which think and which\nare quite _willing to be persuaded_; and I am not at all sure if it\nwould not be better to renounce at once all the attributes of the human\nbeing than to be willing to reach on this point, by reason, a different\nresult. But although he began to work without any prejudice when he\nsearched for the truth, and though all is here explained by purely\nobjective reasons, it appears that when he put forward the truth once\nfound he had been guided by a more subjective maxim, which is not\ndifficult, I believe, to be accounted for by the time and circumstances.\n\nWhat, in fact, was the moral of his time, either in theory or in its\napplication? On one side, a gross materialism, of which the shameless\nmaxims would revolt his soul; impure resting-places offered to the\nbastard characters of a century by the unworthy complacency of\nphilosophers; on the other side, a pretended system of perfectibility,\nnot less suspicious, which, to realize the chimera of a general\nperfection common to the whole universe, would not be embarrassed for a\nchoice of means. This is what would meet his attention. So he carried\nthere, where the most pressing danger lay and reform was the most\nurgent, the strongest forces of his principles, and made it a law to\npursue sensualism without pity, whether it walks with a bold face,\nimpudently insulting morality, or dissimulates under the imposing veil\nof a moral, praiseworthy end, under which a certain fanatical kind of\norder know how to disguise it. He had not to disguise _ignorance_, but\nto reform _perversion_; for such a cure a violent blow, and not\npersuasion or flattery, was necessary; and the more the contrast would\nbe violent between the true principles and the dominant maxims, the more\nhe would hope to provoke reflection upon this point. He was the Draco of\nhis time, because his time seemed to him as yet unworthy to possess a\nSolon, neither capable of receiving him. From the sanctuary of pure\nreason he drew forth the moral law, unknown then, and yet, in another\nway, so known; he made it appear in all its saintliness before a\ndegraded century, and troubled himself little to know whether there were\neyes too enfeebled to bear the brightness.\n\nBut what had the _children of the house_ done for him to have occupied\nhimself only with the _valets_? Because strongly impure inclinations\noften usurp the name of virtue, was it a reason for disinterested\ninclinations in the noblest heart to be also rendered suspicious?\nBecause the moral epicurean had willingly relaxed the law of reason, in\norder to fit it as a plaything to his customs, was it a reason to thus\nexaggerate harshness, and to make the fulfilment of duty, which is the\nmost powerful manifestation of moral freedom, another kind of decorated\nservitude of a more specious name? And, in fact, between the esteem and\nthe contempt of himself has the truly moral man a more free choice than\nthe slave of sense between pleasure and pain? Is there less of\nconstraint there for a pure will than here for a depraved will? Must\none, by this imperative form given to the moral law, accuse man and\nhumble him, and make of this law, which is the most sublime witness of\nour grandeur, the most crushing argument for our fragility? Was it\npossible with this imperative force to avoid that a prescription which\nman imposes on himself, as a reasonable being, and which is obligatory\nonly for him on that account, and which is conciliatory with the\nsentiment of his liberty only\u2014that this prescription, say I, took the\nappearance of a foreign law, a positive law, an appearance which could\nhardly lessen the radical tendency which we impute to man to react\nagainst the law?\n\nIt is certainly not an advantage for moral truth to have against itself\nsentiments which man can avow without shame. Thus, how can the sentiment\nof the beautiful, the sentiment of liberty, accord with the austere mind\nof a legislation which governs man rather through fear than trust, which\ntends constantly to separate that which nature has united, and which is\nreduced to hold us in defiance against a part of our being, to assure\nits empire over the rest? Human nature forms a whole more united in\nreality than it is permitted to the philosopher, who can only analyze,\nto allow it to appear. The reason can never reject as unworthy of it the\naffections which the heart recognizes with joy; and there, where man\nwould be morally fallen, he can hardly rise in his own esteem. If in the\nmoral order the sensuous nature were only the oppressed party and not an\nally, how could it associate with all the ardor of its sentiments in a\ntriumph which would be celebrated only over itself? how could it be so\nkeen a participator in the satisfaction of a pure spirit having\nconsciousness of itself, if in the end it could not attach itself to the\npure spirit with such closeness that it is not possible even to\nintellectual analysis to separate it without violence.\n\nThe will, besides, is in more immediate relation with the faculty of\nfeeling than with the cognitive faculties, and it would be regrettable\nin many circumstances if it were obliged, in order to guide itself, to\ntake advice of pure reason. I prejudge nothing good of a man who dares\nso little trust to the voice of instinct that he is obliged each time to\nmake it appear first before the moral law; he is much more estimable who\nabandons himself with a certain security to inclination, without having\nto fear being led astray by her. That proves in fact that with him the\ntwo principles are already in harmony\u2014in that harmony which places a\nseat upon the perfection of the human being, and which constitutes that\nwhich we understand by a noble soul.\n\nIt is said of a man that he has a great soul when the moral sense has\nfinished assuring itself of all the affections, to the extent of\nabandoning without fear the direction of the senses to the will, and\nnever incurring the risk of finding himself in discord with its\ndecisions. It follows that in a noble soul it is not this or that\nparticular action, it is the entire character which is moral. Thus we\ncan make a merit of none of its actions because the satisfaction of an\ninstinct could not be meritorious. A noble soul has no other merit than\nto be a noble soul. With as great a facility as if the instinct alone\nwere acting, it accomplishes the most painful duties of humanity, and\nthe most heroic sacrifice that she obtains over the instinct of nature\nseems the effect of the free action of the instinct itself. Also, it has\nno idea of the beauty of its act, and it never occurs to it that any\nother way of acting could be possible; on the contrary, the moralist\nformed by the school and by rule, is always ready at the first question\nof the master to give an account with the most rigorous precision of the\nconformity of its acts with the moral law. The life of this one is like\na drawing where the pencil has indicated by harsh and stiff lines all\nthat the rule demands, and which could, if necessary, serve for a\nstudent to learn the elements of art. The life of a noble soul, on the\ncontrary, is like a painting of Titian; all the harsh outlines are\neffaced, which does not prevent the whole face being more true, lifelike\nand harmonious.\n\nIt is then in a noble soul that is found the true harmony between reason\nand sense, between inclination and duty, and grace is the expression of\nthis harmony in the sensuous world. It is only in the service of a noble\nsoul that nature can at the same time be in possession of its liberty,\nand preserve from all alteration the beauty of its forms; for the one,\nits liberty would be compromised under the tyranny of an austere soul,\nthe other, under the anarchical regimen of sensuousness. A noble soul\nspreads even over a face in which the architectonic beauty is wanting an\nirresistible grace, and often even triumphs over the natural disfavor.\nAll the movements which proceed from a noble soul are easy, sweet, and\nyet animated. The eye beams with serenity as with liberty, and with the\nbrightness of sentiment; gentleness of heart would naturally give to the\nmouth a grace that no affectation, no art, could attain. You trace there\nno effort in the varied play of the physiognomy, no constraint in the\nvoluntary movements\u2014a noble soul knows not constraint; the voice becomes\nmusic, and the limpid stream of its modulations touches the heart. The\nbeauty of structure can excite pleasure, admiration, astonishment; grace\nalone can charm. Beauty has its adorers; grace alone has its lovers: for\nwe pay our homage to the Creator, and we love man. As a whole, grace\nwould be met with especially amongst women; beauty, on the contrary, is\nmet with more frequently in man, and we need not go far without finding\nthe reason. For grace we require the union of bodily structure, as well\nas that of character: the body, by its suppleness, by its promptitude to\nreceive impressions and to bring them into action; the character, by the\nmoral harmony of the sentiments. Upon these two points nature has been\nmore favorable to the woman than to man.\n\nThe more delicate structure of the woman receives more rapid each\nimpression and allows it to escape as rapidly. It requires a storm to\nshake a strong constitution, and when vigorous muscles begin to move we\nshould not find the ease which is one of the conditions of grace. That\nwhich upon the face of woman is still a beautiful sensation would\nexpress suffering already upon the face of man. Woman has the more\ntender nerves; it is a reed which bends under the gentlest breath of\npassion. The soul glides in soft and amiable ripples upon her expressive\nface, which soon regains the calm and smooth surface of the mirror.\n\nThe same also for the character: for that necessary union of the soul\nwith grace the woman is more happily gifted than man. The character of\nwoman rises rarely to the supreme ideal of moral purity, and would\nrarely go beyond acts of affection; her character would often resist\nsensuousness with heroic force. Precisely because the moral nature of\nwoman is generally on the side of inclination, the effect becomes the\nsame, in that which touches the sensuous expression of this moral state,\nas if the inclination were on the side of duty. Thus grace would be the\nexpression of feminine virtue, and this expression would often be\nwanting in manly virtue.\n\n\n                              ON DIGNITY.\n\nAs grace is the expression of a noble soul, so is dignity the expression\nof elevated feeling.\n\nIt has been prescribed to man, it is true, to establish between his two\nnatures a unison, to form always an harmonious whole, and to act as in\nunion with his entire humanity. But this beauty of character, this last\nfruit of human maturity, is but an ideal to which he ought to force his\nconformity with a constant vigilance, but to which, with all his\nefforts, he can never attain.\n\nHe cannot attain to it because his nature is thus made and it will not\nchange; the physical conditions of his existence themselves are opposed\nto it.\n\nIn fact, his existence, so far as he is a sensuous creature, depends on\ncertain physical conditions; and in order to insure this existence man\nought\u2014because, in his quality of a free being, capable of determining\nhis modifications by his own will\u2014to watch over his own preservation\nhimself. Man ought to be made capable of certain acts in order to fulfil\nthese physical conditions of his existence, and when these conditions\nare out of order to re-establish them.\n\nBut although nature had to give up to him this care which she reserves\nexclusively to herself in those creatures which have only a vegetative\nlife, still it was necessary that the satisfaction of so essential a\nwant, in which even the existence of the individual and of the species\nis interested, should not be absolutely left to the discretion of man,\nand his doubtful foresight. It has then provided for this interest,\nwhich in the foundation concerns it, and it has also interfered with\nregard to the form in placing in the determination of free arbitration a\nprinciple of necessity. From that arises natural instinct, which is\nnothing else than a principle of physical necessity which acts upon free\narbitration by the means of sensation.\n\nThe natural instinct solicits the sensuous faculty through the combined\nforce of pain and of pleasure: by pain when it asks satisfaction, and by\npleasure when it has found what it asks.\n\nAs there is no bargaining possible with physical necessity, man must\nalso, in spite of his liberty, feel what nature desires him to feel.\nAccording as it awakens in him a painful or an agreeable sensation,\nthere will infallibly result in him either aversion or desire. Upon this\npoint man quite resembles the brute; and the stoic, whatever his power\nof soul, is not less sensible of hunger, and has no less aversion to it,\nthan the worm that crawls at his feet.\n\nBut here begins the great difference: with the lower creature action\nsucceeds to desire or aversion quite as of necessity, as the desire to\nthe sensation, and the expression to the external impression. It is here\na perpetual circle, a chain, the links of which necessarily join one to\nthe other. With man there is one more force\u2014the will, which, as a\nsuper-sensuous faculty, is not so subject to the law of nature, nor that\nof reason, that he remains without freedom to choose, and to guide\nhimself according to this or to that. The animal cannot do otherwise\nthan seek to free itself from pain; man can decide to suffer.\n\nThe will of man is a privilege, a sublime idea, even when we do not\nconsider the moral use that he can make of it. But firstly, the animal\nnature must be in abeyance before approaching the other, and from that\ncause it is always a considerable step towards reaching the moral\nemancipation of the will to have conquered in us the necessity of\nnature, even in indifferent things, by the exercise in us of the simple\nwill.\n\nThe jurisdiction of nature extends as far as the will, but there it\nstops, and the empire of reason commences. Placed between these two\njurisdictions, the will is absolutely free to receive the law from one\nand the other; but it is not in the same relation with one and the\nother. Inasmuch as it is a natural force it is equally free with regard\nto nature and with respect to reason; I mean to say it is not forced to\npass either on the side of one or of the other: but as far as it is a\nmoral faculty it is not free; I mean that it ought to choose the law of\nreason. It is not chained to one or the other, but it is _obliged_\ntowards the law of reason. The will really then makes use of its liberty\neven whilst it acts contrary to reason: but it makes use of it\nunworthily, because, notwithstanding its liberty, it is no less under\nthe jurisdiction of nature, and adds no real action to the operation of\npure instinct; for to will by virtue of _desire_ is only to desire in a\ndifferent way.\n\nThere may be conflict between the law of nature, which works in us\nthrough the instinct, and the law of reason, which comes out of\nprinciples, when the instinct, to satisfy itself, demands of us an\naction which disgusts our moral sense. It is, then, the duty of the will\nto make the exigencies of the instinct give way to reason. Whilst the\nlaws of nature oblige the will only conditionally, the laws of reason\noblige absolutely and without conditions.\n\nBut nature obstinately maintains her rights, and as it is never by the\nresult of free choice that she solicits us, she also does not withdraw\nany of her exigencies as long as she has not been satisfied. Since, from\nthe first cause which gave the impulsion to the threshold of the will\nwhere its jurisdiction ends, all in her is rigorously necessary,\nconsequently she can neither give way nor go back, but must always go\nforward and press more and more the will on which depends the\nsatisfaction of her wants. Sometimes, it is true, we could say that\nnature shortens her road and acts immediately as a cause for the\nsatisfaction of her needs without having in the first instance carried\nher request before the will. In such a case, that is to say, if man not\nsimply allowed instinct to follow a free course, but if instinct took\nthis course of itself, man would be no more than the brute. But it is\nvery doubtful whether this case would ever present itself, and if ever\nit were really presented it would remain to be seen whether we should\nnot blame the will itself for this blind power which the instinct would\nhave usurped.\n\nThus the appetitive faculty claims with persistence the satisfaction of\nits wants, and the will is solicited to procure it; but the will should\nreceive from the reason the motives by which she determines. What does\nthe reason permit? What does she prescribe? This is what the will should\ndecide upon. Well, then, if the will turns towards the reason before\nconsenting to the request of the instinct, it is properly a moral act;\nbut if it immediately decides, without consulting the reason, it is a\nphysical act.\n\nEvery time, then, that nature manifests an exigence and seeks to draw\nthe will along with it by the blind violence of affective movement, it\nis the duty of the will to order nature to halt until reason has\npronounced. The sentence which reason pronounces, will it be favorable\nor the contrary to the interest of sensuousness? This is, up to the\npresent time, what the will does not know. Also it should observe this\nconduct for all the affective movements without exception, and when it\nis nature which has spoken the first, never allow it to act as an\nimmediate cause. Man would testify only by that to his independence. It\nis when, by an act of his will, he breaks the violence of his desires,\nwhich hasten towards the object which should satisfy them, and would\ndispense entirely with the co-operation of the will,\u2014it is only then\nthat he reveals himself in quality of a moral being, that is to say, as\na free agent, which does not only allow itself to experience either\naversion or desire, out which at all times must _will_ his aversions and\nhis desires.\n\nBut this act of taking previously the advice of reason is already an\nattempt against nature, who is a competent judge in her own cause, and\nwho will not allow her sentences to be submitted to a new and strange\njurisdiction; this act of the will which thus brings the appetitive\nfaculty before the tribunal of reason is then, in the proper acceptation\nof the word, an _act against nature_, in that it renders accidental that\nwhich is necessary, in that it attributes to the laws of reason the\nright to decide in a cause where the laws of nature can alone pronounce,\nand where they have pronounced effectively. Just, in fact, as the reason\nin the exercise of its moral jurisdiction is little troubled to know if\nthe decisions it can come to will satisfy or not the sensuous nature, so\nthe sensuous in the exercise of the right which is proper to it does not\ntrouble itself whether its decisions would satisfy pure reason or not.\nEach is equally necessary, though different in necessity, and this\ncharacter of necessity would be destroyed if it were permitted for one\nto modify arbitrarily the decisions of the other. This is why the man\nwho has the most moral energy cannot, whatever resistance he opposes to\ninstinct, free himself from sensuousness, or stifle desire, but can only\ndeny it an influence upon the decisions of his will; he can disarm\ninstinct by moral means, but he cannot appease it but by natural means.\nBy his independent force he may prevent the laws of nature from\nexercising any constraint over his will, but he can absolutely change\nnothing of the laws themselves.\n\nThus in the affective movements in which nature (instinct) acts the\n_first_ and seeks to do without the will, or to draw it violently to its\nside, the morality of character cannot manifest itself but by its\nresistance, and there is but one means of preventing the instinct from\nrestraining the liberty of the will: it is to restrain the instinct\nitself. Thus we can only have agreement between the law of reason and\nthe affective phenomena, under the condition of putting both in discord\nwith the exigencies of instinct. And as nature never gives way to moral\nreasons, and recalls her claims, and as on her side, consequently, all\nremains in the same state, in whatever manner the will acts towards her,\nit results that there is no possible accord between the inclination and\nduty, between reason and sense; and that here man cannot act at the same\ntime with all his being and with all the harmony of his nature, but\nexclusive with his reasonable nature. Thus in these sorts of actions we\ncould not find moral beauty, because an action is morally good only as\nfar as inclination has taken part in it, and here the inclination\nprotests against much more than it concurs with it. But these actions\nhave moral grandeur, because all that testifies to a preponderating\nauthority exercised over the sensuous nature has grandeur, and grandeur\nis found only there.\n\nIt is, then, in the affective movements that this great soul of which we\nspeak transforms itself and becomes sublime; and it is the touchstone to\ndistinguish the soul truly great from what is called a _good_ heart, or\nfrom the virtue of _temperament_. When in man the inclination is ranged\non the side of morality only because moral itself is happily on the side\nof inclination, it will happen that the instinct of nature in the\naffective movements will exercise upon the will a full empire, and if a\nsacrifice is necessary it is the moral nature, and not the sensuous\nnature, that will make it. If, on the contrary, it is reason itself\nwhich has made the inclination pass to the side of duty (which is the\ncase in the fine character), and which has only confided the rudder to\nthe sensuous nature, it will be always able to retake it as soon as the\ninstinct should misuse its full powers. Thus the virtue of temperament\nin the affective movements falls back to the state of simple production\nof nature, whilst the noble soul passes to heroism and rises to the rank\nof pure intelligence.\n\nThe rule over the instincts by moral force is the emancipation of mind,\nand the expression by which this independence presents itself to the\neyes in the world of phenomena is what is called _dignity_.\n\nTo consider this rigorously: the moral force in man is susceptible of no\nrepresentation, for the super-sensuous could not explain itself by a\nphenomenon that falls under the sense; but it can be represented\nindirectly to the mind by sensuous signs, and this is actually the case\nwith dignity in the configuration of man.\n\nWhen the instinct of nature is excited, it is accompanied just as the\nheart in its moral emotions is, by certain movements of the body, which\nsometimes go before the will, sometimes, even as movements purely\nsympathetic, escape altogether its empire. In fact, as neither\nsensation, nor the desire, nor aversion, are subject to the free\narbitration of man, man has no right over the physical movements which\nimmediately depend on it. But the instinct does not confine itself to\nsimple desire; it presses, it advances, it endeavors to realize its\nobject; and if it does not meet in the autonomy of the mind an energetic\nresistance, it will even anticipate it, it will itself take the\ninitiative of those sorts of acts over which the will alone has the\nright to pronounce. For the instinct of conservation tends without\nceasing to usurp the legislative powers in the domain of the will, and\nits efforts go to exercise over man a domination as absolute as over the\nbeast. There are, then, two sorts of distinct movements, which, in\nthemselves and by their origin, in each affective phenomenon, arise in\nman by the instinct of conservation: those firstly which immediately\nproceed from sensation, and which, consequently, are quite involuntary;\nthen those which in principle could and would be voluntary, but from\nwhich the blind instinct of nature takes all freedom. The first refer to\nthe affection itself, and are united necessarily with it; the others\nrespond rather to the cause and to the object of the affections, and are\nthus accidental and susceptible of modification, and cannot be mistaken\nfor infallible signs of the affective phenomena. But as both one and the\nother, when once the object is determined, are equally necessary to the\ninstinct of nature, so they assist, both one and the other, the\nexpression of affective phenomena; a necessary competition, in order\nthat the expression should be complete and form a harmonious whole.\n\nIf, then, the will is sufficiently independent to repress the\naggressions of instinct and to maintain its rights against this blind\nforce, all the phenomena which the instinct of nature, once excited,\nproduce, in its proper domain, will preserve, it is true, their force;\nbut those of the second kind, those which came out of a foreign\njurisdiction, and which it pretended to subject arbitrarily to its\npower, these phenomena would not take place. Thus the phenomena are no\nlonger in harmony; but it is precisely in their opposition that consists\nthe expression of the moral force. Suppose that we see a man a prey to\nthe most poignant affection, manifested by movements of the first kind,\nby quite involuntary movements. His veins swell, his muscles contract\nconvulsively, his voice is stifled, his chest is raised and projects,\nwhilst the lower portion of the torso is sunken and compressed; but at\nthe same time the voluntary movements are soft, the features of the face\nfree, and serenity beams forth from the brow and in the look. If man\nwere only a physical being, all his traits, being determined only by one\nand the same principle, would be in unison one with the other, and would\nhave a similar expression. Here, for example, they would unite in\nexpressing exclusively suffering; but as those traits which express\ncalmness are mixed up with those which express suffering, and as similar\ncauses do not produce opposite effects, we must recognize in this\ncontrast the presence and the action of a moral force, independent of\nthe passive affections, and superior to the impressions beneath which we\nsee sensuous nature give way. And this is why calmness under suffering,\nin which properly consists dignity, becomes\u2014indirectly, it is true, and\nby means of reasoning\u2014a representation of the pure intelligence which is\nin man, and an expression of his moral liberty. But it is not only under\nsuffering, in the restricted sense of the word, in the sense in which it\nmarks only the painful affections, but generally in all the cases in\nwhich the appetitive faculty is strongly interested, that mind ought to\nshow its liberty, and that dignity ought to be the dominant expression.\nDignity is not less required in the agreeable affections than in the\npainful affections, because in both cases nature would willingly play\nthe part of master, and has to be held in check by the will. Dignity\nrelates to the form and not to the nature of the affection, and this is\nwhy it can be possible that often an affection, praiseworthy in the\nmain, but one to which we blindly commit ourselves, degenerates, from\nthe want of dignity, into vulgarity and baseness; and, on the contrary,\na condemnable affection, as soon as it testifies by its form to the\nempire of the mind over the senses, changes often its character and\napproaches even towards the sublime.\n\nThus in dignity the mind reigns over the body and bears itself as ruler:\nhere it has its independence to defend against imperious impulse, always\nready to do without it, to act and shake off its yoke. But in grace, on\nthe contrary, the mind governs with a _liberal_ government, for here the\nmind itself causes sensuous nature to act, and it finds no resistance to\novercome. But obedience only merits forbearance, and severity is only\njustifiable when provoked by opposition.\n\nThus grace is nothing else than the liberty of voluntary movements, and\ndignity consists in mastering involuntary movements. Grace leaves to\nsensuous nature, where it obeys the orders of the mind, a certain air of\nindependence: dignity, on the contrary, submits the sensuous nature to\nmind where it would make the pretensions to rule; wherever instinct\ntakes the initiative and allows itself to trespass upon the attributes\nof the will, the will must show it no indulgence, but it must testify to\nits own independence (autonomy), in opposing to it the most energetic\nresistance. If, on the contrary, it is the will that commences, and if\ninstinct does but follow it, the free arbitration has no longer to\ndisplay any rigor, now it must show indulgence. Such is in a few words\nthe law which ought to regulate the relation of the two natures of man\nin what regards the expression of this relation in the world of\nphenomena.\n\nIt follows that dignity is required, and is seen particularly in passive\naffection, whilst grace is shown in the conduct, for it is only in\nsuffering that the liberty of the soul can be manifested, and only in\naction that the liberty of the body can be displayed.\n\nIf dignity is an expression of resistance opposed to instinct by moral\nliberty, and if the instinct consequently ought to be considered as a\nforce that renders resistance necessary, it follows that dignity is\nridiculous where you have no force of this kind to resist, and\ncontemptible where there ought not to be any such force to combat. We\nlaugh at a comedian, whatever rank or condition he may occupy, who even\nin indifferent actions affects dignity. We despise those small souls\nwho, for having accomplished an ordinary action, and often for having\nsimply abstained from a base one, plume themselves on their dignity.\n\nGenerally, what is demanded of virtue is not properly speaking dignity,\nbut grace. Dignity is implicitly contained in the idea of virtue, which\neven by its nature supposes already the rule of man over his instincts.\nIt is rather sensuous nature that, in the fulfilment of moral duties, is\nfound in a state of oppression and constraint, particularly when it\nconsummates in a painful sacrifice. But as the ideal of perfection in\nman does not require a struggle, but harmony between the moral and\nphysical nature, this ideal is little compatible with dignity, which is\nonly the expression of a struggle between the two natures, and as such\nrenders visible either the particular impotence of the individual, or\nthe impotence common to the species. In the first case, when the want of\nharmony between inclination and duty, with regard to a moral act,\nbelongs to the particular powerlessness of the subject, the act would\nalways lose its moral value, in as far as that combat is necessary, and,\nin consequence, proportionally as there would be dignity in the exterior\nexpression of this act; for our moral judgment connects each individual\nwith the common measure of the species, and we do not allow man to be\nstopped by other limits than those of human nature.\n\nIn the second case, when the action commanded by duty cannot be placed\nin harmony with the exigencies of instinct without going against the\nidea of human nature, the resistance of the inclination is necessary,\nand then only the sight of the combat can convince us of the possibility\nof victory. Thus we ask here of the features and attitudes an expression\nof this interior struggle, not being able to take upon ourselves to\nbelieve in virtue where there is no trace of humanity. Where then the\nmoral law commands of us an action which necessarily makes the sensuous\nnature suffer, there the matter is serious, and ought not to be treated\nas play; ease and lightness in accomplishing this act would be much more\nlikely to revolt us than to satisfy us; and thus, in consequence,\nexpression is no longer grace, but dignity. In general, the law which\nprevails here is, that man ought to accomplish with grace all the acts\nthat he can execute in the sphere of human nature; and with dignity all\nthose for the accomplishment of which he is obliged to go beyond his\nnature.\n\nIn like manner as we ask of virtue to have grace, we ask of inclination\nto have dignity. Grace is not less natural to inclination than dignity\nto virtue, and that is evident from the idea of grace, which is all\nsensuous and favorable to the liberty of physical nature, and which is\nrepugnant to all idea of constraint. The man without cultivation lacks\nnot by himself a certain degree of grace, when love or any other\naffection of this kind animates him; and where do we find more grace\nthan in children, who are nevertheless entirely under the direction of\ninstinct. The danger is rather that inclination should end by making the\nstate of passion the dominant one, stifling the independence of mind,\nand bringing about a general relaxation. Therefore in order to\nconciliate the esteem of a noble sentiment\u2014esteem can only be inspired\nby that which proceeds from a moral source\u2014the inclination must always\nbe accompanied by dignity. It is for that reason a person in love\ndesires to find dignity in the object of this passion. Dignity alone is\nthe warrant that it is not need which has forced, but free choice which\nhas chosen, that he is not desired as a thing, but esteemed as a person.\n\nWe require grace of him who obliges, dignity of the person obliged: the\nfirst, to set aside an advantage which he has over the other, and which\nmight wound, ought to give to his actions, though his decision may have\nbeen disinterested, the character of an affective movement, that thus,\nfrom the part which he allows inclination to take, he may have the\nappearance of being the one who gains the most: the second, not to\ncompromise by the dependence in which he put himself the honor of\nhumanity, of which liberty is the saintly palladium, ought to raise what\nis only a pure movement of instinct to the height of an act of the will,\nand in this manner, at the moment when he receives a favor, return in a\ncertain sense another favor.\n\nWe must censure with grace, and own our faults with dignity: to put\ndignity into our remonstrances is to have the air of a man too\npenetrated by his own advantage: to put grace into our confessions is to\nforget the inferiority in which our fault has placed us. Do the powerful\ndesire to conciliate affection? Their superiority must be tempered by\ngrace. The feeble, do they desire to conciliate esteem? They must\nthrough dignity rise above their powerlessness. Generally it is thought\nthat dignity is suitable to the throne, and every one knows that those\nseated upon it desire to find in their councillors, their confessors,\nand in their parliaments\u2014grace. But that which may be good and\npraiseworthy in a kingdom is not so always in the domain of taste. The\nprince himself enters into this domain as soon as he descends from his\nthrone (for thrones have their privileges), and the crouching courtier\nplaces himself under the saintly and free probation of this law as soon\nas he stands erect and becomes again a man. The first we would counsel\nto supplement from the superfluity of the second that which he himself\nneeds, and to give him as much of his dignity as he requires to borrow\ngrace from him.\n\nAlthough dignity and grace have each their proper domain in which they\nare manifest, they do not exclude each other. They can be met with in\nthe same person, and even in the same state of that person. Further, it\nis grace alone which guarantees and accredits dignity, and dignity alone\ncan give value to grace.\n\nDignity alone, wherever met with, testifies that the desires and\ninclinations are restrained within certain limits. But what we take for\na force which moderates and rules, may it not be rather an obliteration\nof the faculty of feeling (hardness)? Is it really the moral autonomy,\nand may it not be rather the preponderance of another affection, and in\nconsequence a voluntary interested effort that restrains the outburst of\nthe present affection? This is what grace alone can put out of doubt in\njoining itself to dignity. It is grace, I mean to say, that testifies to\na peaceful soul in harmony with itself and a feeling heart.\n\nIn like manner grace by itself shows a certain susceptibility of the\nfeeling faculty, and a certain harmony of sentiment. But may this not be\na certain relaxation of the mind which allows so much liberty to\nsensuous nature and which opens the heart to all impressions? Is it\nindeed the moral which has established this harmony between the\nsentiments? It is dignity alone which can in its turn guarantee this to\nus in joining itself to grace; I mean it is dignity alone which attests\nin the subject an independent force, and at the moment when the will\nrepresses the license of involuntary movement, it is by dignity that it\nmakes known that the _liberty_ of voluntary movements is a simple\nconcession on its part.\n\nIf grace and dignity, still supported, the one by architectonic beauty\nand the other by force, were united in the same person, the expression\nof human nature would be accomplished in him: such a person would be\njustified in the spiritual world and set at liberty in the sensuous\nworld. Here the two domains touch so closely that their units are\nindistinguishable. The smile that plays on the lips; this sweetly\nanimated look; that serenity spread over the brow\u2014it is the liberty of\nthe reason which gleams forth in a softened light. This noble majesty\nimpressed on the face is the sublime adieu of the necessity of nature,\nwhich disappears before the mind. Such is the ideal of human beauty\naccording to which the antique conceptions were formed, and we see it in\nthe divine forms of a Niobe, of the Apollo Belvedere, in the winged\nGenius of the Borghese, and in the Muse of the Barberini palace. There,\nwhere grace and dignity are united, we experience by turns attraction\nand repulsion; attraction as spiritual creatures, and repulsion as being\nsensuous creatures.\n\nDignity offers to us an example of subordination of sensuous nature to\nmoral nature\u2014an example which we are bound to imitate, but which at the\nsame time goes beyond the measure of our sensuous faculty. This\nopposition between the instincts of nature and the exigencies of the\nmoral law, exigencies, however, that we recognize as legitimate, brings\nour feelings into play and awakens a sentiment that we name _esteem_,\nwhich is inseparable from dignity.\n\nWith grace, on the contrary, as with beauty in general, reason finds its\ndemands satisfied in the world of sense, and sees with surprise one of\nits own ideas presented to it, realized in the world of phenomena. This\nunexpected encounter between the accident of nature and the necessity of\nreason awakens in us a sentiment of joyous approval (contentment) which\ncalms the senses, but which animates and occupies the mind, and it\nresults necessarily that we are attracted by a charm towards the\nsensuous object. It is this attraction which we call kindliness, or\nlove\u2014a sentiment inseparable from grace and beauty.\n\nThe attraction\u2014I mean the attraction (_stimulus_) not of love but of\nvoluptuousness\u2014proposes to the senses a sensuous object that promises to\nthese the satisfaction of a want, that is to say a pleasure; the senses\nare consequently solicited towards this sensuous object, and from that\nsprings desire, a sentiment which increases and excites the sensuous\nnature, but which, on the contrary, relaxes the spiritual nature.\n\nWe can say of _esteem_ that it inclines towards its object; of _love_,\nthat it approaches with inclination towards its object; of _desire_,\nthat it precipitates itself upon its object; with esteem, the object is\nreason, and the subject is sensuous nature; with love, the object is\nsensuous, and the subject is moral nature; with desire, the object and\nthe subject are purely sensuous.\n\nWith love alone is sentiment free, because it is pure in its principle,\nand because it draws its source from the seat of liberty, from the\nbreast of our divine nature. Here, it is not the weak and base part of\nour nature that measures itself with the greater and more noble part; it\nis not the sensibility, a prey to vertigo, which gazes up at the law of\nreason. It is _absolute greatness_ which is reflected in beauty and in\ngrace, and satisfied in morality; it becomes the legislator even, the\ngod in us who plays with his own image in the world of sense. Thus love\nconsoles and dilates the heart, whilst esteem strains it; because here\nthere is nothing which could limit the heart and compress its impulses,\nthere being nothing higher than absolute greatness; and sensibility,\nfrom which alone hinderance could come, is reconciled, in the breast of\nbeauty and of grace, with the ideas even of the mind. Love has but to\ndescend; esteem aspires with effort towards an object placed above it.\nThis is the reason that the wicked love nothing, though they are obliged\nto esteem many things. This is why the well-disposed man can hardly\nesteem without at once feeling love for the object. Pure spirit can only\nlove, but not esteem; the senses know only esteem, but not love.\n\nThe culpable man is perpetually a prey to fear, that he may meet in the\nworld of sense the legislator within himself; and sees an enemy in all\nthat bears the stamp of greatness, of beauty, and of perfection: the\nman, on the contrary, in whom a noble soul breathes, knows no greater\npleasure than to meet out of himself the image or realization of the\ndivine that is in him; and to embrace in the world of sense a symbol of\nthe immortal friend he loves. Love is at the same time the most generous\nand the most egotistical thing in nature; the most generous, because it\nreceives nothing and gives all\u2014pure mind being only able to give and not\nreceive; the most egotistical, for that which he seeks in the subject,\nthat which he enjoys in it, is himself and never anything else.\n\nBut precisely because he who loves receives from the beloved object\nnothing but that which he has himself given, it often happens that he\ngives more than he has received.\n\nThe exterior senses believe to have discovered in the object that which\nthe internal sense alone contemplates in it, in the end believing what\nis desired with ardor, and the riches belonging to the one who loves\nhide the poverty of the object loved. This is the reason why love is\nsubject to illusion, whilst esteem and desire are never deceived. As\nlong as the super-excitement of the internal senses overcomes the\ninternal senses, the soul remains under the charm of this Platonic love,\nwhich gives place only in duration to the delights enjoyed by the\nimmortals. But as soon as internal sense ceases to share its visions\nwith the exterior sense, these take possession of their rights and\nimperiously demand that which is its due\u2014matter. It is the terrestrial\nVenus who profits by the fire kindled by the celestial Venus, and it is\nnot rare to find the physical instinct, so long sacrificed, revenge\nitself by a rule all the more absolute. As external sense is never a\ndupe to illusion, it makes this advantage felt with a brutal insolence\nover its noble rival; and it possesses audacity to the point of\nasserting that it has settled an account that the spiritual nature had\nleft under sufferance.\n\nDignity prevents love from degenerating into desire, and grace, from\nesteem turning into fear. True beauty, true grace, ought never to cause\ndesire. Where desire is mingled, either the object wants dignity, or he\nwho considers it wants morality in his sentiments. True greatness ought\nnever to cause fear. If fear finds a place, you may hold for certain\neither that the object is wanting in taste and grace, or that he who\nconsiders it is not at peace with his conscience.\n\nAttraction, charm, grace: words commonly employed as synonyms, but which\nare not, or ought not to be so, the idea they express being capable of\nmany determinations, requiring different designations.\n\nThere is a kind of grace which animates, and another which calms the\nheart. One touches nearly the sphere of the senses, and the pleasure\nwhich is found in these, if not restrained by dignity, would easily\ndegenerate into concupiscence; we may use the word attraction [_Reiz_]\nto designate this grace. A man with whom the feelings have little\nelasticity does not find in himself the necessary force to awaken his\naffections: he needs to borrow it from without and to seek from\nimpressions which easily exercise the phantasy, by rapid transition from\nsentiment to action, in order to establish in himself the elasticity he\nhad lost. It is the advantage that he will find in the society of an\nattractive person, who by conversation and look would stir his\nimagination and agitate this stagnant water.\n\nThe calming grace approaches more nearly to dignity, inasmuch as it\nmanifests itself through the moderation which it imposes upon the\nimpetuosity of the movements. It is to this the man addresses himself\nwhose imagination is over-excited; it is in this peaceful atmosphere\nthat the heart seeks repose after the violence of the storm. It is to\nthis that I reserve especially the appellation of grace. Attraction is\nnot incompatible with laughter, jest, or the sting of raillery; grace\nagrees only with sympathy and love.\n\nDignity has also its degrees and its shades. If it approaches grace and\nbeauty, it takes the name of nobleness; if, on the contrary, it inclines\ntowards the side of fear, it becomes haughtiness.\n\nThe utmost degree of grace is _ravishing charm_. Dignity, in its highest\nform, is called _majesty_. In the ravishing we love our Ego, and we feel\nour being fused with the object. Liberty in its plenitude and in its\nhighest enjoyment tends to the complete destruction of liberty, and the\nexcitement of the mind to the delirium of the voluptuousness of the\nsenses. Majesty, on the contrary, proposes to us a law, a moral ideal,\nwhich constrains us to turn back our looks upon ourselves. God is there,\nand the sentiment we have of His presence makes us bend our eyes upon\nthe ground. We forget all that is without ourselves, and we feel but the\nheavy burden of our own existence.\n\nMajesty belongs to what is holy. A man capable of giving us an idea of\nholiness possesses majesty, and if we do not go so far as to kneel, our\nmind at least prostrates itself before him. But the mind recoils at once\nupon the slightest trace of _human imperfection_ which he discovers in\nthe object of his adoration, because that which is only comparatively\ngreat cannot subdue the heart.\n\nPower alone, however terrible or without limit we may suppose it to be,\ncan never confer majesty. Power imposes only upon the sensuous being;\nmajesty should act upon the mind itself, and rob it of its liberty. A\nman who can pronounce upon me a sentence of death has neither more nor\nless of majesty for me the moment I am what I ought to be. His advantage\nover me ceases as soon as I insist on it. But he who offers to me in his\nperson the image of pure will, before him I would prostrate myself, if\nit is possible, for all eternity.\n\nGrace and dignity are too high in value for vanity and stupidity not to\nbe excited to appropriate them by imitation. There is only one means of\nattaining this: it is to imitate the moral state of which they are the\nexpression. All other imitation is but to ape them, and would be\nrecognized directly through exaggeration.\n\nJust as exaggeration of the sublime leads to inflation, and affectation\nof nobleness to preciosity, in the same manner affectation of grace ends\nin coquetry, and that of dignity to stiff solemnity, false gravity.\n\nThere where true grace simply used ease and _pr\u00e9venance_, affected grace\nbecomes effeminacy. One is content to use discreetly the voluntary\nmovements, and not thwart unnecessarily the liberty of nature; the other\nhas not even the heart to use properly the organs of will, and, not to\nfall into hardness and heaviness, it prefers to _sacrifice_ something of\nthe aim of movement, or else it seeks to reach it by cross ways and\nindirect means. An awkward and stiff dancer expends as much force as if\nhe had to work a windmill; with his feet and arms he describes lines as\nangular as if he were tracing figures with geometrical precision; the\naffected dancer, on the other hand, glides with an excess of delicacy,\nas if he feared to injure himself on coming in contact with the ground,\nand his feet and hands describe only lines in sinuous curves. The other\nsex, which is essentially in possession of true grace, is also that one\nwhich is more frequently culpable of affected grace, but this\naffectation is never more distasteful than when used as a bait to\ndesire. The smile of true grace thus gives place to the most repulsive\ngrimace; the fine play of look, so ravishing when it displays a true\nsentiment, is only contortion; the melodious inflections of the voice,\nan irresistible attraction from candid lips, are only a vain cadence, a\ntremulousness which savors of study: in a word, all the harmonious\ncharms of woman become only deception, an artifice of the toilet.\n\nIf we have many occasions to observe the affected grace in the theatre\nand in the ball-room, there is also often occasion of studying the\naffected dignity in the cabinet of ministers and in the study-rooms of\nmen of science (notably at universities). True dignity is content to\nprevent the domination of the affections, to keep the instinct within\njust limits, but there only where it pretends to be master in the\ninvoluntary movements; false dignity regulates with an iron sceptre even\nthe voluntary movements, it oppresses the moral movements, which were\nsacred to true dignity as well as the sensual movements, and destroys\nall the mimic play of the features by which the soul gleams forth upon\nthe face. It arms itself not only against rebel nature, but against\nsubmissive nature, and ridiculously seeks its greatness in subjecting\nnature to its yoke, or, if this does not succeed, in hiding it. As if it\nhad vowed hatred to all that is called nature, it swathes the body in\nlong, heavy-plaited garments, which hide the human structure; it\nparalyzes the limbs in surcharging them with vain ornaments, and goes\neven the length of cutting the hair to replace this gift of nature by an\nartificial production. True dignity does not blush for nature, but only\nfor brute nature; it always has an open and frank air; feeling gleams in\nits look; calm and serenity of mind is legible upon the brow in eloquent\ntraits. False gravity, on the contrary, places its dignity in the lines\nof its visage; it is close, mysterious, and guards its features with the\ncare of an actor; all the muscles of its face are tormented, all natural\nand true expression disappears, and the entire man is like a sealed\nletter.\n\nBut false dignity is not always wrong to keep the mimic play of its\nfeatures under sharp discipline, because it might betray more than would\nbe desired, a precaution true dignity has not to consider. True dignity\nwishes only to rule, not to conceal nature; in false dignity, on the\ncontrary, nature rules the more powerfully within because it is\ncontrolled outwardly.[9]\n\n\n       ON THE NECESSARY LIMITATIONS IN THE USE OF BEAUTY OF FORM.\n\nThe abuse of the beautiful and the encroachments of imagination, when,\nhaving only the casting vote, it seeks to grasp the law-giving sceptre,\nhas done great injury alike in life and in science. It is therefore\nhighly expedient to examine very closely the bounds that have been\nassigned to the use of beautiful forms. These limits are embodied in the\nvery nature of the beautiful, and we have only to call to mind how taste\nexpresses its influence to be able to determine _how far_ it ought to\nextend it.\n\nThe following are the principal operations of taste; to bring the\nsensuous and spiritual powers of man into harmony, and to unite them in\na close alliance. Consequently, whenever such an intimate alliance\nbetween reason and the senses is suitable and legitimate, taste may be\nallowed influence. But taste reaches the bounds which it is not\npermitted to pass without defeating its end or removing us from our\nduty, in all cases where the bond between mind and matter is given up\nfor a time, where we must act for the time as purely creatures of\nreason, whether it be to attain an end or to perform a duty. Cases of\nthis kind do really occur, and they are even incumbent on us in carrying\nout our destiny.\n\nFor we are destined to obtain knowledge and to act from knowledge. In\nboth cases a certain readiness is required to exclude the senses from\nthat which the spirit does, because feelings must be abstracted from\nknowledge, and passion or desire from every moral act of the will.\n\nWhen we _know_, we take up an active attitude, and our attention is\ndirected to an _object_, to a relation between different\nrepresentations. When we _feel_, we have a _passive_ attitude, and our\nattention\u2014if we may call that so, which is no conscious operation of the\nmind\u2014is only directed to our own _condition_, as far as it is modified\nby the impression received. Now, as we only feel and do not know the\nbeautiful, we do not distinguish any relation between it and other\nobjects, we do not refer its representation to other representations,\nbut to ourselves who have experienced the impression. We learn or\nexperience nothing in the beautiful object, but we perceive a change\noccasioned by it in our own condition, of which the impression produced\nis the expression. Accordingly our knowledge is not enlarged by\njudgments of taste, and no knowledge, not even that of beauty, is\nobtained by the feeling of beauty. Therefore, when knowledge is the\nobject, taste can give us no help, at least directly and immediately; on\nthe contrary, knowledge is shut out as long as we are occupied with\nbeauty.\n\nBut it may be objected, What is the use then of a graceful embodiment of\nconceptions, if the object of the discussion or treatise, which is\nsimply and solely to produce knowledge, is rather hindered than\nbenefited by ornament? To convince the understanding this gracefulness\nof clothing can certainly avail as little as the tasteful arrangement of\na banquet can satisfy the appetite of the guests, or the outward\nelegance of a person can give a clue to his intrinsic worth. But just as\nthe appetite is excited by the beautiful arrangement of the table, and\nattention is directed to the elegant person in question, by the\nattractiveness of the exterior, so also we are placed in a favorable\nattitude to receive truth by the charming representation given of it; we\nare led to open our souls to its reception, and the obstacles are\nremoved from our minds which would have otherwise opposed the difficult\npursuit of a long and strict concatenation of thought. It is never the\ncontents, the substance, that gains by the beauty of form; nor is it the\nunderstanding that is helped by taste in the act of knowing. The\nsubstance, the contents, must commend themselves to the understanding\ndirectly, of themselves; whilst the beautiful form speaks to the\nimagination, and flatters it with an appearance of freedom.\n\nBut even further limitations are necessary in this innocent subserviency\nto the senses, which is only allowed in the _form_, without changing\nanything in the substance. Great moderation must be always used, and\nsometimes the end in view may be completely defeated according to the\nkind of knowledge and degree of conviction aimed at in imparting our\nviews to others. There is a _scientific_ knowledge, which is based on\nclear conceptions and known principles; and a _popular_ knowledge, which\nis founded on feelings more or less developed. What may be very useful\nto the latter is quite possibly adverse to the former.\n\nWhen the object in view is to produce a strict conviction on principles,\nit is not sufficient to present the truth only in respect to its\ncontents or subject; the test of the truth must at the same time be\ncontained in the manner of its presentation. But this can mean nothing\nelse than that not only the contents, but also the mode of stating them,\nmust be according to the laws of thought. They must be connected in the\npresentation with the same strict logical sequence with which they are\nchained together in the reasonings of the understanding; the stability\nof the representation must guarantee that of the ideas. But the strict\nnecessity with which the understanding links together reasonings and\nconclusions, is quite antagonistic to the freedom granted to imagination\nin matters of knowledge. By its very nature, the imagination strives\nafter perceptions, that is, after complete and completely determinate\nrepresentations, and is indefatigably active to represent the universal\nin one single case, to limit it in time and space, to make of every\nconception an individual, and to give a body to abstractions. Moreover,\nthe imagination likes freedom in its combinations, and admits no other\nlaw in them than the accidental connection with time and space; for this\nis the only connection that remains to our representations, if we\nseparate from them in thought all that is conception, all that binds\nthem internally and substantially together. The understanding, following\na diametrically opposite course, only occupies itself with part\nrepresentations or conceptions, and its effort is directed to\ndistinguish features in the living unity of a perception. The\nunderstanding proceeds on the same principles in putting together and\ntaking to pieces, but it can only combine things by part\nrepresentations, just as it can _separate_ them; for it only unites,\n_according to their inner relations_, things that first disclosed\nthemselves in their separation.\n\nThe understanding observes a strict necessity and conformity with laws\nin its combinations, and it is only the consistent connection of ideas\nthat satisfies it. But this connection is destroyed as often as the\nimagination insinuates _entire_ representations (individual cases) in\nthis chain of abstractions, and mixes up the accidents of time with the\nstrict necessity of a chain of circumstances. Accordingly, in every case\nwhere it is essential to carry out a rigidly accurate sequence of\nreasoning, imagination must forego its capricious character; and its\nendeavor to obtain all possible sensuousness in conceptions, and all\nfreedom in their combination, must be made subordinate and sacrificed to\nthe necessity of the understanding. From this it follows that the\nexposition must be so fashioned as to overthrow this effort of the\nimagination by the exclusion of all that is individual and sensuous. The\npoetic impulse of imagination must be curbed by distinctness of\nexpression, and its capricious tendency to combine must be limited by a\nstrictly legitimate course of procedure. I grant that it will not bend\nto this yoke without resistance; but in this matter reliance is properly\nplaced on a certain amount of self-denial, and on an earnest\ndetermination of the hearer or reader not to be deterred by the\ndifficulties accompanying the form, for the sake of the subject-matter.\nBut in all cases where no sufficient dependence can be placed on this\nself-denial, or where the interest felt in the subject-matter is\ninsufficient to inspire courage for such an amount of exertion, it is\nnecessary to resign the idea of imparting strictly scientific knowledge;\nand to gain instead greater latitude in the form of its presentation. In\nsuch a case it is expedient to abandon the form of science, which\nexercises too great violence over the imagination, and can only be made\nacceptable through the importance of the object in view. Instead of\nthis, it is proper to choose the form of beauty, which, independent of\nthe contents or subject, recommends itself by its very appearance. As\nthe matter cannot excuse the form in this case, the form must trespass\non the matter.\n\nPopular instruction is compatible with this freedom. By the term popular\nspeakers or popular writers I imply all those who do not direct their\nremarks exclusively to the learned. Now, as these persons do not address\nany carefully trained body of hearers or readers, but take them as they\nfind them, they must only assume the existence of the general conditions\nof thought, only the universal impulses that call attention, but no\nspecial _gift of thinking_, no acquaintance with distinct conceptions,\nnor any interest in special subjects. These lecturers and authors must\nnot be too particular as to whether their audience or readers assign by\ntheir imagination a proper meaning to their abstractions, or whether\nthey will furnish a proper subject-matter for the universal conceptions\nto which the scientific discourse is limited. In order to pursue a\nsafer, easier course, these persons will present along with their ideas\nthe perceptions and separate cases to which they relate, and they leave\nit to the understanding of the reader to form a proper conception\nimpromptu. Accordingly, the faculty of imagination is much more mixed up\nwith a popular discourse, but only to _reproduce_, to renew previously\nreceived representations, and not to _produce_, to express its own\nself-creating power. Those special cases or perceptions are much too\ncertainly calculated for the object on hand, and much too closely\napplied to the use that is to be made of them, to allow the imagination\never to forget that it only acts in the _service of the understanding_.\nIt is true that a discourse of this popular kind holds somewhat closer\nto life and the world of sense, but it does not become lost in it. The\nmode of presenting the subject is still _didactic_; for in order to be\nbeautiful it is still wanting in the two most distinguished features of\nbeauty, sensuousness of expression and freedom of movement.\n\nThe mode of presenting a theme may be called free when the\nunderstanding, while determining the connection of ideas, does so with\nso little prominence that the imagination appears to act quite\ncapriciously in the matter, and to follow only the accident of time. The\npresentation of a subject becomes sensuous when it conceals the general\nin the particular, and when the fancy gives the living image (the\n_whole_ representation), where attention is merely concerned with the\nconception (the part representation). Accordingly, sensuous presentation\nis viewed in one aspect, _rich_, for in cases where only _one_ condition\nis desired, a complete picture, an entirety of conditions, an individual\nis offered. But viewed in another aspect it is _limited and poor_,\nbecause it only confines to a single individual and a single case what\nought to be understood of a whole sphere. It therefore curtails the\nunderstanding in the same proportion that it grants preponderance to the\nimagination; for the completer a representation is in substance, the\nsmaller it is in compass.\n\nIt is the interest of the imagination to change objects according to its\ncaprice; the interest of the understanding is to unite its\nrepresentations with strict logical necessity.\n\nTo satisfy the imagination, a discourse must have a material part, a\n_body_; and these are formed by the perceptions, from which the\nunderstanding separates distinct features or conceptions. For though we\nmay attempt to obtain the highest pitch of abstraction, something\nsensuous always lies at the ground of the thought. But imagination\nstrives to pass unfettered and lawless from one conception to another\nconception, and seeks not to be bound by any other connection than that\nof time. So when the perceptions that constitute the bodily part of a\ndiscourse have no concatenation as things, when they appear rather to\nstand apart as independent limbs and separate unities, when they betray\nthe utter disorder of a sportive imagination, obedient to itself alone,\nthen the clothing has \u00e6sthetic freedom and the wants of the fancy are\nsatisfied. A mode of presentation such as this might be styled an\n_organic_ product, in which not only the whole lives, but also each part\nhas its individual life. A merely scientific presentation is a\n_mechanical_ work, when the parts, lifeless in themselves, impart by\ntheir connection an artificial life to the whole.\n\nOn the other hand, a discourse, in order to satisfy the understanding\nand to produce knowledge, must have a spiritual part, it must have\n_significance_, and it receives this through the conceptions, by means\nof which those perceptions are referred to one another and united into a\nwhole. The problem of satisfying the understanding by conformity with\nlaw, while the imagination is flattered by being set free from\nrestrictions, is solved thus: by obtaining the closest connection\nbetween the conceptions forming the spiritual part of the discourse,\nwhile the perceptions, corresponding to them and forming the sensuous\npart of the discourse, appear to cohere merely through an arbitrary play\nof the fancy.\n\nIf an inquiry be instituted into the magic influence of a beautiful\ndiction, it will always be found that it consists in this happy relation\nbetween external freedom and internal necessity. The principal features\nthat contribute to this freedom of the imagination are the\n_individualizing_ of objects and the figurative or _inexact expression_\nof a thing; the former employed to give force to its sensuousness, the\nlatter to produce it where it does not exist. When we express a species\nor kind by an individual, and portray a conception in a single case, we\nremove from fancy the chains which the understanding has placed upon her\nand give her the power to act as a creator. Always grasping at\ncompletely determinate images, the imagination obtains and exercises the\nright to complete according to her wish the image afforded to her, to\nanimate it, to fashion it, to follow it in all the associations and\ntransformations of which it is capable. She may forget for a moment her\nsubordinate position, and act as an independent power, only\nself-directing, because the strictness of the inner concatenation has\nsufficiently guarded against her breaking loose from the control of the\nunderstanding. An inexact or figurative expression adds to the liberty,\nby associating ideas which in their nature differ essentially from one\nanother, but which unite in subordination to the higher idea. The\nimagination adheres to the concrete object, the understanding to this\nhigher idea, and thus the former finds movement and variety even where\nthe other verifies a most perfect continuity. The conceptions are\ndeveloped according to the _law of necessity_, but they pass before the\nimagination according to the _law of liberty_.\n\nThought remains the same; the medium that represents it is the only\nthing that changes. It is thus that an eloquent writer knows how to\nextract the most splendid order from the very centre of anarchy, and\nthat he succeeds in erecting a solid structure on a constantly moving\nground, on the very torrent of imagination.\n\nIf we compare together scientific statement or address, popular address,\nand fine language, it is seen directly that all three express the idea\nwith an equal faithfulness as regards the matter, and consequently that\nall three help us to acquire knowledge, but that as regards the mode and\ndegree of this knowledge a very marked difference exists between them.\nThe writer who uses the language of the beautiful rather represents the\nmatter of which he treats as _possible_ and _desirable_ than indulges in\nattempts to convince us of its reality, and still less of its necessity.\nHis thought does in fact only present itself as an arbitrary creation of\nthe imagination, which is never qualified, in itself, to guarantee the\nreality of what it represents. No doubt the popular writer leads us to\nbelieve that the matter _really_ is as he describes it, but does not\nrequire anything more firm; for, though he may make the truth of a\nproposition credible to our feelings, he does not make it absolutely\ncertain. Now, feeling may always teach us what _is_, but not what _must\nbe_. The philosophical writer raises this belief to a conviction, for he\nproves by undeniable reasons that the matter is _necessarily_ so.\n\nStarting from the principle that we have just established, it will not\nbe difficult to assign its proper part and sphere to each of the three\nforms of diction. Generally it may be laid down as a rule that\npreference ought to be given to the scientific style whenever the chief\nconsideration is not only the result, but also the proofs. But when the\nresult merely is of the most essential importance the advantage must be\ngiven to popular elocution and fine language. But it may be asked in\n_what cases_ ought popular elocution to rise to a fine, a noble style?\nThis depends on the degree of interest in the reader, or which you wish\nto excite in his mind.\n\nThe purely scientific statement may incline either to popular discourse\nor to philosophic language, and according to this bias it places us more\nor less in possession of some branch of knowledge. All that popular\nelocution does is to lend us this knowledge for a momentary pleasure or\nenjoyment. The first, if I may be allowed the comparison, gives us a\ntree with its roots, though with the condition that we wait patiently\nfor it to blossom and bear fruit. The other, or fine diction, is\nsatisfied with gathering its flowers and fruits, but the tree that bore\nthem does not become our property, and when once the flowers are faded\nand the fruit is consumed our riches depart. It would therefore be\nequally unreasonable to give only the flower and fruit to a man who\nwishes the whole tree to be transplanted into his garden, and to offer\nthe whole tree with its fruit in the germ to a man who only looks for\nthe ripe fruit. The application of the comparison is self-evident, and I\nnow only remark that a fine ornate style is as little suited to the\nprofessor\u2019s chair as the scholastic style to a drawing-room, the pulpit,\nor the bar.\n\nThe student accumulates in view of an ulterior end and for a future use;\naccordingly the professor ought to endeavor to transmit the _full and\nentire property_ of the knowledge that he communicates to him. Now,\nnothing belongs to us as our own but what has been communicated to the\nunderstanding. The orator, on the other hand, has in view an immediate\nend, and his voice must correspond with an immediate want of the public.\nHis interest is to make his knowledge _practically available_ as soon as\npossible; and the surest way is to hand it over to the senses, and to\nprepare it for the use of _sensation_. The professor, who only admits\nhearers on certain conditions, and who is entitled to suppose in his\nhearers the dispositions of mind in which a man ought to be to receive\nthe truth, has only in view in his lecture the _object_ of which he is\ntreating; while the orator, who cannot make any conditions with his\naudience, and who needs above everything sympathy, to secure it on his\nside, must regulate his action and treatment according to the _subjects_\non which he turns his discourse. The hearers of the professor have\nalready attended his lectures, and will attend them again; they only\nwant fragments that will form a whole after having been linked to the\npreceding lectures. The audience of the orator is continually renewed;\nit comes unprepared, and perhaps will not return; accordingly in every\naddress the orator must _finish_ what he wishes to do; each of his\nharangues must form a whole and contain expressly and entirely his\nconclusion.\n\nIt is not therefore surprising that a dogmatic composition or address,\nhowever solid, should not have any success either in conversation or in\nthe pulpit, nor that a fine diction, whatever wit it may contain, should\nnot bear fruit in a professor\u2019s chair. It is not surprising that the\nfashionable world should not read writings that stand out in relief in\nthe scientific world, and that the scholar and the man of science are\nignorant of works belonging to the school of worldly people that are\ndevoured greedily by all lovers of the beautiful. Each of these works\nmay be entitled to admiration in the circle to which it belongs; and\nmore than this, both, fundamentally, may be quite of equal value; but it\nwould be requiring an impossibility to expect that the work which\ndemands all the application of the thinker should at the same time offer\nan easy recreation to the man who is only a fine wit.\n\nFor the same reason I consider that it is hurtful to choose for the\ninstruction of youth books in which scientific matters are clothed in an\nattractive style. I do not speak here of those in which the substance is\n_sacrificed_ to the form, but of certain writings really excellent,\nwhich are sufficiently well digested to stand the strictest examination,\nbut which do not offer their proofs by their very form. No doubt books\nof this kind attain their end, they are read; but this is always at the\ncost of a more important end, the end for which they ought to be read.\nIn this sort of reading the understanding is never exercised save in as\nfar as it agrees with the fancy; it does not learn to distinguish the\nform from the substance, nor to act alone as pure understanding. And yet\nthe exercise of the pure understanding is in itself an essential and\ncapital point in the instruction of youth; and very often the exercise\nitself of thought is much more important than the object on which it is\nexercised. If you wish for a matter to be done seriously, be very\ncareful not to announce it as a diversion. It is preferable, on the\ncontrary, to secure attention and effort by the very form that is\nemployed, and to use a kind of violence to draw minds over from the\npassive to an active state. The professor ought never to hide from his\npupil the exact regularity of the method; he ought rather to fix his\nattention on it, and if possible to make him desire this strictness. The\nstudent ought to learn to pursue an end, and in the interest of that end\nto put up with a difficult process. He ought early to aspire to that\nloftier satisfaction which is the reward of exertion. In a scientific\nlecture the senses are altogether set aside; in an \u00e6sthetic address it\nis wished to interest them. What is the result? A writing or\nconversation of the \u00e6sthetic class is devoured with interest; but\nquestions are put as to its conclusions; the hearer is scarcely able to\ngive an answer. And this is quite natural, as here the conceptions reach\nthe mind only in entire masses, and the understanding only knows what it\nanalyzes. The mind during a lecture of this kind is more passive than\nactive, and the intellect only possesses what it has produced by its own\nactivity.\n\nHowever, all this applies only to the vulgarly beautiful, and to a\nvulgar fashion of perceiving beauty. True beauty reposes on the\nstrictest limitation, on the most exact definition, on the highest and\nmost intimate necessity. Only this limitation ought rather to let itself\nbe sought for than be imposed violently. It requires the most perfect\nconformity to law, but this must appear quite natural. A product that\nunites these conditions will fully satisfy the understanding as soon as\nstudy is made of it. But exactly because this result is really\nbeautiful, its conformity is not expressed; it does not take the\nunderstanding apart to address it exclusively; it is a harmonious unity\nwhich addresses the entire man\u2014all his faculties together; it is nature\nspeaking to nature.\n\nA vulgar criticism may perhaps find it empty, paltry, and too little\ndetermined. He who has no other knowledge than that of distinguishing,\nand no other sense than that for the particular, is actually pained by\nwhat is precisely the triumph of art, this harmonious unity where the\nparts are blended in a pure entirety. No doubt it is necessary, in a\nphilosophical discourse, that the understanding, as a faculty of\nanalysis, find what will satisfy it; it must obtain single concrete\nresults; this is the essential that must not by any means be lost sight\nof. But if the writer, while giving all possible precision to the\nsubstance of his conceptions, has taken the necessary measures to enable\nthe understanding, as soon as it will take the trouble, to find of\nnecessity these truths, I do not see that he is a less good writer\nbecause he has approached more to the highest perfection. Nature always\nacts as a harmonious unity, and when she loses this in her efforts after\nabstraction, nothing appears more urgent to her than to re-establish it,\nand the writer we are speaking of is not less commendable if he obeys\nnature by attaching to the understanding what had been separated by\nabstraction, and when, by appealing at the same time to the sensuous and\nto the spiritual faculties, he addresses altogether the entire man. No\ndoubt the vulgar critic will give very scant thanks to this writer for\nhaving given him a double task. For vulgar criticism has not the feeling\nfor this harmony, it only runs after details, and even in the Basilica\nof St. Peter would exclusively attend to the pillars on which the\nethereal edifice reposes. The fact is that this critic must begin by\n_translating_ it to understand it\u2014in the same way that the pure\nunderstanding, left to itself, if it meets beauty and harmony, either in\nnature or in art, must begin by transferring them into its own\nlanguage\u2014and by decomposing it, by doing in fact what the pupil does who\nspells before reading. But it is not from the narrow mind of his readers\nthat the writer who express his conceptions in the language of the\nbeautiful receives his laws. The ideal which he carries in himself is\nthe goal at which he aims without troubling himself as to who follows\nand who remains behind. Many will stay behind; for if it be a rare thing\nto find readers simply capable of thinking, it is infinitely more rare\nto meet any who can think with imagination. Thus our writer, by the\nforce of circumstances, will fall out, on the one hand, with those who\nhave only intuitive ideas and feelings, for he imposes on them a painful\ntask by forcing them to think; and, on the other hand, he aggravates\nthose who only know how to think, for he asks of them what is absolutely\nimpossible\u2014to give a living, animated form to conception. But as both\nonly represent true humanity very imperfectly\u2014that normal humanity which\nrequires the absolute harmony of these two operations\u2014their\ncontradictory objections have no weight, and if their judgments prove\nanything, it is rather that the author has succeeded in attaining his\nend. The abstract thinker finds that the substance of the work is\nsolidly thought; the reader of intuitive ideas finds his style lively\nand animated; both consequently find and approve in him what they are\nable to understand, and that alone is wanting which exceeds their\ncapacity.\n\nBut precisely for this very reason a writer of this class is not adapted\nto make known to an ignorant reader the object of what he treats, or, in\nthe most proper sense of the word, to _teach_. Happily also, he is not\nrequired for that, for means will not be wanting for the teaching of\nscholars. The professor in the strictest acceptation is obliged to bind\nhimself to the needs of his scholars; the first thing he has to\npresuppose is the ignorance of those who listen to him; the other, on\nthe other hand, demands a certain maturity and culture in his reader or\naudience. Nor is his office confined to impart to them dead ideas; he\ngrasps the living object with a living energy, and seizes at once on the\nentire man\u2014his understanding, his heart, and his will.\n\nWe have found that it is dangerous for the soundness of knowledge to\ngive free scope to the exigencies of taste in teaching, properly so\ncalled. But this does not mean by any means that the culture of this\nfaculty in the student is a premature thing. He must, on the contrary,\nbe encouraged to apply the knowledge that he has appropriated in the\nschool to the field of living development. When once the first point has\nbeen observed, and the knowledge acquired, the other point, the exercise\nof taste, can only have useful results. It is certain that it is\nnecessary to be quite the master of a truth to abandon without danger\nthe form in which it has been found; a great strength of understanding\nis required not to lose sight of your object while giving free play to\nthe imagination. He who transmits his knowledge under a scholastic form\npersuades me, I admit, that he has grasped these truths properly and\nthat he knows how to support them. But he who besides this is in a\ncondition to communicate them to me in a beautiful form not only proves\nthat he is adapted to promulgate them, he shows moreover that he has\nassimilated them and that he is able to make their image pass into his\nproductions and into his acts. There is for the results of thought only\none way by which they can penetrate into the will and pass into life;\nthat is, by spontaneous imagination, only what in _ourselves_ was\nalready a living _act_ can become so _out of us_; and the same thing\nhappens with the creations of the mind as with those of organic nature,\nthat the fruit issues only from the flower. If we consider how many\ntruths were living and active as interior intuitions before philosophy\nshowed their existence, and how many truths most firmly secured by\nproofs often remain inactive on the will and the feelings, it will be\nseen how important it is for practical life to follow in this the\nindications of nature, and when we have acquired a knowledge\nscientifically to bring it back again to the state of a living\nintuition. It is the only way to enable those whose nature has forbidden\nthem to follow the artificial path of science to share in the treasures\nof wisdom. The beautiful renders us here in relation with knowledge\nwhat, in morals, it does in relation with conduct; it places men in\nharmony on results, and on the substance of things, who would never have\nagreed on the form and principles.\n\nThe other sex, by its very nature and fair destiny, cannot and ought not\nto rival ours in scientific knowledge; but it can share _truth_ with us\nby the reproduction of things. Man agrees to have his taste offended,\nprovided compensation be given to his understanding by the increased\nvalue of its possessions. But women do not forgive negligence in form,\nwhatever be the nature of the conception; and the inner structure of all\ntheir being gives them the right to show a strict severity on this\npoint. The fair sex, even if it did not rule by beauty, would still be\nentitled to its name because it is ruled by beauty, and makes all\nobjects presented to it appear before the tribunal of feeling, and all\nthat does not speak to feeling or belies it is lost in the opinion of\nwomen. No doubt through this medium nothing can be made to reach the\nmind of woman save the matter of truth, and not truth itself, which is\ninseparable from its proofs. But happily woman only needs the matter of\ntruth to reach her highest perfection, and the few exceptions hitherto\nseen are not of a nature to make us wish that the exception should\nbecome the rule. As, therefore, nature has not only dispensed but cut\noff the other sex from this task, man must give a double attention to it\nif he wishes to vie with woman and be equal to her in what is of great\ninterest in human life. Consequently he will try to transfer all that he\ncan from the field of abstraction, where he is master, to that of\nimagination, of feeling, where woman is at once a model and a judge. The\nmind of woman being a ground that does not admit of durable cultivation,\nhe will try to make his own ground yield as many flowers and as much\nfruit as possible, so as to renew as often as possible the quick-fading\nproduce on the other ground, and to keep up a sort of artificial harvest\nwhere natural harvests could not ripen. Taste corrects or hides the\nnatural differences of the two sexes. It nourishes and adorns the mind\nof woman with the productions of that of man, and allows the fair sex to\nfeel without being previously fatigued by thought, and to enjoy\npleasures without having bought them with labors. Thus, save the\nrestrictions I have named, it is to the taste that is intrusted the care\nof form in every statement by which knowledge is communicated, but under\nthe express condition that it will not encroach on the substance of\nthings. Taste must never forget that it carries out an order emanating\nelsewhere, and that it is not its own affairs it is treating of. All its\nparts must be limited to place our minds in a condition favorable to\nknowledge; over all that concerns knowledge itself it has no right to\nany authority. For it exceeds its mission, it betrays it, it disfigures\nthe object that it ought faithfully to transmit, it lays claim to\nauthority out of its proper province; if it tries to carry out there,\ntoo, _its own_ law, which is nothing but that of pleasing the\nimagination and making itself agreeable to the intuitive faculties; if\nit applies this law not only to the _operation_, but also to the\n_matter_ itself; if it follows this rule not only to arrange the\nmaterials, but also to choose them. When this is the case the first\nconsideration is not the _things_ themselves, but the best mode of\npresenting them so as to recommend them to the senses. The logical\nsequence of conceptions of which only the strictness should have been\nhidden from us is rejected as a disagreeable impediment. Perfection is\nsacrificed to ornament, the truth of the parts to the beauty of the\nwhole, the inmost nature of things to the exterior impression. Now,\ndirectly the substance is subordinated to form, properly speaking it\nceases to exist; the statement is empty, and instead of having extended\nour knowledge we have only indulged in an amusing game.\n\nThe writers who have more wit than understanding and more taste than\nscience, are too often guilty of this deception; and readers more\naccustomed to feel than to think are only too inclined to forgive them.\nIn general it is unsafe to give to the \u00e6sthetical sense all its culture\nbefore having exercised the understanding as the pure thinking faculty,\nand before having enriched the head with conceptions; for as taste\nalways looks at the carrying out and not at the basis of things,\nwherever it becomes the only arbiter, there is an end of the essential\ndifference between things. Men become indifferent to reality, and they\nfinish by giving value to form and appearance only.\n\nHence arises that superficial and frivolous _bel esprit_ that we often\nsee hold sway in social conditions and in circles where men pride\nthemselves, and not unreasonably, on the finest culture. It is a fatal\nthing to introduce a young man into assemblies where the Graces hold\nsway before the Muses have dismissed him and owned his majority.\nMoreover, it can hardly be prevented that what completes the external\neducation of a young man whose mind is ripe turns him who is not ripened\nby study into a fool. I admit that to have a fund of conceptions, and\nnot form, is only a half possession. For the most splendid knowledge in\na head incapable of giving them form is like a treasure buried in the\nearth. But form without substance is a shadow of riches, and all\npossible cleverness in expression is of no use to him who has nothing to\nexpress.\n\nThus, to avoid the graces of education leading us in a wrong road, taste\nmust be confined to regulating the external form, while reason and\nexperience determine the substance and the essence of conceptions. If\nthe impression made on the senses is converted into a supreme\n_criterion_, and if things are exclusively referred to sensation, man\nwill never cease to be in the service of matter; he will never clear a\nway for his intelligence; in short, reason will lose in freedom in\nproportion as it allows imagination to usurp undue influence.\n\nThe beautiful produces its effect by mere intuition; the truth demands\nstudy. Accordingly, the man who among all his faculties has only\nexercised the sense of the beautiful is satisfied even when study is\nabsolutely required, with a superficial view of things; and he fancies\nhe can make a mere play of wit of that which demands a serious effort.\nBut mere intuition cannot give any result. To produce something great it\nis necessary to enter into the fundamental nature of things, to\ndistinguish them strictly, to associate them in different manners, and\nstudy them with a steady attention. Even the artist and the poet, though\nboth of them labor to procure us only the pleasure of intuition, can\nonly by most laborious and engrossing study succeed in giving us a\ndelightful recreation by their works.\n\nI believe this to be the test to distinguish the mere _dilettante_ from\nthe artist of real genius. The seductive charm exercised by the sublime\nand the beautiful, the fire which they kindle in the young imagination,\nthe apparent ease with which they place the senses under an illusion,\nhave often persuaded inexperienced minds to take in hand the palette or\nthe harp, and to transform into figures or to pour out in melody what\nthey felt living in their heart. Misty ideas circulate in their heads,\nlike a world in formation, and make them believe that they are inspired.\nThey take obscurity for depth, savage vehemence for strength, the\nundetermined for the infinite, what has not senses for the\nsuper-sensuous. And how they revel in these creations of their brain!\nBut the judgment of the connoisseur does not confirm this testimony of\nan excited self-love. With his pitiless criticism he dissipates all the\nprestige of the imagination and of its dreams, and carrying the torch\nbefore these novices he leads them into the mysterious depths of science\nand life, where, far from profane eyes, the source of all true beauty\nflows ever towards him who is initiated. If now a true genius slumbers\nin the young aspirant, no doubt his modesty will at first receive a\nshock; but soon the consciousness of real talent will embolden him for\nthe trial. If nature has endowed him with gifts for plastic art, he will\nstudy the structure of man with the scalpel of the anatomist; he will\ndescend _into the lowest depths_ to be true in _representing surfaces_,\nand he will question the whole race in order to be just to the\nindividual. If he is born to be a poet, he examines humanity in his own\nheart to understand the infinite variety of scenes in which it acts on\nthe vast theatre of the world. He subjects imagination and its exuberant\nfruitfulness to the discipline of taste, and charges the understanding\nto mark out in its cool wisdom the banks that should confine the raging\nwaters of inspiration. He knows full well that the great is only formed\nof the little\u2014from the imperceptible. He piles up, grain by grain, the\nmaterials of the wonderful structure, which, suddenly disclosed to our\neyes, produces a startling effect and turns our head. But if nature has\nonly intended him for a _dilettante_, difficulties damp his impotent\nzeal, and one of two things happens: either he abandons, if he is\nmodest, that to which he was diverted by a mistaken notion of his\nvocation; or, if he has no modesty, he brings back the ideal to the\nnarrow limits of his faculties, for want of being able to enlarge his\nfaculties to the vast proportions of the ideal. Thus the true genius of\nthe artist will be always recognized by this sign\u2014that when most\nenthusiastic for the whole, he preserves a coolness, a patience defying\nall obstacles, as regards details. Moreover, in order not to do any\ninjury to perfection, he would rather renounce the enjoyment given by\nthe completion. For the simple amateur, it is the difficulty of means\nthat disgusts him and turns him from his aim; his dreams would be to\nhave no more trouble in producing than he had in conception and\nintuition.\n\nI have spoken hitherto of the dangers to which we are exposed by an\nexaggerated sensuousness and susceptibility to the beautiful in the\nform, and from too extensive \u00e6sthetical requirements; and I have\nconsidered these dangers in relation to the faculty of thinking and\nknowing. What, then, will be the result when these pretensions of the\n\u00e6sthetical taste bear on the _will_? It is one thing to be stopped in\nyour scientific progress by too great a love of the beautiful, another\nto see this inclination become a cause of degeneracy in character\nitself, and make us violate the law of duty. In matters of thought the\ncaprices of \u201ctaste\u201d are no doubt an evil, and they must of necessity\ndarken the intelligence; but these same caprices applied to the maxims\nof the will become really _pernicious_ and infallibly deprave the heart.\nYet this is the dangerous extreme to which too refined an \u00e6sthetic\nculture brings us directly we abandon ourselves exclusively to the\nfeelings for the beautiful, and directly we raise taste to the part of\nabsolute lawgiver over our will.\n\nThe moral destination of man requires that the will should be completely\nindependent of all influence of sensuous instincts, and we know that\ntaste labors incessantly at making the link between reason and the\nsenses continually closer. Now this effort has certainly as its result\nthe ennobling of the appetites, and to make them more conformable with\nthe requirements of reason; but this very point may be a serious danger\nfor morality.\n\nI proceed to explain my meaning. A very refined \u00e6sthetical education\naccustoms the imagination to _direct itself according to laws, even in\nits free exercise_, and leads the sensuous not to have any enjoyments\nwithout the concurrence of reason; but it soon follows that reason, in\nits turn, is required to be directed, even in the most _serious\noperations of its legislative power, according to the interests of\nimagination_, and to give no more orders to the will without the consent\nof the sensuous instincts. The moral obligation of the will, which is,\nhowever, an absolute and unconditional law, takes unperceived the\ncharacter of a simple contract, which only binds each of the contracting\nparties when the other fulfils its engagement. The purely _accidental_\nagreement of duty with inclination ends by being considered a\n_necessary_ condition, and thus the principle of all morality is\nquenched in its source.\n\nHow does the character become thus gradually depraved? The process may\nbe explained thus: So long as man is only a savage, and his instincts\nonly bear on material things and a coarse egotism determines his\nactions, sensuousness can only become a danger to morality by its _blind\nstrength_, and does not oppose reason except as a _force_. The voice of\njustice, moderation, and humanity is stifled by the appetites, which\nmake a stronger appeal. Man is then terrible in his vengeance, because\nhe is terribly sensitive to insults. He robs, he kills, because his\ndesires are still too powerful for the feeble guidance of reason. He is\ntowards others like a wild beast, because the instinct of nature still\nrules him after the fashion of animals.\n\nBut when to the savage state, to that of nature, succeeds civilization;\nwhen taste ennobles the instincts, and holds out to them more worthy\nobjects taken from the moral order; when culture moderates the brutal\noutbursts of the appetites and brings them back under the discipline of\nthe beautiful, it may happen that these same instincts, which were only\ndangerous before by their _blind power_, coming to assume an air of\n_dignity_ and a certain _assumed authority_, may become more dangerous\nthan before to the morality of the character; and that, under the guise\nof innocence, nobleness, and purity, they may exercise over the will a\ntyranny a hundred times worse than the other.\n\nThe man of taste willingly escapes the gross thraldom of the appetites.\nHe submits to reason the instinct which impels him to pleasure, and he\nis willing to take counsel from his spiritual and thinking nature for\nthe choice of the objects he ought to desire. Now, reason is very apt to\nmistake a _spiritualized_ instinct for one of its _own_ instincts, and\nat length to give up to it the guidance of the will, and this in\nproportion as moral judgment and \u00e6sthetic judgment, the sense of the\ngood and the sense of the beautiful, meet in the same object and in the\nsame decision.\n\nSo long as it remains possible for inclination and duty to meet in the\nsame object and in a common desire, this _representation_ of the moral\nsense by the \u00e6sthetic sense may not draw after it positively evil\nconsequences, though, if the matter be strictly considered, the morality\nof particular actions does not gain by this agreement. But the\nconsequences will be quite different when sensuousness and reason have\neach of them a different interest. If, for example, duty commands us to\nperform an action that revolts our taste, or if taste feels itself drawn\ntowards an object which reason as a moral judge is obliged to condemn,\nthen, in fact, we suddenly encounter the necessity of distinguishing\nbetween the requirements of the moral sense and those of the \u00e6sthetic\nsense, which so long an agreement had almost confounded to such a degree\nthat they could not be distinguished. We must now determine their\nreciprocal rights, and find which of them is the real master in our\nsoul. But such a long representation of the moral sense by the sense of\nthe beautiful has made us forget this master. When we have so long\npractised this rule of obeying at once the suggestions of taste, and\nwhen we have found the result always satisfactory, taste ends by\nassuming a kind of appearance of right. As taste has shown itself\n_irreproachable_ in the vigilant watch it has kept over the will, we\nnecessarily come to grant a certain esteem to its decisions; and it is\nprecisely to this esteem that inclination, with captious logic, gives\nweight against the duties of conscience.\n\nEsteem is a feeling that can only be felt for _law_, and what\ncorresponds to it. Whatever is entitled to esteem lays claim to an\nunconditional homage. The ennobled inclination which has succeeded in\ncaptivating our esteem will, therefore, no longer be satisfied with\nbeing subordinate to reason; it aspires to rank alongside it. It does\nnot wish to be taken for a faithless subject in revolt against his\nsovereign; it wishes to be regarded as a queen; and, treating reason as\nits peer, to dictate, like reason, laws to the conscience. Thus, if we\nlisten to her, she would weigh by right equally in the scale; and then\nhave we not good reason to fear that interest will decide?\n\nOf all the inclinations that are decided from the feeling for the\nbeautiful and that are special to refined minds, none commends itself so\nmuch to the moral sense as the ennobled instinct of _love_; none is so\nfruitful in impressions which correspond to the true dignity of man. To\nwhat an elevation does it raise human nature! and often what divine\nsparks does it kindle in the common soul! It is a sacred fire that\nconsumes every egotistical inclination, and the very principles of\nmorality are scarcely a greater safeguard of the soul\u2019s chastity than\nlove is for the nobility of the heart. How often it happens while the\nmoral principles are still struggling that love prevails in their favor,\nand hastens by its irresistible power the resolutions that duty alone\nwould have vainly demanded from weak human nature! Who, then, would\ndistrust an affection that protects so powerfully what is most excellent\nin human nature, and which fights so victoriously against the moral foe\nof all morality, egotism?\n\nBut do not follow this guide till you have secured a better. Suppose a\nloved object be met that is unhappy, and unhappy because of you, and\nthat it depends only on you to make it happy by sacrificing a few moral\nscruples. You may be disposed to say, \u201cShall I let this loved being\nsuffer for the pleasure of keeping our conscience pure? Is this\nresistance required by this generous, devoted affection, always ready to\nforget itself for its object? I grant it is going against conscience to\nhave recourse to this immoral means to solace the being we love; but can\nwe be said to love if in presence of this being and of its sorrow we\ncontinue to think of ourselves? Are we not more taken up with ourselves\nthan with it, since we prefer to see it unhappy rather than consent to\nbe so ourselves by the reproaches of our conscience?\u201d These are the\nsophisms that the passion of love sets against conscience (whose voice\nthwarts its interests), making its utterances despicable as _suggestions\nof selfishness_, and representing our moral dignity as _one of the\ncomponents of our happiness_ that we are free to alienate. Then, if the\nmorality of our character is not strongly backed by good principles, we\nshall surrender, whatever may be the impetus of our exalted imagination,\nto disgraceful acts; and we shall think that we gain a glorious victory\nover our self-love, while we are only the despicable victims of this\ninstinct. A well-known French romance, \u201c_Les Liaisons Dangereuses_,\u201d\ngives us a striking example of this delusion, by which love betrays a\nsoul otherwise pure and beautiful. The Presidente de Tourvel errs by\nsurprise, and seeks to calm her remorse by the idea that she has\nsacrificed her virtue to her generosity.\n\nSecondary and imperfect duties, as they are styled, are those that the\nfeeling for the beautiful takes most willingly under its patronage, and\nwhich it allows to prevail on many occasions over perfect duties. As\nthey assign a much larger place to the arbitrary option of the subject,\nand at the same time as they have the appearance of merit, which gives\nthem lustre, they commend themselves far more to the \u00e6sthetic taste than\nperfect or necessary duties, which oblige us strictly and\nunconditionally. How many people allow themselves to be unjust that they\nmay be generous! How many fail in their duties to society that they may\ndo good to an individual, and reciprocally! How many people forgive a\nlie sooner than a rudeness, a crime against humanity rather than an\ninsult to honor! How many debase their bodies to hasten the perfection\nof their minds, and degrade their character to adorn their\nunderstanding! How many do not scruple to commit a crime when they have\na laudable end in view, pursue an ideal of political happiness through\nall the terrors of anarchy, tread under foot existing laws to make way\nfor better ones, and do not scruple to devote the present generation to\nmisery to secure at this cost the happiness of future generations! The\napparent unselfishness of certain virtues gives them a varnish of\npurity, which makes them rash enough to break and run counter to the\nmoral law; and many people are the dupes of this strange illusion, to\nrise higher than morality and to endeavor to be more reasonable than\nreason.\n\nThe man of a refined taste is susceptible, in this respect, of a moral\ncorruption, from which the rude child of nature is preserved by his very\ncoarseness. In the latter, the opposite of the demands of sense and the\ndecrees of the moral law is so strongly marked and so manifest, and the\nspiritual element has so small a share in his desires, that although the\nappetites exercise a _despotic sway_ over him, they cannot wrest his\n_esteem_ from him. Thus, when the savage, yielding to the superior\nattraction of sense, gives way to the committal of an unjust action, he\nmay yield to temptation, but he will not hide from himself that he is\ncommitting a _fault_, and he will do homage to reason even while he\nviolates its mandates. The child of civilization, on the contrary, the\nman of refinement, will not admit that he commits a fault, and to soothe\nhis conscience he prefers to impose on it by a sophism. No doubt he\nwishes to obey his appetite, but at the same time without falling in his\nown esteem. How does he manage this? He begins by overthrowing the\nsuperior authority that thwarts his inclination, and before\ntransgressing the law he calls in question the competence of the\nlawgiver. Could it be expected that a corrupt will should so corrupt the\nintelligence? The only dignity that an inclination can assume accrues to\nit from its agreement with reason; yet we find that inclination,\nindependent as well as blind, aspires, at the very moment she enters\ninto contest with reason, to keep this dignity which she owes to reason\nalone. Nay, inclination even aspires to use this dignity she owes to\nreason against reason itself.\n\nThese are the dangers that threaten the morality of the character when\ntoo intimate an association is attempted between sensuous instincts and\nmoral instincts, which can never perfectly agree in real life, but only\nin the ideal. I admit that the sensuous risks nothing in this\nassociation, because it possesses nothing except what it must give up\ndirectly duty speaks and reason demands the sacrifice. But reason, as\nthe arbiter of the moral law, will run the more risk from this union if\nit _receives as a gift_ from inclination what it might _enforce_; for,\nunder the appearance of freedom, the feeling of _obligation_ may be\neasily lost, and what reason accepts as a favor may quite well be\nrefused it when the sensuous finds it painful to grant it. It is,\ntherefore, infinitely safer for the morality of the character to\nsuspend, at least for a time, this misrepresentation of the moral sense\nby the sense of the beautiful. It is best of all that reason should\ncommand by itself without _mediation_, and that it should show to the\nwill its true master. The remark is, therefore, quite justified, that\ntrue morality only knows itself in the school of adversity, and that a\ncontinual prosperity becomes easily a rock of offence to virtue. I mean\nhere by prosperity the state of a man who, to enjoy the goods of life,\nneed not commit injustice, and who to conform to justice need not\nrenounce any of the goods of life. The man who enjoys a continual\nprosperity never sees moral duty face to face, because his inclinations,\nnaturally regular and moderate, always _anticipate_ the mandate of\nreason, and because no temptation to violate the law recalls to his mind\nthe idea of law. Entirely guided by the sense of the beautiful, which\nrepresents reason in the world of sense, he will reach the tomb without\nhaving known by experience the dignity of his destiny. On the other\nhand, the unfortunate man, if he be at the same time a virtuous man,\nenjoys the sublime privilege of being in _immediate_ intercourse with\nthe divine majesty of the moral law; and as his virtue is not seconded\nby any inclination, he bears witness in this lower world, and as a human\nbeing, of the freedom of pure spirits!\n\n\n REFLECTIONS ON THE USE OF THE VULGAR AND LOW ELEMENTS IN WORKS OF ART.\n\nI call _vulgar_ (common) all that does not speak to the mind, of which\nall the interest is addressed only to the senses. There are, no doubt,\nan infinite number of things vulgar in themselves from their material\nand subject. But as the vulgarity of the material can always be ennobled\nby the treatment, in respect of art the only question is that relating\nto the _vulgarity_ in form. A vulgar mind will dishonor the most noble\nmatter by treating it in a common manner. A great and noble mind, on the\ncontrary, will ennoble even a common matter, and it will do so by\nsuperadding to it something spiritual and discovering in it some aspect\nin which this matter has greatness. Thus, for example, a vulgar\nhistorian will relate to us the most insignificant actions of a hero\nwith a scrupulousness as great as that bestowed on his sublimest\nexploit, and will dwell as lengthily on his pedigree, his costume, and\nhis household as on his projects and his enterprises. He will relate\nthose of his actions that have the most grandeur in such wise that no\none will perceive that character in them. On the contrary, a historian\nof genius, himself endowed with nobleness of mind, will give even to the\nprivate life and the least considerable actions of his hero an interest\nand a value that will make them considerable. Thus, again, in the matter\nof the plastic arts, the Dutch and Flemish painters have given proof of\na vulgar taste; the Italians, and still more the ancient Greeks, of a\ngrand and noble taste. The Greeks always went to the ideal; they\nrejected every vulgar feature, and chose no common subject.\n\nA portrait painter can represent his model in a _common_ manner or with\n_grandeur;_ in a _common manner_ if he reproduce the merely _accidental_\ndetails with the same care as the essential features, if he neglect the\ngreat to carry out the minuti\u00e6 curiously. He does it grandly if he know\nhow to find out and place in relief what is most _interesting_, and\ndistinguish the accidental from the necessary; if he be satisfied with\nindicating what is paltry, reserving all the finish of the execution for\nwhat is great. And the only thing that is great is the expression of the\nsoul itself, manifesting itself by actions, gestures, or attitudes.\n\nThe poet treats his subject in a common manner when in the execution of\nhis theme he dwells on valueless facts and only skims rapidly over those\nthat are important. He treats his theme with grandeur when he associates\nwith it what is great. For example, Homer treated the shield of Achilles\ngrandly, though the making of a shield, looking merely at the matter, is\na very commonplace affair.\n\nOne degree below the common or the vulgar is the element of the base or\ngross, which differs from the common in being not only something\n_negative_, a simple lack of inspiration or nobleness, but something\n_positive_, marking coarse feelings, bad morals, and contemptible\nmanners. Vulgarity only testifies that an advantage is wanting, whereof\nthe absence is a matter of regret; baseness indicates the want of a\nquality which we are authorized to require in all. Thus, for example,\nrevenge, considered in itself, in _whatever place or way_ it manifests\nitself, is something vulgar, because it is the proof of a lack of\ngenerosity. But there is, moreover, a _base_ vengeance, when the man, to\nsatisfy it, employs means exposed to contempt. The base always implies\nsomething gross, or reminds one of the mob, while the common can be\nfound in a well-born and well-bred man, who may think and act in a\ncommon manner if he has only mediocre faculties. A man acts in a\n_common_ manner when he is only taken up with his own interest, and it\nis in this that he is in opposition with the really _noble_ man, who,\nwhen necessary, knows how to forget himself to procure some enjoyment\nfor others. But the same man would act in a _base_ manner if he\nconsulted his interests at the cost of his honor, and if in such a case\nhe did not even take upon himself to respect the laws of decency. Thus\nthe common is only the contrary of the noble; the base is the contrary\nboth of the noble and the seemly. To give yourself up, unresisting, to\nall your passions, to satisfy all your impulses, without being checked\neven by the rules of propriety, still less by those of morality, is to\nconduct yourself basely, and to betray baseness of the soul.\n\nThe artist also may fall into a low style, not only by choosing ignoble\nsubjects, offensive to decency and good taste, but moreover by treating\nthem in a _base manner_. It is to treat a subject in a _base manner_ if\nthose sides are made prominent which propriety directs us to conceal, or\nif it is expressed in a manner that incidentally awakens low ideas. The\nlives of the greater part of men can present particulars of a low kind,\nbut it is only a low imagination that will pick out these for\nrepresentation.\n\nThere are pictures describing sacred history in which the Apostles, the\nVirgin, and even the Christ, are depicted in such wise that they might\nbe supposed to be taken from the dregs of the populace. This style of\nexecution always betrays a low taste, and might justly lead to the\ninference that the artist himself thinks coarsely and like the mob.\n\nNo doubt there are cases where art itself may be allowed to produce base\nimages: for example, when the aim is to provoke laughter. A man of\npolished manners may also sometimes, and without betraying a corrupt\ntaste, be amused by certain features when nature expresses herself\ncrudely but with truth, and he may enjoy the contrast between the\nmanners of polished society and those of the lower orders. A man of\nposition appearing intoxicated will always make a disagreeable\nimpression on us; but a drunken driver, sailor, or carter will only be a\nrisible object. Jests that would be insufferable in a man of education\namuse us in the mouth of the people. Of this kind are many of the scenes\nof Aristophanes, who unhappily sometimes exceeds this limit, and becomes\nabsolutely condemnable. This is, moreover, the source of the pleasure we\ntake in parodies, when the feelings, the language, and the mode of\naction of the common people are fictitiously lent to the same personages\nwhom the poet has treated with all possible dignity and decency. As soon\nas the poet means only to jest, and seeks only to amuse, we can overlook\ntraits of a low kind, provided he never stirs up indignation or disgust.\n\nHe stirs up indignation when he places baseness where it is quite\nunpardonable, that is in the case of men who are expected to show fine\nmoral sense. In attributing baseness to them he will either _outrage_\ntruth, for we prefer to think him a liar than to believe that\nwell-trained men can act in a base manner; or his personages will offend\nour moral sense, and, what is worse, excite our imagination. I do not\nmean by this to condemn _farces_; a farce implies between the poet and\nthe spectator a tacit consent that _no_ truth is to be expected in the\npiece. In a farce we exempt the poet from all _faithfulness_ in his\npictures; he has a kind of privilege to tell us untruths. Here, in fact,\nall the comic consists exactly in its contrast with the truth, and so it\ncannot possibly be true.\n\nThis is not all: even in the serious and the tragic there are certain\nplaces where the low element can be brought into play. But in this case\nthe affair must pass into the _terrible_, and the momentary violation of\nour good taste must be masked by a strong impression, which brings our\npassion into play. In other words, the low impression must be absorbed\nby a superior tragic impression. _Theft_, for example, is a thing\nabsolutely _base_, and whatever arguments our heart may suggest to\nexcuse the thief, whatever the pressure of circumstances that led him to\nthe theft, it is always an indelible brand stamped upon him, and,\n\u00e6sthetically speaking, he will always remain a base object. On this\npoint taste is even less forgiving than morality, and its tribunal is\nmore severe; because an \u00e6sthetical object is responsible even for the\naccessory ideas that are awakened in us by such an object, while moral\njudgment eliminates all that is merely accidental. According to this\nview a man who robs would always be an object to be rejected by the poet\nwho wishes to present serious pictures. But suppose this man is at the\nsame time a murderer, he is even more to be condemned than before by the\n_moral_ law. But in the \u00e6sthetic judgment he is raised one degree higher\nand made better adapted to figure in a work of art. Continuing to judge\nhim from the \u00e6sthetic point of view, it may be added that he who abases\nhimself by a _vile_ action can to a certain extent be raised by a\n_crime_, and can be thus reinstated in our _\u00e6sthetic_ estimation. This\ncontradiction between the moral judgment and the \u00e6sthetical judgment is\na fact entitled to attention and consideration. It may be explained in\ndifferent ways. First, I have already said that, as the \u00e6sthetic\njudgment depends on the imagination, all the accessory ideas awakened in\nus by an object and naturally associated with it, must themselves\ninfluence this judgment. Now, if these accessory ideas are base, they\ninfallibly stamp this character on the principal object.\n\nIn the second place, what we look for in the \u00e6sthetic judgment is\n_strength;_ whilst in a judgment pronounced in the name of the moral\nsense we consider _lawfulness_. The lack of strength is something\ncontemptible, and every action from which it may be inferred that the\nagent lacks strength is, by that very fact, a contemptible action. Every\ncowardly and underhand action is repugnant to us, because it is a proof\nof impotence; and, on the contrary, a devilish wickedness can,\n\u00e6sthetically speaking, flatter our taste, as soon as it marks strength.\nNow, a theft testifies to a vile and grovelling mind: a murder has at\nleast on its side the appearance of strength; the interest we take in it\n\u00e6sthetically is in proportion to the strength that is manifested in it.\n\nA third reason is, because in presence of a deep and horrible crime we\nno longer think of the _quality_ but the awful consequences of the\naction. The stronger emotion covers and stifles the weaker one. We do\nnot look back into the mind of the agent: we look onward into his\ndestiny, we think of the effects of his action. Now, directly we begin\nto _tremble_ all the delicacies of taste are reduced to silence. The\nprincipal impression entirely fills our mind: the accessory and\naccidental ideas, in which chiefly dwell all impressions of baseness,\nare effaced from it. It is for this reason that the theft committed by\nyoung Ruhberg, in the \u201cCrime through Ambition,\u201d[10] far from displeasing\non the stage, is a real tragic effect. The poet with great skill has\nmanaged the circumstances in such wise that we are carried away; we are\nleft almost breathless. The frightful misery of the family, and\nespecially the grief of the father, are objects that attract our\nattention, turn it aside, from the person of the agent, towards the\nconsequences of his act. We are too much moved to tarry long in\nrepresenting to our minds the stamp of infamy with which the theft is\nmarked. In a word, the base element disappears in the _terrible_. It is\nsingular that this theft, really accomplished by young Ruhberg, inspires\nus with less repugnance than, in another piece, the mere suspicion of a\ntheft, a suspicion which is actually without foundation. In the latter\ncase it is a young officer who is accused without grounds of having\nabstracted a silver spoon, which is recovered later on. Thus the base\nelement is reduced in this case to a purely imaginary thing, a mere\nsuspicion, and this suffices nevertheless to do an irreparable injury,\nin our \u00e6sthetical appreciation, to the hero of the piece, in spite of\nhis innocence. This is because a man who is supposed capable of a base\naction did not apparently enjoy a very solid reputation for morality,\nfor the laws of propriety require that a man should be held to be a man\nof honor as long as he does not _show_ the opposite. If therefore\nanything contemptible is imputed to him, it seems that by some part of\nhis past conduct he has given rise to a suspicion of this kind, and this\ndoes him injury, though all the odious and the base in an undeserved\nsuspicion are on the side of him who accuses. A point that does still\ngreater injury to the hero of the piece of which I am speaking is the\nfact that he is an _officer_, and the _lover_ of a lady of condition\nbrought up in a manner suitable to her rank. With these two titles, that\nof thief makes quite a revolting contrast, and it is impossible for us,\nwhen we see him near his lady, not to think that perhaps at that very\nmoment he had the silver spoon in his pocket. Lastly, the most\nunfortunate part of the business is, that he has no idea of the\nsuspicion weighing over him, for if he had a knowledge of it, in his\ncharacter of officer, he would exact a sanguinary reparation. In this\ncase the consequences of the suspicion would change to the terrible, and\nall that is base in the situation would disappear.\n\nWe must distinguish, moreover, between the baseness of feeling and that\nwhich is connected with the mode of treatment and circumstance. The\nformer in all respects is _below_ \u00e6sthetic dignity; the second in many\ncases may perfectly agree with it. _Slavery_, for example, is a base\nthing; but a servile mind in a free man is contemptible. The labors of\nthe slave, on the contrary, are not so when his feelings are not\nservile. Far from this, a base condition, when joined to elevated\nfeelings, can become a source of the sublime. The master of Epictetus,\nwho beat him, acted basely, and the slave beaten by him showed a sublime\nsoul. True greatness, when it is met in a base condition, is only the\nmore brilliant and splendid on that account: and the artist must not\nfear to show us his heroes even under a contemptible exterior as soon as\nhe is sure of being able to give them, when he wishes, the expression of\nmoral dignity.\n\nBut what can be granted to the poet is not always allowed in the artist.\nThe poet only addresses the imagination; the painter addresses the\nsenses directly. It follows not only that the impression of the picture\nis more lively than that of the poem, but also that the painter, if he\nemploy only his natural signs, cannot make the minds of his personages\nas visible as the poet can with the arbitrary signs at his command: yet\nit is only the sight of the mind that can reconcile us to certain\nexteriors. When Homer causes his Ulysses to appear in the rags of a\nbeggar,[11] we are at liberty to represent his image to our mind more or\nless fully, and to dwell on it as long as we like. But in no case will\nit be sufficiently vivid to excite our repugnance or disgust. But if a\npainter, or even a tragedian, try to reproduce faithfully the Ulysses of\nHomer, we turn away from the picture with repugnance. It is because in\nthis case the greater or less vividness of the impression no longer\ndepends on our will: we _cannot help_ seeing what the painter places\nunder our eyes; and it is not easy for us to remove the accessory\nrepugnant ideas which the picture recalls to our mind.\n\n\n       DETACHED REFLECTIONS ON DIFFERENT QUESTIONS OF \u00c6STHETICS.\n\nAll the properties by which an object can become \u00e6sthetic, can be\nreferred to four classes, which, as well according to their objective\ndifferences as according to their different relation with the subject,\nproduce on our passive and active faculties pleasures unequal not only\nin intensity but also in worth; classes which also are of an unequal use\nfor the end of the fine arts: they are the agreeable, the good, the\nsublime, and the beautiful.\n\nOf these four categories, the sublime and the beautiful only belong\nproperly to art. The agreeable is not worthy of art, and the good is at\nleast not its end; for the aim of art is to please, and the good,\nwhether we consider it in theory or in practice, neither can nor ought\nto serve as a means of satisfying the wants of sensuousness. The\nagreeable only satisfies the senses, and is distinguished thereby from\nthe good, which only pleases the reason. The agreeable only pleases by\nits matter, for it is only matter that can affect the senses, and all\nthat is form can only please the reason. It is true that the beautiful\nonly pleases through the medium of the senses, by which it is\ndistinguished from the good; but it pleases reason, on account of its\nform, by which it is essentially distinguished from the agreeable. It\nmight be said that the good pleases only by its form being in harmony\nwith reason; the beautiful by its form having some relation of\nresemblance with reason, and that the agreeable absolutely does not\nplease by its form. The good is perceived by thought, the beautiful by\nintuition, and the agreeable only by the senses. The first pleases by\nthe conception, the second by the idea, and the third by material\nsensation.\n\nThe distance between the good and the agreeable is that which strikes\nthe eyes the most. The good widens our understanding, because it\nprocures and supposes an idea of its object; the pleasure which it makes\nus perceive rests on an objective foundation, even when this pleasure\nitself is but a certain state in which we are situated. The agreeable,\non the contrary, produces no notion of its object, and, indeed, reposes\non no objective foundation. It is agreeable only inasmuch as it is felt\nby the subject, and the idea of it completely vanishes the moment an\nobstruction is placed on the affectibility of the senses, or only when\nit is modified. For a man who feels the cold the agreeable would be a\nwarm air; but this same man, in the heat of summer, would seek the shade\nand coolness; but we must agree that in both cases he has judged well.\n\nOn the other hand, that which is objective is altogether independent of\nus, and that which to-day appears to us true, useful, reasonable, ought\nyet (if this judgment of to-day be admitted as just) to seem to us the\nsame twenty years hence. But our judgment of the agreeable changes as\nsoon as our state, with regard to its object, has changed. The agreeable\nis therefore not a property of the object; it springs entirely from the\nrelations of such an object with our senses, for the constitution of our\nsenses is a necessary condition thereof.\n\nThe good, on the contrary, is good in itself, before being represented\nto us, and before being felt. The property by which it pleases exists\nfully in itself without being in want of our subject, although the\npleasure which we take in it rests on an aptitude for feeling that which\nis in us. Thus we can say that the agreeable exists only because it is\nexperienced, and that the good, on the contrary, is experienced because\nit exists.\n\nThe distinction between the beautiful and the agreeable, great as it is,\nmoreover, strikes the eye less. The beautiful approaches the agreeable\nin this\u2014that it must always be proposed to the senses, inasmuch as it\npleases only as a phenomenon. It comes near to it again in as far as it\nneither procures nor supposes any notion of its object. But, on the\nother hand, it is widely separated from the agreeable, because it\npleases by the form under which it is produced, and not by the fact of\nthe material sensation. No doubt it only pleases the reasonable subject\nin so far as it is also a sensuous subject; but also it pleases the\nsensuous subject only inasmuch as it is at the same time a reasonable\nsubject. The beautiful is not only pleasing to the individual but to the\nwhole species; and although it draws its existence but from its relation\nwith creatures at the same time reasonable and sensuous, it is not less\nindependent of all empirical limitations of sensuousness, and it remains\nidentical even when the particular constitution of the individual is\nmodified. The beautiful has exactly in common with the good that by\nwhich it differs from the agreeable, and it differs from the good\nexactly in that in which it approximates to the agreeable.\n\nBy the good we must understand that in which reason recognizes a\nconformity with her theoretical and practical laws. But the same object\ncan be perfectly conformable to the theoretical reason, and not be the\nless in contradiction in the highest degree with the practical reason.\nWe can disapprove of the end of an enterprise, and yet admire the skill\nof the means and their relation with the end in view. We can despise the\npleasures which the voluptuous man makes the end of his life, and\nnevertheless praise the skill which he exhibits in the choice of his\nmeans, and the logical result with which he carries out his principles.\nThat which pleases us only by its form is good, absolutely good, and\nwithout any conditions, when its form is at the same time its matter.\nThe good is also an object of sensuousness, but not of an immediate\nsensuousness, as the agreeable, nor moreover of a mixed sensuousness, as\nthe beautiful. It does not excite desire as the first, nor inclination\nas the second. The simple idea of the good inspires only esteem.\n\nThe difference separating the agreeable, the good, and the beautiful\nbeing thus established, it is evident that the same object can be ugly,\ndefective, even to be morally rejected, and nevertheless be agreeable\nand pleasing to the senses; that an object can revolt the senses, and\nyet be good, _i.e._, please the reason; that an object can from its\ninmost nature revolt the moral senses, and yet please the imagination\nwhich contemplates it, and still be beautiful. It is because each one of\nthese ideas interests different faculties, and interests differently.\n\nBut have we exhausted the classification of the \u00e6sthetic attributes? No,\nthere are objects at the same time ugly, revolting, and horrifying to\nthe senses, which do not please the understanding, and of no account to\nthe moral judgment, and these objects do not fail to please; certainly\nto please to such a degree, that we would willingly sacrifice the\npleasure of these senses and that of the understanding to procure for us\nthe enjoyment of these objects. There is nothing more attractive in\nnature than a beautiful landscape, illuminated by the purple light of\nevening. The rich variety of the objects, the mellow outlines, the play\nof lights infinitely varying the aspect, the light vapors which envelop\ndistant objects,\u2014all combine in charming the senses; and add to it, to\nincrease our pleasure, the soft murmur of a cascade, the song of the\nnightingales, an agreeable music. We give ourselves up to a soft\nsensation of repose, and whilst our senses, touched by the harmony of\nthe colors, the forms, and the sounds, experience the agreeable in the\nhighest, the mind is rejoiced by the easy and rich flow of the ideas,\nthe heart by the sentiments which overflow in it like a torrent. All at\nonce a storm springs up, darkening the sky and all the landscape,\nsurpassing and silencing all other noises, and suddenly taking from us\nall our pleasures. Black clouds encircle the horizon; the thunder falls\nwith a deafening noise. Flash succeeds flash. Our sight and hearing is\naffected in the most revolting manner. The lightning only appears to\nrender to us more visible the horrors of the night: we see the electric\nfluid strike, nay, we begin to fear lest it may strike us. Well, that\ndoes not prevent us from believing that we have gained more than lost by\nthe change; I except, of course, those whom fear has bereft of all\nliberty of judgment. We are, on the one hand, forcibly drawn towards\nthis terrible spectacle, which on the other wounds and repulses our\nsenses, and we pause before it with a feeling which we cannot properly\ncall a pleasure, but one which we often like much more than pleasure.\nBut still, the spectacle that nature then offers to us is in itself\nrather destructive than good (at all events we in no way need to think\nof the utility of a storm to take pleasure in this phenomenon), is in\nitself rather ugly than beautiful, for the darkness, hiding from us all\nthe images which light affords, cannot be in itself a pleasant thing;\nand those sudden crashes with which the thunder shakes the atmosphere,\nthose sudden flashes when the lightning rends the cloud\u2014all is contrary\nto one of the essential conditions of the beautiful, which carries with\nit nothing abrupt, nothing violent. And moreover this phenomenon, if we\nconsider only our senses, is rather painful than agreeable, for the\nnerves of our sight and those of our hearing are each in their turn\npainfully strained, then not less violently relaxed, by the alternations\nof light and darkness, of the explosion of the thunder, and silence. And\nin spite of all these causes of displeasure, a storm is an attractive\nphenomenon for whomsoever is not afraid of it.\n\nAnother example. In the midst of a green and smiling plain there rises a\nnaked and barren hillock, which hides from the sight a part of the view.\nEach one would wish that this hillock were removed which disfigures the\nbeauty of all the landscape. Well, let us imagine this hillock rising,\nrising still, without indeed changing at all its shape, and preserving,\nalthough on a greater scale, the same proportions between its width and\nheight. To begin with, our impression of displeasure will but increase\nwith the hillock itself, which will the more strike the sight, and which\nwill be the more repulsive. But continue; raise it up twice as high as a\ntower, and insensibly the displeasure will efface itself to make way for\nquite another feeling. The hill has at last become a mountain, so high a\nmountain that it is quite impossible for our eyes to take it in at one\nlook. There is an object more precocious than all this smiling plain\nwhich surrounds it, and the impression that it makes on us is of such a\nnature that we should regret to exchange it for any other impression,\nhowever beautiful it might be. Now, suppose this mountain to be leaning,\nand of such an inclination that we could expect it every minute to crash\ndown, the previous impression will be complicated with another\nimpression: terror will be joined to it: the object itself will be but\nstill more attractive. But suppose it were possible to prop up this\nleaning mountain with another mountain, the terror would disappear, and\nwith it a good part of the pleasure we experienced. Suppose that there\nwere beside this mountain four or five other mountains, of which each\none was a fourth or a fifth part lower than the one which came\nimmediately after; the first impression with which the height of one\nmountain inspired us will be notably weakened. Something somewhat\nanalogous would take place if the mountain itself were cut into ten or\ntwelve terraces, uniformly diminishing; or again if it were artificially\ndecorated with plantations. We have at first subjected one mountain to\nno other operation than that of increasing its size, leaving it\notherwise just as it was, and without altering its form; and this simple\ncircumstance has sufficed to make an indifferent or even disagreeable\nobject satisfying to the eyes. By the second operation, this enlarged\nobject has become at the same time an object of terror; and the pleasure\nwhich we have found in contemplating it has but been the greater.\nFinally, by the last operation which we have made, we have diminished\nthe terror which its sight occasioned, and the pleasure has diminished\nas much. We have diminished _subjectively_ the idea of its height,\nwhether by dividing the attention of the spectator between several\nobjects, or in giving to the eyes, by means of these smaller mountains,\nplaced near to the large one, a measure by which to master the height of\nthe mountain all the more easily. The great and the terrible can\ntherefore be of themselves in certain cases a source of \u00e6sthetic\npleasure.\n\nThere is not in the Greek mythology a more terrible, and at the same\ntime more hideous, picture than the Furies, or Erinyes, quitting the\ninfernal regions to throw themselves in the pursuit of a criminal. Their\nfaces frightfully contracted and grimacing, their fleshless bodies,\ntheir heads covered with serpents in the place of hair\u2014revolt our senses\nas much as they offend our taste. However, when these monsters are\nrepresented to us in the pursuit of Orestes, the murderer of his mother,\nwhen they are shown to us brandishing the torches in their hands, and\nchasing their prey, without peace or truce, from country to country,\nuntil at last, the anger of justice being appeased, they engulf\nthemselves in the abyss of the infernal regions; then we pause before\nthe picture with a horror mixed with pleasure. But not only the remorse\nof a criminal which is personified by the Furies, even his unrighteous\nacts: nay, the real perpetration of a crime, are able to please us in a\nwork of art. Medea, in the Greek tragedy; Clytemnestra, who takes the\nlife of her husband; Orestes, who kills his mother, fill our soul with\nhorror and with pleasure. Even in real life, indifferent and even\nrepulsive or frightful objects begin to interest us the moment that they\napproach the monstrous or the terrible. An altogether vulgar and\ninsignificant man will begin to please us the moment that a violent\npassion, which indeed in no way upraises his personal value, makes him\nan object of fear and terror, in the same way that a vulgar, meaningless\nobject becomes to us the source of \u00e6sthetic pleasure the instant we have\nenlarged it to the point where it threatens to overstep our\ncomprehension. An ugly man is made still more ugly by passion, and\nnevertheless it is in bursts of this passion, provided that it turns to\nthe terrible and not to the ridiculous, that this man will be to us of\nthe most interest. This remark extends even to animals. An ox at the\nplow, a horse before a carriage, a dog, are common objects; but excite\nthis bull to the combat, enrage this horse who is so peaceable, or\nrepresent to yourself this dog a prey to madness; instantly these\nanimals are raised to the rank of \u00e6sthetic objects, and we begin to\nregard them with a feeling which borders on pleasure and esteem. The\ninclination to the pathetic\u2014an inclination common to all men\u2014the\nstrength of the sympathetic sentiment\u2014this force which in nature makes\nus wish to see suffering, terror, dismay, which has so many attractions\nfor us in art, which makes us hurry to the theatre, which makes us take\nso much pleasure in the picturing of great misfortune,\u2014all this bears\ntestimony to a fourth source of \u00e6sthetic pleasure, which neither the\nagreeable, nor the good, nor the beautiful are in a state to produce.\n\nAll the examples that I have alleged up to the present have this in\ncommon\u2014that the feeling they excite in us rests on something objective.\nIn all these phenomena we receive the idea of something \u201cwhich\noversteps, or which threatens to overstep, the power of comprehension of\nour senses, or their power of resistance\u201d; but not, however, going so\nfar as to paralyze these two powers, or so far as to render us incapable\nof striving, either to know the object, or to resist the impression it\nmakes on us. There is in the phenomena a complexity which we cannot\nretrace to unity without driving the intuitive faculty to its furthest\nlimits.\n\nWe have the idea of a force in comparison with which our own vanishes,\nand which we are nevertheless compelled to compare with our own. Either\nit is an object which at the same time presents and hides itself from\nour faculty of intuition, and which urges us to strive to represent it\nto ourselves, without leaving room to hope that this aspiration will be\nsatisfied; or else it is an object which appears to upraise itself as an\nenemy, even against our existence\u2014which provokes us, so to say, to\ncombat, and makes us anxious as to the issue. In all the alleged\nexamples there is visible in the same way the same action on the faculty\nof feeling. All throw our souls into an anxious agitation and strain its\nsprings. A certain gravity which can even raise itself to a solemn\nrejoicing takes possession of our soul, and whilst our organs betray\nevident signs of internal anxiety, our mind falls back on itself by\nreflection, and appears to find a support in a higher consciousness of\nits independent strength and dignity. This consciousness of ourselves\nmust always dominate in order that the great and the horrible may have\nfor us an \u00e6sthetic value. It is because the soul before such sights as\nthese feels itself inspired and lifted above itself that they are\ndesignated under the name of sublime, although the things themselves are\nobjectively in no way sublime; and consequently it would be more just to\nsay that they are elevating than to call them in themselves elevated or\nsublime.\n\nFor an object to be called sublime it must be in opposition with our\nsensuousness. In general it is possible to conceive but two different\nrelations between the objects and our sensuousness, and consequently\nthere ought to be two kinds of resistance. They ought either to be\nconsidered as objects from which we wish to draw a knowledge, or else\nthey should be regarded as a force with which we compare our own.\nAccording to this division there are two kinds of the sublime, the\nsublime of knowledge and the sublime of force. Moreover, the sensuous\nfaculties contribute to knowledge only in grasping a given matter, and\nputting one by the other its complexity in time and in space.\n\nAs to dissecting this complex property and assorting it, it is the\nbusiness of the understanding and not of the imagination. It is for the\nunderstanding alone that the diversity exists: for the imagination\n(considered simply as a sensuous faculty) there is but an uniformity,\nand consequently it is but the number of the uniform things (the\nquantity and not the quality) which can give origin to any difference\nbetween the sensuous perception of phenomena. Thus, in order that the\nfaculty of picturing things sensuously may be reduced to impotence\nbefore an object, necessarily it is imperative that this object exceeds\nin its quantity the capacity of our imagination.\n\n\n                   ON SIMPLE AND SENTIMENTAL POETRY.\n\nThere are moments in life when nature inspires us with a sort of love\nand respectful emotion, not because she is pleasing to our senses, or\nbecause she satisfies our mind or our taste (it is often the very\nopposite that happens), but merely because she is nature. This feeling\nis often elicited when nature is considered in her plants, in her\nmineral kingdom, in rural districts; also in the case of human nature,\nin the case of children, and in the manners of country people and of the\nprimitive races. Every man of refined feeling, provided he has a soul,\nexperiences this feeling when he walks out under the open sky, when he\nlives in the country, or when he stops to contemplate the monuments of\nearly ages; in short, when escaping from factitious situations and\nrelations, he finds himself suddenly face to face with nature. This\ninterest, which is often exalted in us so as to become a want, is the\nexplanation of many of our fancies for flowers and for animals, our\npreference for gardens laid out in the natural style, our love of walks,\nof the country and those who live there, of a great number of objects\nproceeding from a remote antiquity, etc. It is taken for granted that no\naffectation exists in the matter, and moreover that no accidental\ninterest comes into play. But this sort of interest which we take in\nnature is only possible under two conditions. First the object that\ninspires us with this feeling must be really _nature_, or something we\ntake for nature; secondly this object must be in the full sense of the\nword _simple_, that is, presenting the entire contrast of nature with\nart, all the advantage remaining on the side of nature. Directly this\nsecond condition is united to the first, but no sooner, nature assumes\nthe character of simplicity.\n\nConsidered thus, nature is for us nothing but existence in all its\nfreedom; it is the constitution of things taken in themselves; it is\nexistence itself according to its proper and immutable laws.\n\nIt is strictly necessary that we should have this idea of nature to take\nan interest in phenomena of this kind. If we conceive an artificial\nflower so perfectly imitated that it has all the appearance of nature\nand would produce the most complete illusion, or if we imagine the\nimitation of simplicity carried out to the extremest degree, the instant\nwe discover it is only an imitation, the feeling of which I have been\nspeaking is completely destroyed. It is, therefore, quite evident that\nthis kind of satisfaction which nature causes us to feel is not a\nsatisfaction of the \u00e6sthetical taste, but a satisfaction of the moral\nsense; for it is produced by means of a conception and not immediately\nby the single fact of intuition: accordingly it is by no means\ndetermined by the different degrees of beauty in forms. For, after all,\nis there anything so specially charming in a flower of common\nappearance, in a spring, a moss-covered stone, the warbling of birds, or\nthe buzzing of bees, etc.? What is that can give these objects a claim\nto our love? It is not these objects in themselves; it is an idea\nrepresented by them that we love in them. We love in them life and its\nlatent action, the effects peacefully produced by beings of themselves,\nexistence under its proper laws, the inmost necessity of things, the\neternal unity of their nature.\n\nThese objects which captivate us _are_ what we _were_, what we _must be_\nagain some day. We were nature as they are; and culture, following the\nway of reason and of liberty, must bring us back to nature. Accordingly,\nthese objects are an image of our infancy irrevocably past\u2014of our\ninfancy which will remain eternally very dear to us, and thus they\ninfuse a certain melancholy into us; they are also the image of our\nhighest perfection in the ideal world, whence they excite a sublime\nemotion in us.\n\nBut the perfection of these objects is not a merit that belongs to them,\nbecause it is not the effect of their free choice. Accordingly they\nprocure quite a peculiar pleasure for us, by being our models without\nhaving any thing humiliating for us. It is like a constant manifestation\nof the divinity surrounding us, which refreshes without dazzling us. The\nvery feature that constitutes their character is precisely what is\nlacking in ours to make it complete; and what distinguishes us from them\nis precisely what they lack to be divine. We are free and they are\nnecessary; we change and they remain identical. Now it is only when\nthese two conditions are united, when the will submits freely to the\nlaws of necessity, and when, in the midst of all the changes of which\nthe imagination is susceptible, reason maintains its rule\u2014it is only\nthen that the divine or the ideal is manifested. Thus we perceive\neternally _in them_ that which we have not, but which we are continually\nforced to strive after; that which we can never reach, but which we can\nhope to approach by continual progress. And we perceive _in ourselves_\nan advantage which they lack, but in which some of them\u2014the beings\ndeprived of reason\u2014cannot absolutely share, and in which the others,\nsuch as children, can only one day have a share by following _our_ way.\nAccordingly, they procure us the most delicious feeling of our human\nnature, as an idea, though in relation to each _determinate_ state of\nour nature they cannot fail to humble us.\n\nAs this interest in nature is based on an idea, it can only manifest\nitself in a soul capable of ideas, that is, in a moral soul. For the\nimmense majority it is nothing more than pure affectation; and this\ntaste of _sentimentality_ so widely diffused in our day, manifesting\nitself, especially since the appearance of certain books, by sentimental\nexcursions and journeys, by sentimental gardens, and other fancies akin\nto these\u2014this taste by no means proves that true refinement of sense has\nbecome general. Nevertheless, it is certain that nature will always\nproduce something of this impression, even on the most insensible\nhearts, because all that is required for this is the moral disposition\nor aptitude, which is common to all men. For all men, however contrary\ntheir acts may be to simplicity and to the truth of nature, are brought\nback to it in their ideas. This sensibility in connection with nature is\nspecially and most strongly manifested, in the greater part of persons,\nin connection with those sorts of objects which are closely related to\nus, and which, causing us to look closer into ourselves, show us more\nclearly what in us departs from nature; for example, in connection with\nchildren, or with nations in a state of infancy. It is an error to\nsuppose that it is only the idea of their weakness that, in certain\nmoments, makes us dwell with our eyes on children with so much emotion.\nThis may be true with those who, in the presence of a feeble being, are\nused to feel nothing but their own superiority. But the feeling of which\nI speak is only experienced in a very peculiar moral disposition, nor\nmust it be confounded with the feeling awakened in us by the joyous\nactivity of children. The feeling of which I speak is calculated rather\nto humble than to flatter our self-love; and if it gives us the idea of\nsome advantage, this advantage is at all events not on our side.\n\nWe are moved in the presence of childhood, but it is not because from\nthe height of our strength and of our perfection we drop a look of pity\non it; it is, on the contrary, because from the depths of our impotence,\nof which the feeling is inseparable from that of the real and\ndeterminate state to which we have arrived, we raise our eyes to the\nchild\u2019s determinableness and pure innocence. The feeling we then\nexperience is too evidently mingled with sadness for us to mistake its\nsource. In the child, all is _disposition_ and _destination_; in us, all\nis in the state of a _completed_, _finished_ thing, and the completion\nalways remains infinitely below the destination. It follows that the\nchild is to us like the representation of the ideal; not, indeed, of the\nideal as we have realized it, but such as our destination admitted; and,\nconsequently, it is not at all the idea of its indigence, of its\nhinderances, that makes us experience emotion in the child\u2019s presence;\nit is, on the contrary, the idea of its pure and free force, of the\nintegrity, the infinity of its being. This is the reason why, in the\nsight of every moral and sensible man, the child will always be a\n_sacred_ thing; I mean an object which, by the grandeur of an idea,\nreduces to nothingness all grandeur realized by experience; an object\nwhich, in spite of all it may lose in the judgment of the understanding,\nregains largely the advantage before the judgment of reason.\n\nNow it is precisely this contradiction between the judgment of reason\nand that of the understanding which produces in us this quite special\nphenomenon, this mixed feeling, called forth in us by the sight of the\nsimple\u2014I mean the simple in the manner of thinking. It is at once the\nidea of a childlike simplicity and of a childish simplicity. By what it\nhas of childish simplicity it exposes a weak side to the understanding,\nand provokes in us that smile by which we testify our superiority (an\nentirely speculative superiority). But directly we have reason to think\nthat childish simplicity is at the same time a childlike simplicity\u2014that\nit is not consequently a want of intelligence, an infirmity in a\ntheoretical point of view, but a superior force (practically), a\nheart-full of truth and innocence, which is its source, a heart that has\ndespised the help of art because it was conscious of its real and\ninternal greatness\u2014directly this is understood, the understanding no\nlonger seeks to triumph. Then raillery, which was directed against\nsimpleness, makes way for the admiration inspired by noble simplicity.\nWe feel ourselves obliged to esteem this object, which at first made us\nsmile, and directing our eyes to ourselves, to feel ourselves unhappy in\nnot resembling it. Thus is produced that very special phenomenon of a\nfeeling in which good-natured raillery, respect, and sadness are\nconfounded. It is the condition of the simple that nature should triumph\nover art, either unconsciously to the individual and against his\ninclination, or with his full and entire cognizance. In the former case\nit is _simplicity_ as a _surprise_, and the impression resulting from it\nis one of gayety; in the second case, it is simplicity of _feeling_, and\nwe are moved.\n\nWith regard to simplicity as a surprise, the person must be _morally_\ncapable of denying nature. In simplicity of feeling the person may be\nmorally incapable of this, but we must not think him physically\nincapable, in order that it may make upon us the impression of the\nsimple. This is the reason why the acts and words of children only\nproduce the impression of simplicity upon us when we forget that they\nare physically incapable of artifice, and in general only when we are\nexclusively impressed by the contrast between their natural character\nand what is artificial in us. Simplicity is a _childlike ingenuousness_\nwhich is encountered when it is not _expected_; and it is for this very\nreason that, taking the word in its strictest sense, simplicity could\nnot be attributed to childhood properly speaking.\n\nBut in both cases, in simplicity as a surprise and simplicity as a\nfeeling, nature must always have the upper hand, and art succumb to her.\n\nUntil we have established this distinction we can only form an\nincomplete idea of simplicity. The affections are also something\nnatural, and the rules of decency are artificial; yet the triumph of the\naffections over decency is anything but simple. But when affection\ntriumphs over artifice, over false decency, over dissimulation, we shall\nhave no difficulty in applying the word simple to this. Nature must\ntherefore triumph over art, not by its blind and brutal force as a\n_dynamical power_, but in virtue of its form as a _moral magnitude_; in\na word, not as a want, but as an _internal necessity_. It must not be\n_insufficiency_, but the inopportune character of the latter that gives\nnature her victory; for insufficiency is only a want and a defect, and\nnothing that results from a want or defect could produce esteem. No\ndoubt in the simplicity resulting from surprise, it is always the\npredominance of affection and a want of reflection that causes us to\nappear natural. But this want and this predominance do not by any means\nsuffice to constitute simplicity; they merely give occasion to nature to\n_obey without let or hinderance_ her _moral constitution_, that is, the\n_law of harmony_.\n\nThe simplicity resulting from surprise can only be encountered in man\nand that only in as far as at the moment he ceases to be a pure and\ninnocent nature. This sort of simplicity implies a will that is not in\nharmony with that which nature does of her own accord. A person simple\nafter this fashion, when recalled to himself, will be the first to be\nalarmed at what he is; on the other hand, a person in whom simplicity is\nfound as a _feeling_, will only wonder at one thing, that is, at the way\nin which men feel astonishment. As it is not the moral subject as a\nperson, but only his natural character set free by affection, that\nconfesses the truth, it follows from this that we shall not attribute\nthis sincerity to man as a merit, and that we shall be entitled to laugh\nat it, our raillery not being held in check by any personal esteem for\nhis character. Nevertheless, as it is still the sincerity of nature\nwhich, even in the simplicity caused by surprise, pierces suddenly\nthrough the veil of dissimulation, a satisfaction of a superior order is\nmixed with the mischievous joy we feel in having caught any one in the\nact. This is because nature, opposed to affectation, and truth, opposed\nto deception, must in every case inspire us with esteem. Thus we\nexperience, even in the presence of simplicity originating in surprise,\na really moral pleasure, though it be not in connection with a moral\nobject.\n\nI admit that in simplicity proceeding from surprise we always experience\na feeling of esteem for _nature_, because we must esteem truth; whereas\nin the simplicity of feeling we esteem the _person_ himself, enjoying in\nthis way not only a moral satisfaction, but also a satisfaction of which\nthe object is moral. In both cases nature is _right_, since she speaks\nthe truth; but in the second case not only is nature right, but there is\nalso an act that does _honor_ to the person. In the first case the\nsincerity of nature always puts the person to the blush, because it is\ninvoluntary; in the second it is always a merit which must be placed to\nthe credit of the person, even when what he confesses is of a nature to\ncause a blush.\n\nWe attribute simplicity of feeling to a man, when, in the judgments he\npronounces on things, he passes, without seeing them, over all the\nfactitious and artificial sides of an object, to keep exclusively to\nsimple nature. We require of him all the judgments that can be formed of\nthings without departing from a sound nature; and we only hold him\nentirely free in what presupposes a departure from nature in his mode of\nthinking or feeling.\n\nIf a father relates to his son that such and such a person is dying of\nhunger, and if the child goes and carries the purse of his father to\nthis unfortunate being, this is a simple action. It is in fact a healthy\nnature that acts in the child; and in a world where healthy nature would\nbe the law, he would be perfectly right to act so. He only sees the\nmisery of his neighbor and the speediest means of relieving him. The\nextension given to the right of property, in consequence of which part\nof the human race might perish, is not based on mere nature. Thus the\nact of this child puts to shame real society, and this is acknowledged\nby our heart in the pleasure it experiences from this action.\n\nIf a good-hearted man, inexperienced in the ways of the world, confides\nhis secrets to another, who deceives him, but who is skilful in\ndisguising his perfidy, and if by his very sincerity he furnishes him\nwith the means of doing him injury, we find his conduct simple. We laugh\nat him, yet we cannot avoid esteeming him, precisely on account of his\nsimplicity. This is because his trust in others proceeds from the\nrectitude of his own heart; at all events, there is simplicity here only\nas far as this is the case.\n\nSimplicity in the mode of thinking cannot then ever be the act of a\ndepraved man; this quality only belongs to children, and to men who are\nchildren in heart. It often happens to these in the midst of the\nartificial relations of the great world to act or to think in a simple\nmanner. Being themselves of a truly good and humane nature, they forget\nthat they have to do with a depraved world; and they act, even in the\ncourts of kings, with an ingenuousness and an innocence that are only\nfound in the world of pastoral idyls.\n\nNor is it always such an easy matter to distinguish exactly childish\ncandor from childlike candor, for there are actions that are on the\nskirts of both. Is a certain act foolishly simple, and must we laugh at\nit? or is it nobly simple, and must we esteem the actors the higher on\nthat account? It is difficult to know which side to take in some cases.\nA very remarkable example of this is found in the history of the\ngovernment of Pope Adrian VI., related by Mr. Schr\u00f6ckh with all the\nsolidity and the spirit of practical truth which distinguish him.\nAdrian, a Netherlander by birth, exerted the pontifical sway at one of\nthe most critical moments for the hierarchy\u2014at a time when an\nexasperated party laid bare without any scruple all the weak sides of\nthe Roman Church, while the opposite party was interested in the highest\ndegree in covering them over. I do not entertain the question how a man\nof a truly simple character ought to act in such a case, if such a\ncharacter were placed in the papal chair. But, we ask, how could this\nsimplicity of feeling be compatible with the part of a pope? This\nquestion gave indeed very little embarrassment to the predecessors and\nsuccessors of Adrian. They followed uniformly the system adopted once\nfor all by the court of Rome, not to make any concessions anywhere. But\nAdrian had preserved the upright character of his nation and the\ninnocence of his previous condition. Issuing from the humble sphere of\nliterary men to rise to this eminent position, he did not belie at that\nelevation the primitive simplicity of his character. He was moved by the\nabuses of the Roman Church, and he was much too sincere to dissimulate\npublicly what he confessed privately. It was in consequence of this\nmanner of thinking that, in his instruction to his legate in Germany, he\nallowed himself to be drawn into avowals hitherto unheard of in a\nsovereign pontiff, and diametrically contrary to the principles of that\ncourt: \u201cWe know well,\u201d he said, among other things, \u201cthat for many years\nmany abominable things have taken place in this holy chair; it is not\ntherefore astonishing that the evil has been propagated from the head to\nthe members, from the pope to the prelates. We have all gone astray from\nthe good road, and for a long time there is none of us, not one, who has\ndone anything good.\u201d Elsewhere he orders his legate to declare in his\nname \u201cthat he, Adrian, cannot be blamed for what other popes have done\nbefore him; that he himself, when he occupied a comparatively mediocre\nposition, had always condemned these excesses.\u201d It may easily be\nconceived how such simplicity in a pope must have been received by the\nRoman clergy. The smallest crime of which he was accused was that of\nbetraying the church and delivering it over to heretics. Now this\nproceeding, supremely imprudent in a pope, would yet deserve our esteem\nand admiration if we could believe it was real simplicity; that is, that\nAdrian, without fear of consequences, had made such an avowal, moved by\nhis natural sincerity, and that he would have persisted in acting thus,\nthough he had understood all the drift of his clumsiness. Unhappily we\nhave some reason to believe that he did not consider his conduct as\naltogether impolitic, and that in his candor he went so far as to\nflatter himself that he had served very usefully the interests of his\nchurch by his indulgence to his adversaries. He did not even imagine\nthat he ought to act thus in his quality as an honest man; he thought\nalso as a pope to be able to justify himself, and forgetting that the\nmost artificial of structures could only be supported by continuing to\ndeny the truth, he committed the unpardonable fault of having recourse\nto means of safety, excellent perhaps, in a natural situation, but here\napplied to entirely contrary circumstances. This necessarily modifies\nour judgment very much, and although we cannot refuse our esteem for the\nhonesty of heart in which the act originates, this esteem is greatly\nlessened when we reflect that nature on this occasion was too easily\nmistress of art, and that the heart too easily overruled the head.\n\nTrue genius is of necessity simple, or it is not genius. Simplicity\nalone gives it this character, and it cannot belie in the moral order\nwhat it is in the intellectual and \u00e6sthetical order. It does not know\nthose rules, the crutches of feebleness, those pedagogues which prop up\nslippery spirits; it is only guided by nature and instinct, its guardian\nangel; it walks with a firm, calm step across all the snares of false\ntaste, snares in which the man without genius, if he have not the\nprudence to avoid them the moment he detects them, remains infallibly\nimbedded. It is therefore the part only of genius to issue from the\nknown without ceasing to be at home, or to enlarge the circle of nature\nwithout _overstepping_ it. It does indeed sometimes happen that a great\ngenius oversteps it; but only because geniuses have their moments of\nfrenzy, when nature, their protector, abandons them, because the force\nof example impels them, or because the corrupt taste of their age leads\nthem astray.\n\nThe most intricate problems must be solved by genius with simplicity,\nwithout pretension, with ease; the egg of Christopher Columbus is the\nemblem of all the discoveries of genius. It only justifies its character\nas genius by triumphing through simplicity over all the complications of\nart. It does not proceed according to known principles, but by feelings\nand inspiration; the sallies of genius are the inspirations of a God\n(all that healthy nature produces is divine); its feelings are law\u2019s for\nall time, for all human generations.\n\nThis childlike character imprinted by genius on its works is also shown\nby it in its private life and manners. It is _modest_, because nature is\nalways so; but it is not _decent_, because corruption alone is decent.\nIt is _intelligent_, because nature cannot lack intelligence; but it is\nnot _cunning_, because art only can be cunning. It is _faithful_ to its\ncharacter and inclinations, but this is not so much because it has\nprinciples as because nature, notwithstanding all its oscillations,\nalways returns to its equilibrium, and brings back the same wants. It is\n_modest_ and even timid, because genius remains always a secret to\nitself; but it is not anxious, because it does not know the dangers of\nthe road in which it walks. We know little of the private life of the\ngreatest geniuses; but the little that we know of it\u2014what tradition has\npreserved, for example, of Sophocles, of Archimedes, of Hippocrates, and\nin modern times of Ariosto, of Dante, of Tasso, of Raphael, of Albert\nD\u00fcrer, of Cervantes, of Shakespeare, of Fielding, of Sterne,\netc.\u2014confirms this assertion.\n\nNay, more; though this admission seems more difficult to support, even\nthe greatest philosophers and great commanders, if great by their\ngenius, have simplicity in their character. Among the ancients I need\nonly name Julius C\u00e6sar and Epaminondas; among the moderns Henry IV. in\nFrance, Gustavus Adolphus in Sweden, and the Czar Peter the Great. The\nDuke of Marlborough, Turenne, and Vend\u00f4me all present this character.\nWith regard to the other sex, nature proposes to it _simplicity_ of\ncharacter as the supreme perfection to which it should reach.\nAccordingly, the love of pleasing in women strives after nothing so much\nas the appearance of simplicity; a sufficient proof, if it were the only\none, that the greatest power of the sex reposes in this quality. But, as\nthe principles that prevail in the education of women are perpetually\nstruggling with this character, it is as difficult for them in the moral\norder to reconcile this magnificent gift of nature with the advantages\nof a good education as it is difficult for men to preserve them\nunchanged in the intellectual order: and the woman who knows how to join\na knowledge of the world to this sort of simplicity in manners is as\ndeserving of respect as a scholar who joins to the strictness of\nscholastic rules the freedom and originality of thought.\n\nSimplicity in our mode of thinking brings with it of necessity\nsimplicity in our mode of expression, simplicity in terms as well as\nmovement; and it is in this that grace especially consists. Genius\nexpresses its most sublime and its deepest thoughts with this simple\ngrace; they are the divine oracles that issue from the lips of a child;\nwhile the scholastic spirit, always anxious to avoid error, tortures all\nits words, all its ideas, and makes them pass through the crucible of\ngrammar and logic, hard and rigid, in order to keep from vagueness, and\nuses few words in order not to say too much, enervates and blunts\nthought in order not to wound the reader who is not on his guard\u2014genius\ngives to its expression, with a single and happy stroke of the brush, a\nprecise, firm, and yet perfectly free form. In the case of grammar and\nlogic, the sign and the thing signified are always heterogeneous and\nstrangers to each other: with genius, on the contrary, the expression\ngushes forth spontaneously from the idea, the language and the thought\nare one and the same; so that even though the expression thus gives it a\nbody the spirit appears as if disclosed in a nude state. This fashion of\nexpression, when the sign disappears entirely in the thing signified,\nwhen the tongue, so to speak, leaves the thought it translates naked,\nwhilst the other mode of expression cannot represent thought without\nveiling it at the same time: this is what is called originality and\ninspiration in style.\n\nThis freedom, this natural mode by which genius expresses itself in\nworks of intellect, is also the expression of the innocence of heart in\nthe intercourse of life. Every one knows that in the world men have\ndeparted from simplicity, from the rigorous veracity of language, in the\nsame proportion as they have lost the simplicity of feelings. The guilty\nconscience easily wounded, the imagination easily seduced, made an\nanxious decency necessary. Without telling what is false, people often\nspeak differently from what they think; we are obliged to make\ncircumlocutions to say certain things, which however, can never afflict\nany but a sickly self-love, and that have no danger except for a\ndepraved imagination. The ignorance of these laws of propriety\n(conventional laws), coupled with a natural sincerity which despises all\nkinds of bias and all appearance of falsity (sincerity I mean, not\ncoarseness, for coarseness dispenses with forms because it is hampered),\ngives rise in the intercourse of life to a simplicity of expression that\nconsists in naming things by their proper name without circumlocution.\nThis is done because we do not venture to designate them as they are, or\nonly to do so by artificial means. The ordinary expressions of children\nare of this kind. They make us smile because they are in opposition to\nreceived manners; but men would always agree in the bottom of their\nhearts that the child is right.\n\nIt is true that simplicity of feeling cannot properly be attributed to\nthe child any more than to the man,\u2014that is, to a being not absolutely\nsubject to nature, though there is still no simplicity, except on the\ncondition that it is pure nature that acts through him. But by an effort\nof the imagination, which likes to poetise things, we often carry over\nthese attributes of a rational being to beings destitute of reason. It\nis thus that, on seeing an animal, a landscape, a building, and nature\nin general, from opposition to what is arbitrary and fantastic in the\nconceptions of man, we often attribute to them a simple character. But\nthat implies always that in our thought we attribute a will to these\nthings that have none, and that we are struck to see it directed\nrigorously according to the laws of necessity. Discontented as we are\nthat we have ill employed our own moral freedom, and that we no longer\nfind moral harmony in our conduct, we are easily led to a certain\ndisposition of mind, in which we willingly address ourselves to a being\ndestitute of reason, as if it were a person. And we readily view it as\nif it had really had to struggle against the temptation of acting\notherwise, and proceed to make a merit of its eternal uniformity, and to\nenvy its peaceable constancy. We are quite disposed to consider in those\nmoments reason, this prerogative of the human race, as a pernicious gift\nand as an evil; we feel so vividly all that is imperfect in our conduct\nthat we forget to be just to our destiny and to our aptitudes.\n\nWe see, then, in nature, destitute of reason, only a sister who, more\nfortunate than ourselves, has remained under the maternal roof, while in\nthe intoxication of our freedom we have fled from it to throw ourselves\ninto a stranger world. We regret this place of safety, we earnestly long\nto come back to it as soon as we have begun to feel the bitter side of\ncivilization, and in the totally artificial life in which we are exiled\nwe hear in deep emotion the voice of our mother. While we were still\nonly children of nature we were happy, we were perfect: we have become\nfree, and we have lost both advantages. Hence a twofold and very unequal\nlonging for nature: the longing for happiness and the longing for the\nperfection that prevails there. Man, as a sensuous being, deplores\nsensibly the loss of the former of these goods; it is only the moral man\nwho can be afflicted at the loss of the other.\n\nTherefore, let the man with a sensible heart and a loving nature\nquestion himself closely. Is it your indolence that longs for its\nrepose, or your wounded moral sense that longs for its harmony? Ask\nyourself well, when, disgusted with the artifices, offended by the\nabuses that you discover in social life, you feel yourself attracted\ntowards inanimate nature, in the midst of solitude ask yourself what\nimpels you to fly the world. Is it the privation from which you suffer,\nits loads, its troubles? or is it the moral anarchy, the caprice, the\ndisorder that prevail there? Your heart ought to plunge into these\ntroubles with joy, and to find in them the compensation in the liberty\nof which they are the consequence. You can, I admit, propose as your\naim, in a distant future, the calm and the happiness of nature; but only\nthat sort of happiness which is the reward of your dignity. Thus, then,\nlet there be no more complaint about the loads of life, the inequality\nof conditions, or the hampering of social relations, or the uncertainty\nof possession, ingratitude, oppression, and persecution. You must submit\nto all these _evils_ of civilization with a free resignation; it is the\nnatural condition of good, _par excellence_, of the only good, and you\nought to respect it under this head. In all these _evils_ you ought only\nto deplore what is _morally evil_ in them, and you must do so not with\ncowardly tears only. Rather watch to remain pure yourself in the midst\nof these impurities, free amidst this slavery, constant with yourself in\nthe midst of these capricious changes, a faithful observer of the law\namidst this anarchy. Be not frightened at the disorder that is without\nyou, but at the disorder which is within; aspire after unity, but seek\nit not in uniformity; aspire after repose, but through equilibrium, and\nnot by suspending the action of your faculties. This nature which you\nenvy in the being destitute of reason deserves no esteem: it is not\nworth a wish. You have passed beyond it; it ought to remain for ever\nbehind you. The ladder that carried you having given way under your\nfoot, the only thing for you to do is to seize again on the moral law\nfreely, with a free consciousness, a free will, or else to roll down,\nhopeless of safety, into a bottomless abyss.\n\nBut when you have consoled yourself for having lost the _happiness_ of\nnature, let its _perfection_ be a model to your heart. If you can issue\nfrom the circle in which art keeps you enclosed and find nature again,\nif it shows itself to you in its greatness and in its calm, in its\nsimple beauty, in its childlike innocence and simplicity, oh! then pause\nbefore its image, cultivate this feeling lovingly. It is worthy of you,\nand of what is noblest in man. Let it no more come into your mind to\n_change_ with it; rather embrace it, absorb it into your being, and try\nto associate the infinite advantage it has over you with that infinite\nprerogative that is peculiar to you, and let the divine issue from this\nsublime union. Let nature breathe around you like a lovely _idyl_, where\nfar from artifice and its wanderings you may always find yourself again,\nwhere you may go to draw fresh courage, a new confidence, to resume your\ncourse, and kindle again in your heart the flame of the _ideal_, so\nreadily extinguished amidst the tempests of life.\n\nIf we think of that beautiful nature which surrounded the ancient\nGreeks, if we remember how intimately that people, under its blessed\nsky, could live with that free nature; how their mode of imagining, and\nof feeling, and their manners, approached far nearer than ours to the\nsimplicity of nature, how faithfully the works of their poets express\nthis; we must necessarily remark, as a strange fact, that so few traces\nare met among them of that _sentimental_ interest that we moderns ever\ntake in the scenes of nature and in natural characters. I admit that the\nGreeks are superiorly exact and faithful in their descriptions of\nnature. They reproduce their details with care, but we see that they\ntake no more interest in them and more heart in them than in describing\na vestment, a shield, armor, a piece of furniture, or any production of\nthe mechanical arts. In their love for the object it seems that they\nmake no difference between what exists in itself and what owes its\nexistence to art, to the human will. It seems that nature interests\ntheir minds and their curiosity more than moral feeling. They do not\nattach themselves to it with that depth of feeling, with that gentle\nmelancholy, that characterize the moderns. Nay, more, by personifying\nnature in its particular phenomena, by deifying it, by representing its\neffects as the acts of free being, they take from it that character of\ncalm necessity which is precisely what makes it so attractive to us.\nTheir impatient imagination only traverses nature to pass beyond it to\nthe drama of human life. It only takes pleasure in the spectacle of what\nis living and free; it requires characters, acts, the accidents of\nfortune and of manners; and whilst it happens with us, at least in\ncertain moral dispositions, to curse our prerogative, this free will,\nwhich exposes us to so many combats with ourselves, to so many anxieties\nand errors, and to wish to exchange it for the condition of beings\ndestitute of reason, for that fatal existence that no longer admits of\nany choice, but which is so calm in its uniformity;\u2014while we do this,\nthe Greeks, on the contrary, only have their imagination occupied in\nretracing human nature in the inanimate world, and in giving to the will\nan influence where blind necessity rules.\n\nWhence can arise this difference between the spirit of the ancients and\nthe modern spirit? How comes it that, being, for all that relates to\nnature, incomparably below the ancients, we are superior to them\nprecisely on this point, that we render a more complete homage to\nnature; that we have a closer attachment to it; and that we are capable\nof embracing even the inanimate world with the most ardent sensibility.\nIt is because nature, in our time, is no longer in man, and that we no\nlonger encounter it in its primitive truth, except out of humanity, in\nthe inanimate world. It is not because we are more _conformable to\nnature_\u2014quite the contrary; it is because in our social relations, in\nour mode of existence, in our manners, we are in _opposition with\nnature_. This is what leads us, when the instinct of truth and of\nsimplicity is awakened\u2014this instinct which, like the moral aptitude from\nwhich it proceeds, lives incorruptible and indelible in every human\nheart\u2014to procure for it in the physical world the satisfaction which\nthere is no hope of finding in the moral order. This is the reason why\nthe feeling that attaches us to nature is connected so closely with that\nwhich makes us regret our infancy, forever flown, and our primitive\ninnocence. Our childhood is all that remains of nature in humanity, such\nas civilization has made it, of untouched, unmutilated nature. It is,\ntherefore, not wonderful, when we meet out of us the impress of nature,\nthat we are always brought back to the idea of our childhood.\n\nIt was quite different with the Greeks in antiquity. Civilization with\nthem did not degenerate, nor was it carried to such an excess that it\nwas necessary to break with nature. The entire structure of their social\nlife reposed on feelings, and not on a factitious conception, on a work\nof art. Their very theology was the inspiration of a simple spirit, the\nfruit of a joyous imagination, and not like the ecclesiastical dogmas of\nmodern nations, subtle combinations of the understanding. Since,\ntherefore, the Greeks had not lost sight of nature in humanity, they had\nno reason, when meeting it out of man, to be surprised at their\ndiscovery, and they would not feel very imperiously the need of objects\nin which nature could be retraced. In accord with themselves, happy in\nfeeling themselves men, they would of necessity keep to humanity as to\nwhat was greatest to them, and they must needs try to make all the rest\napproach it; while we, who are not in accord with ourselves\u2014we who are\ndiscontented with the experience we have made of our humanity\u2014have no\nmore pressing interest than to fly out of it and to remove from our\nsight a so ill-fashioned form. The feeling of which we are treating here\nis, therefore, not that which was known by the ancients; it approaches\nfar more nearly that _which we ourselves experience for the ancients_.\nThe ancients felt naturally; we, on our part, feel what is natural. It\nwas certainly a very different inspiration that filled the soul of\nHomer, when he depicted his divine cowherd[12] giving hospitality to\nUlysses, from that which agitated the soul of the young Werther at the\nmoment when he read the \u201cOdyssey\u201d[13] on issuing from an assembly in\nwhich he had only found tedium. The feeling we experience for nature\nresembles that of a sick man for health.\n\nAs soon as nature gradually vanishes from human life\u2014that is, in\nproportion as it ceases to be _experienced_ as a _subject_ (active and\npassive)\u2014we see it dawn and increase in the poetical world in the guise\nof an _idea_ and as an _object_. The people who have carried farthest\nthe want of nature, and at the same time the reflections on that matter,\nmust needs have been the people who at the same time were most struck\nwith this phenomenon of the _simple_, and gave it a name. If I am not\nmistaken, this people was the French. But the feeling of the simple, and\nthe interest we take in it, must naturally go much farther back, and it\ndates from the time when the moral sense and the \u00e6sthetical sense began\nto be corrupt. This modification in the manner of feeling is exceedingly\nstriking in Euripides, for example, if compared with his predecessors,\nespecially \u00c6schylus; and yet Euripides was the favorite poet of his\ntime. The same revolution is perceptible in the ancient historians.\nHorace, the poet of a cultivated and corrupt epoch, praises, under the\nshady groves of Tibur, the calm and happiness of the country, and he\nmight be termed the true founder of this sentimental poetry, of which he\nhas remained the unsurpassed model. In Propertius, Virgil, and others,\nwe find also traces of this mode of feeling; less of it is found in\nOvid, who would have required for that more abundance of heart, and who\nin his exile at Tomes sorrowfully regrets the happiness that Horace so\nreadily dispensed with in his villa at Tibur.\n\nIt is in the fundamental idea of poetry that the poet is everywhere the\n_guardian_ of nature. When he can no longer entirely fill this part, and\nhas already in himself suffered the deleterious influence of arbitrary\nand factitious forms, or has had to struggle against this influence, he\npresents himself as the _witness_ of nature and as its avenger. The poet\nwill, therefore, be the _expression_ of nature itself, or his part will\nbe to _seek_ it, if men have lost sight of it. Hence arise two kinds of\npoetry, which embrace and exhaust the entire field of poetry. All\npoets\u2014I mean those who are really so\u2014will belong, according to the time\nwhen they flourish, according to the accidental circumstances that have\ninfluenced their education generally, and the different dispositions of\nmind through which they pass, will belong, I say, to the order of the\n_sentimental_ poetry or to _simple_ poetry.\n\nThe poet of a young world, simple and inspired, as also the poet who at\nan epoch of artificial civilization approaches nearest to the primitive\nbards, is austere and prudish, like the virginal Diana in her forests.\nWholly unconfiding, he hides himself from the heart that seeks him, from\nthe desire that wishes to embrace him. It is not rare for the dry truth\nwith which he treats his subject to resemble insensibility. The whole\nobject possesses him, and to reach his heart it does not suffice, as\nwith metals of little value, to stir up the surface; as with pure gold,\nyou must go down to the lowest depths. Like the Deity behind this\nuniverse, the simple poet hides himself behind his work; he is _himself_\nhis work, and his work is _himself_. A man must be no longer worthy of\nthe work, nor understand it, or be tired of it, to be even anxious to\nlearn who is its author.\n\nSuch appears to us, for instance, Homer in antiquity, and Shakespeare\namong moderns: two natures infinitely different and separated in time by\nan abyss, but perfectly identical as to this trait of character. When,\nat a very youthful age, I became first acquainted with Shakespeare, I\nwas displeased with his coldness, with his insensibility, which allows\nhim to jest even in the most pathetic moments, to disturb the impression\nof the most harrowing scenes in \u201cHamlet,\u201d in \u201cKing Lear,\u201d and in\n\u201cMacbeth,\u201d etc., by mixing with them the buffooneries of a madman. I was\nrevolted by his insensibility, which allowed him to pause sometimes at\nplaces where my sensibility would bid me hasten and bear me along, and\nwhich sometimes carried him away with indifference when my heart would\nbe so happy to pause. Though I was accustomed, by the practice of modern\npoets, to seek at once the poet in his works, to meet his heart, to\nreflect with him in his theme\u2014in a word, to see the object in the\nsubject\u2014I could not bear that the poet could in Shakespeare never be\nseized, that he would never give me an account of himself. For some\nyears Shakespeare had been the object of my study and of all my respect\nbefore I had learned to love his personality. I was not yet able to\ncomprehend nature at first hand. All that my eyes could bear was its\nimage only, reflected by the understanding and arranged by rules: and on\nthis score the sentimental poetry of the French, or that of the Germans\nof 1750 to 1780, was what suited me best. For the rest, I do not blush\nat this childish judgment: adult critics pronounced in that day in the\nsame way, and carried their simplicity so far as to publish their\ndecisions to the world.\n\nThe same thing happened to me in the case of Homer, with whom I made\nacquaintance at a later date. I remember now that remarkable passage of\nthe sixth book of the \u201cIliad,\u201d where Glaucus and Diomed meet each other\nin the strife, and then, recognizing each other as host and guest,\nexchange presents. With this touching picture of the piety with which\nthe laws of _hospitality_ were observed even in war, may be compared a\npicture of chivalrous generosity in Ariosto. The knights, rivals in\nlove, Ferragus and Rinaldo\u2014the former a Saracen, the latter a\nChristian\u2014after having fought to extremity, all covered with wounds,\nmake peace together, and mount the same horse to go and seek the\nfugitive Angelica. These two examples, however different in other\nrespects, are very similar with regard to the impression produced on our\nheart: both represent the noble victory of moral feeling over passion,\nand touch us by the simplicity of feeling displayed in them. But what a\ndifference in the way in which the two poets go to work to describe two\nsuch analogous scenes! Ariosto, who belongs to an advanced epoch, to a\nworld where simplicity of manners no longer existed, in relating this\ntrait, cannot conceal the astonishment, the admiration, he feels at it.\nHe measures the distance from those manners to the manners of his own\nage, and this feeling of astonishment is too strong for him. He abandons\nsuddenly the painting of the object, and comes himself on the scene in\nperson. This beautiful stanza is well known, and has been always\nspecially admired at all times:\u2014\n\n\u201cOh nobleness, oh generosity of the ancient manners of chivalry! These\nwere rivals, separated by their faith, suffering bitter pain throughout\ntheir frames in consequence of a desperate combat; and, without any\nsuspicion, behold them riding in company along dark and winding paths.\nStimulated by four spurs, the horse hastens his pace till they arrive at\nthe place where the road divides.\u201d[14]\n\nNow let us turn to old Homer. Scarcely has Diomed learned by the story\nof Glaucus, his adversary, that the latter has been, from the time of\ntheir fathers, the host and friend of his family, when he drives his\nlance into the and friend of his family, when he drives his lance into\nthe ground, converses familiarly with him, and both agree henceforth to\navoid each other in the strife. But let us hear Homer himself:\u2014\n\n\u201cThus, then, I am for thee a faithful host in Argos, and thou to me in\nLycia, when I shall visit that country. We shall, therefore, avoid our\nlances meeting in the strife. Are there not for me other Trojans or\nbrave allies to kill when a god shall offer them to me and my steps\nshall reach them? And for thee, Glaucus, are there not enough Ach\u00e6ans,\nthat thou mayest immolate whom thou wishest? But let us exchange our\narms, in order that others may also see that we boast of having been\nhosts and guests at the time of our fathers.\u201d Thus they spoke, and,\nrushing from their chariots, they seized each other\u2019s hands, and swore\nfriendship the one to the other.[15]\n\nIt would have been difficult for a _modern_ poet (at least to one who\nwould be modern in the moral sense of the term) even to wait as long as\nthis before expressing his joy in the presence of such an action. We\nshould pardon this in him the more easily, because we also, in reading\nit, feel that our heart makes a pause here, and readily turns aside from\nthe object to bring back its thoughts on itself. But there is not the\nleast trace of this in Homer. As if he had been relating something that\nis seen every day\u2014nay, more, as if he had no heart beating in his\nbreast\u2014he continues, with his dry truthfulness:\u2014\n\n\u201cThen the son of Saturn blinded Glaucus, who, exchanging his armor with\nDiomed, gave him golden arms of the value of one hecatomb, for brass\narms only worth nine beeves.\u201d[16]\n\nThe poets of this order,\u2014the genuinely simple poets, are scarcely any\nlonger in their place in this artificial age. Accordingly they are\nscarcely possible in it, or at least they are only possible on the\ncondition of _traversing_ their age, like _scared persons_, at a\n_running_ pace, and of being preserved by a happy star from the\ninfluence of their age, which would mutilate their genius. Never, for ay\nand forever, will society produce these poets; but out of society they\nstill appear sometimes at intervals, rather, I admit, as strangers, who\nexcite wonder, or as ill-trained children of nature, who give offence.\nThese apparitions, so very comforting for the artist who studies them,\nand for the real connoisseur, who knows how to appreciate them, are, as\na general conclusion, in the age when they are begotten, to a very small\ndegree preposterous. The seal of empire is stamped on their brow, and\nwe,\u2014we ask the Muses to cradle us, to carry us in their arms. The\ncritics, as regular constables of art, detest these poets as _disturbers\nof rules or of limits_. Homer himself may have been only indebted to the\ntestimony of ten centuries for the reward these aristarchs are kindly\nwilling to concede him. Moreover, they find it a hard matter to maintain\ntheir rules against his example, or his authority against their rules.\n\n\n                          SENTIMENTAL POETRY.\n\nI have previously remarked that the poet is nature, or he _seeks_\nnature. In the former case, he is a simple poet, in the second case, a\nsentimental poet.\n\nThe poetic spirit is immortal, nor can it disappear from humanity; it\ncan only disappear with humanity itself, or with the aptitude to be a\nman, a human being. And actually, though man by the freedom of his\nimagination and of his understanding departs from simplicity, from\ntruth, from the necessity of nature, not only a road always remains open\nto him to return to it, but, moreover, a powerful and indestructible\ninstinct, the moral instinct, brings him incessantly back to nature; and\nit is precisely the poetical faculty that is united to this instinct by\nthe ties of the closest relationship. Thus man does not lose the poetic\nfaculty directly he parts with the simplicity of nature; only this\nfaculty acts out of him in another direction.\n\nEven at present nature is the only flame that kindles and warms the\npoetic soul. From nature alone it obtains all its force; to nature alone\nit speaks in the artificial culture-seeking man. Any other form of\ndisplaying its activity is remote from the poetic spirit. Accordingly it\nmay be remarked that it is incorrect to apply the expression poetic to\nany of the so-styled productions of wit, though the high credit given to\nFrench literature has led people for a long period to class them in that\ncategory. I repeat that at present, even in the existing phase of\nculture, it is still nature that powerfully stirs up the poetic spirit,\nonly its present relation to nature is of a different order from\nformerly.\n\nAs long as man dwells in a state of pure nature (I mean pure and not\ncoarse nature), all his being acts at once like a simple sensuous unity,\nlike a harmonious whole. The senses and reason, the receptive faculty\nand the spontaneously active faculty, have not been as yet separated in\ntheir respective functions: _\u00e0 fortiori_ they are not yet in\ncontradiction with each other. Then the feelings of man are not the\nformless play of chance; nor are his thoughts an empty play of the\nimagination, without any value. His feelings proceed from the law of\nnecessity; his _thoughts_ from _reality_. But when man enters the state\nof civilization, and art has fashioned him, this _sensuous_ harmony\nwhich was in him disappears, and henceforth he can only manifest himself\nas a _moral unity_, that is, as aspiring to unity. The harmony that\nexisted as a _fact_ in the former state, the harmony of feeling and\nthought, only exists now in an _ideal_ state. It is no longer in him,\nbut out of him; it is a conception of thought which he must begin by\nrealizing in himself; it is no longer a fact, a reality of his life.\nWell, now let us take the idea of poetry, which is nothing else than\n_expressing humanity as completely as possible_, and let us apply this\nidea to these two states. We shall be brought to infer that, on the one\nhand, in the state of natural simplicity, when all the faculties of man\nare exerted together, his being still manifests itself in a harmonious\nunity, where, consequently, the _totality_ of his nature expresses\nitself in reality itself, the part of the _poet_ is necessarily to\nimitate the real as completely as is possible. In the state of\ncivilization, on the contrary, when this harmonious competition of the\nwhole of human nature is no longer anything but an idea, the part of the\npoet is necessarily to raise reality to the ideal, or, what amounts to\nthe same thing, _to represent the ideal_. And, actually, these are the\nonly two ways in which, in general, the poetic genius can manifest\nitself. Their great difference is quite evident, but though there be\ngreat opposition between them, a higher idea exists that embraces both,\nand there is no cause to be astonished if this idea coincides with the\nvery idea of humanity.\n\nThis is not the place to pursue this thought any further, as it would\nrequire a separate discussion to place it in its full light. But if we\nonly compare the modern and ancient poets together, not according to the\naccidental forms which they may have employed, but according to their\nspirit, we shall be easily convinced of the truth of this thought. The\nthing that touches us in the ancient poets is nature; it is the truth of\nsense, it is a present and a living reality: modern poets touch us\nthrough the medium of ideas.\n\nThe path followed by modern poets is moreover that necessarily followed\nby man generally, individuals as well as the species. Nature reconciles\nman with himself; art divides and disunites him; the ideal brings him\nback to unity. Now, the ideal being an infinite that he never succeeds\nin reaching, it follows that civilized man can never become perfect in\nhis kind, while the man of nature can become so in his. Accordingly in\nrelation to perfection one would be infinitely below the other, if we\nonly considered the relation in which they are both to their own kind\nand to their maximum. If, on the other hand, it is the kinds that are\ncompared together, it is ascertained that the end to which man tends by\ncivilization is infinitely superior to that which he reaches through\nnature. Thus one has his reward, because having for object a finite\nmagnitude, he completely reaches this object; the merit of the other is\nto approach an object that is of infinite magnitude. Now, as there are\nonly degrees, and as there is only progress in the second of these\nevolutions, it follows that the relative merit of the man engaged in the\nways of civilization is never determinable in general, though this man,\ntaking the individuals separately, is necessarily at a disadvantage,\ncompared with the man in whom nature acts in all its perfection. But we\nknow also that humanity cannot reach its final end except by _progress_,\nand that the man of nature cannot make progress save through culture,\nand consequently by passing himself through the way of civilization.\nAccordingly there is no occasion to ask with which of the two the\nadvantage must remain, considering this last end.\n\nAll that we say here of the different forms of humanity may be applied\nequally to the two orders of poets who correspond to them.\n\nAccordingly it would have been desirable not to compare at all the\nancient and the modern poets, the simple and the sentimental poets, or\nonly to compare them by referring them to a higher idea (since there is\nreally only one) which embraces both. For, sooth to say, if we begin by\nforming a specific idea of poetry, merely from the ancient poets,\nnothing is easier, but also nothing is more vulgar, than to depreciate\nthe moderns by this comparison. If persons wish to confine the name of\npoetry to that which has in all times produced the same impression in\nsimple nature, this places them in the necessity of contesting the title\nof poet in the moderns precisely in that which constitutes their highest\nbeauties, their greatest originality and sublimity; for precisely in the\npoints where they excel the most, it is the child of civilization whom\nthey address, and they have nothing to say to the simple child of\nnature.\n\nTo the man who is not disposed beforehand to issue from reality in order\nto enter the field of the ideal, the richest and most substantial poetry\nis an empty appearance, and the sublimest flights of poetic inspiration\nare an exaggeration. Never will a reasonable man think of placing\nalongside Homer, in his grandest episodes, any of our modern poets; and\nit has a discordant and ridiculous effect to hear Milton or Klopstock\nhonored with the name of a \u201cnew Homer.\u201d But take in modern poets what\ncharacterizes them, what makes their special merit, and try to compare\nany ancient poet with them in this point, they will not be able to\nsupport the comparison any better, and Homer less than any other. I\nshould express it thus: the power of the ancients consists in\ncompressing objects into the finite, and the moderns excel in the art of\nthe infinite.\n\nWhat we have said here may be extended to the fine arts in general,\nexcept certain restrictions that are self-evident. If, then, the\nstrength of the artists of antiquity consists in determining and\nlimiting objects, we must no longer wonder that in the field of the\nplastic arts the ancients remain so far superior to the moderns, nor\nespecially that poetry and the plastic arts with the moderns, compared\nrespectively with what they were among the ancients, do not offer the\nsame relative value. This is because an object that addresses itself to\nthe eyes is only perfect in proportion as the object is clearly limited\nin it; whilst a work that is addressed to the imagination can also reach\nthe perfection which is proper to it by means of the ideal and the\ninfinite. This is why the superiority of the moderns in what relates to\nideas is not of great aid to them in the plastic arts, where it is\nnecessary for them to _determine_ in _space_, with the greatest\nprecision, the image which their imagination has conceived, and where\nthey must therefore measure themselves with the ancient artist just on a\npoint where his superiority cannot be contested. In the matter of poetry\nit is another affair, and if the advantage is still with the ancients on\nthat ground, as respects the simplicity of forms\u2014all that can be\nrepresented by sensuous features, all that is something _bodily_\u2014yet, on\nthe other hand, the moderns have the advantage over the ancients as\nregards fundamental wealth, and all that can neither be represented nor\ntranslated by sensuous signs, in short, for all that is called mind and\nidea in the works of art.\n\nFrom the moment that the simple poet is content to follow simple nature\nand feeling, that he is contented with the imitation of the real world,\nhe can only be placed, with regard to his subject, in a single relation.\nAnd in this respect he has no choice as to the manner of treating it. If\nsimple poetry produces different impressions\u2014I do not, of course, speak\nof the impressions that are connected with the nature of the subject,\nbut only of those that are dependent on poetic execution\u2014the whole\ndifference is in the _degree_; there is only one way of feeling, which\nvaries from more to less; even the diversity of external forms changes\nnothing in the quality of \u00e6sthetic impressions. Whether the form be\nlyric or epic, dramatic or descriptive, we can receive an impression\neither stronger or weaker, but if we remove what is connected with the\nnature of the subject, we shall always be affected in the same way. The\nfeeling we experience is absolutely identical; it proceeds entirety from\none single and the same element to such a degree that we are unable to\nmake any distinction. The very difference of tongues and that of times\ndoes not here occasion any diversity, for their strict unity of origin\nand of effect is precisely a characteristic of simple poetry.\n\nIt is quite different with sentimental poetry. The sentimental poet\n_reflects_ on the impression produced on him by objects; and it is only\non this reflection that his poetic force is based. It follows that the\nsentimental poet is always concerned with two opposite forces, has two\nmodes of representing objects to himself, and of feeling them; these\nare, the real or limited, and the ideal or infinite; and the mixed\nfeeling that he will awaken will always testify to this duality of\norigin. Sentimental poetry thus admitting more than one principle, it\nremains to know which of the two will be _predominant_ in the poet, both\nin his fashion of feeling and in that of representing the object; and\nconsequently a difference in the mode of treating it is possible. Here,\nthen, a new subject is presented: shall the poet attach himself to the\nreal or the ideal? to the real as an object of aversion and of disgust,\nor to the ideal as an object of inclination? The poet will therefore be\nable to treat the same subject either in its _satirical aspect_ or in\nits _elegiac_ aspect,\u2014taking these words in a larger sense, which will\nbe explained in the sequel: every sentimental poet will of necessity\nbecome attached to one or the other of these two modes of feeling.\n\n\n                           SATIRICAL POETRY.\n\nThe poet is a satirist when he takes as subject the distance at which\nthings are from nature, and the contrast between reality and the ideal:\nas regards the impression received by the soul, these two subjects blend\ninto the same. In the execution, he may place earnestness and passion,\nor jests and levity, according as he takes pleasure in the domain of the\nwill or in that of the understanding. In the former case it is avenging\nand pathetic satire; in the second case it is sportive, humorous, and\nmirthful satire.\n\nProperly speaking, the object of poetry is not compatible either with\nthe tone of punishment or that of amusement. The former is too grave for\nplay, which should be the main feature of poetry; the latter is too\ntrifling for seriousness, which should form the basis of all poetic\nplay. Our mind is necessarily interested in moral contradictions, and\nthese deprive the mind of its liberty. Nevertheless, all personal\ninterest, and reference to a personal necessity, should be banished from\npoetic feeling. But mental contradictions do not touch the heart,\nnevertheless the poet deals with the highest interests of the\nheart\u2014nature and the ideal. Accordingly it is a hard matter for him not\nto violate the poetic form in pathetic satire, because this form\nconsists in the liberty of movement; and in sportive satire he is very\napt to miss the true spirit of poetry, which ought to be the infinite.\nThe problem can only be solved in one way: by the pathetic satire\nassuming the character of the sublime, and the playful satire acquiring\npoetic substance by enveloping the theme in beauty.\n\nIn satire, the real as imperfection is opposed to the ideal, considered\nas the highest reality. In other respects it is by no means essential\nthat the ideal should be expressly represented, provided the poet knows\nhow to awaken it in our souls, but he must in all cases awaken it,\notherwise he will exert absolutely no poetic action. Thus reality is\nhere a necessary object of aversion; but it is also necessary, for the\nwhole question centres here, that this aversion should come necessarily\nfrom the ideal, which is opposed to reality. To make this clear\u2014this\naversion might proceed from a purely sensuous source, and repose only on\na _want_ of which the satisfaction finds obstacles in the real. How\noften, in fact, we think we feel against society a _moral_ discontent,\nwhile we are simply soured by the obstacles that it opposes to our\ninclination. It is this entirely material interest that the vulgar\nsatirist brings into play; and as by this road he never fails to call\nforth in us movements connected with the affections, he fancies that he\nholds our heart in his hand, and thinks he has graduated in the\npathetic. But all pathos derived from this source is unworthy of poetry,\nwhich ought only to move us through the medium of ideas, and reach our\nheart only by passing through the reason. Moreover, this impure and\nmaterial pathos will never have its effect on minds, except by\nover-exciting the affective faculties and by occupying our hearts with\npainful feelings: in this it differs entirely from the truly poetic\npathos, which raises in us the feeling of moral independence, and which\nis recognized by the freedom of our mind persisting in it even while it\nis in the state of affection. And, in fact, when the emotion emanates\nfrom the ideal opposed to the real, the sublime beauty of the ideal\ncorrects all impression of restraint; and the grandeur of the idea with\nwhich we are imbued raises us above all the limits of experience. Thus\nin the representation of some revolting reality, the essential thing is\nthat the necessary be the foundation on which the poet or the narrator\nplaces the real: that he know how to dispose our mind for ideas.\nProvided the point from which we see and judge be elevated, it matters\nlittle if the object be low and far beneath us. When the historian\nTacitus depicts the profound decadence of the Romans of the first\ncentury, it is a great soul which from a loftier position lets his looks\ndrop down on a low object; and the disposition in which he places us is\ntruly poetic, because it is the height where he is himself placed, and\nwhere he has succeeded in raising us, which alone renders so perceptible\nthe baseness of the object.\n\nAccordingly the satire of pathos must always issue from a mind deeply\nimbued with the ideal. It is nothing but an impulsion towards harmony\nthat can give rise to that deep feeling of moral opposition and that\nardent indignation against moral obliquity which amounted to the fulness\nof enthusiasm in Juvenal, Swift, Rousseau, Haller, and others. These\nsame poets would have succeeded equally well in forms of poetry relating\nto all that is tender and touching in feeling, and it was only the\naccidents of life in their early days that diverted their minds into\nother walks. Nay, some amongst them actually tried their hand\nsuccessfully in these other branches of poetry. The poets whose names\nhave been just mentioned lived either at a period of degeneracy, and had\nscenes of painful moral obliquity presented to their view, or personal\ntroubles had combined to fill their souls with bitter feelings. The\nstrictly austere spirit in which Rousseau, Haller, and others paint\nreality is a natural result, moreover, of the philosophical mind, when\nwith rigid adherence to laws of thought it separates the mere phenomenon\nfrom the substance of things. Yet these outer and contingent influences,\nwhich always put restraint on the mind, should never be allowed to do\nmore than decide the direction taken by enthusiasm, nor should they ever\ngive the material for it. The substance ought always to remain\nunchanged, emancipated from all external motion or stimulus, and it\nought to issue from an ardent impulsion towards the ideal, which forms\nthe only true motive that can be put forth for satirical poetry, and\nindeed for all sentimental poetry.\n\nWhile the satire of pathos is only adapted to elevated minds, playful\nsatire can only be adequately represented by a heart imbued with\n_beauty_. The former is preserved from triviality by the serious nature\nof the theme; but the latter, whose proper sphere is confined to the\ntreatment of subjects of morally unimportant nature, would infallibly\nadopt the form of frivolity, and be deprived of all poetic dignity, were\nit not that the substance is ennobled by the form, and did not the\npersonal dignity of the poet compensate for the insignificance of the\nsubject. Now, it is only given to mind imbued with beauty to impress its\ncharacter, its entire image, on each of its manifestations,\nindependently of the object of its manifestations. A sublime soul can\nonly make itself known as such by single victories over the rebellion of\nthe senses, only in certain moments of exaltation, and by efforts of\nshort duration. In a mind imbued with _beauty_, on the contrary, the\nideal acts in the same manner as nature, and therefore continuously;\naccordingly it can manifest itself in it in a state of repose. The deep\nsea never appears more sublime than when it is agitated; the true beauty\nof a clear stream is in its peaceful course.\n\nThe question has often been raised as to the comparative preference to\nbe awarded to tragedy or comedy. If the question is confined merely to\ntheir respective themes, it is certain that tragedy has the advantage.\nBut if our inquiry be directed to ascertain which has the more important\npersonality, it is probable that a decision may be given in favor of\ncomedy. In tragedy the theme in itself does great things; in comedy the\nobject does nothing and the poet all. Now, as in the judgments of taste\nno account must be kept of the matter treated of, it follows naturally\nthat the \u00e6sthetic value of these two kinds will be in an inverse ratio\nto the proper importance of their themes.\n\nThe tragic poet is supported by the theme, while the comic poet, on the\ncontrary, has to keep up the \u00e6sthetic character of his theme by his own\nindividual influence. The former may soar, which is not a very difficult\nmatter, but the latter has to remain one and the same in tone; he has to\nbe in the elevated region of art, where he must be at home, but where\nthe tragic poet has to be projected and elevated by a bound. And this is\nprecisely what distinguishes a soul of beauty from a sublime soul. A\nsoul of beauty bears in itself by anticipation all great ideas; they\nflow without constraint and without difficulty from its very nature\u2014an\ninfinite nature, at least in potency, at whatever point of its career\nyou seize it. A sublime soul can rise to all kinds of greatness, but by\nan effort; it can tear itself from all bondage, to all that limits and\nconstrains it, but only by strength of will. Consequently the sublime\nsoul is only free by broken efforts; the other with ease and always.\n\nThe noble task of comedy is to produce and keep up in us this freedom of\nmind, just as the end of tragedy is to re-establish in us this freedom\nof mind by \u00e6sthetic ways, when it has been violently suspended by\npassion. Consequently it is necessary that in tragedy the poet, as if he\nmade an experiment, should _artificially_ suspend our freedom of mind,\nsince tragedy shows its poetic virtue by re-establishing it; in comedy,\non the other hand, care must be taken that things never reach this\nsuspension of freedom.\n\nIt is for this reason that the tragic poet invariably treats his theme\nin a practical manner, and the comic poet in a theoretic manner, even\nwhen the former, as happened with Lessing in his \u201cNathan,\u201d should have\nthe curious fancy to select a theoretical, and the latter should have\nthat of choosing a practical subject. A piece is constituted a tragedy\nor a comedy not by the sphere from which the theme is taken, but by the\ntribunal before which it is judged. A tragic poet ought never to indulge\nin tranquil reasoning, and ought always to gain the interest of the\nheart; but the comic poet ought to shun the pathetic and bring into play\nthe understanding. The former displays his art by creating continual\nexcitement, the latter by perpetually subduing his passion; and it is\nnatural that the art in both cases should acquire magnitude and strength\nin proportion as the theme of one poet is abstract and that of the other\npathetic in character. Accordingly, if tragedy sets out from a more\nexalted place, it must be allowed, on the other hand, that comedy aims\nat a more important end; and if this end could be actually attained it\nwould make all tragedy not only unnecessary, but impossible. The aim\nthat comedy has in view is the same as that of the highest destiny of\nman, and this consists in liberating himself from the influence of\nviolent passions, and taking a calm and lucid survey of all that\nsurrounds him, and also of his own being, and of seeing everywhere\noccurrence rather than fate or hazard, and ultimately rather smiling at\nthe absurdities than shedding tears and feeling anger at sight of the\nwickedness of man.\n\nIt frequently happens in human life that facility of imagination,\nagreeable talents, a good-natured mirthfulness are taken for ornaments\nof the mind. The same fact is discerned in the case of poetical\ndisplays.\n\nNow, public taste scarcely if ever soars above the sphere of the\nagreeable, and authors gifted with this sort of elegance of mind and\nstyle do not find it a difficult matter to usurp a glory which is or\nought to be the reward of so much real labor. Nevertheless, an\ninfallible text exists to enable us to discriminate a natural facility\nof manner from ideal gentleness, and qualities that consist in nothing\nmore than natural virtue from genuine moral worth of character. This\ntest is presented by trials such as those presented by difficulty and\nevents offering great opportunities. Placed in positions of this kind,\nthe genius whose essence is elegance is sure infallibly to fall into\nplatitudes, and that virtue which only results from natural causes drops\ndown to a material sphere. But a mind imbued with true and spiritual\nbeauty is in cases of the kind we have supposed sure to be elevated to\nthe highest sphere of character and of feeling. So long as Lucian merely\nfurnishes absurdity, as in his \u201cWishes,\u201d in the \u201cLapithas,\u201d in \u201cJupiter\nTrag\u0153dus,\u201d etc., he is only a humorist, and gratifies us by his sportive\nhumor; but he changes character in many passages in his \u201cNigrinus,\u201d his\n\u201cTimon,\u201d and his \u201cAlexander,\u201d when his satire directs its shafts against\nmoral depravity. Thus he begins in his \u201cNigrinus\u201d his picture of the\ndegraded corruption of Rome at that time in this way: \u201cWretch, why didst\nthou quit Greece, the sunlight, and that free and happy life? Why didst\nthou come here into this turmoil of splendid slavery, of service and\nfestivals, of sycophants, flatterers, poisoners, orphan-robbers, and\nfalse friends?\u201d It is on such occasions that the poet ought to show the\nlofty earnestness of soul which has to form the basis of all plays, if a\npoetical character is to be obtained by them. A serious intention may\neven be detected under the malicious jests with which Lucian and\nAristophanes pursue Socrates. Their purpose is to avenge truth against\nsophistry, and to do combat for an ideal which is not always prominently\nput forward. There can be no doubt that Lucian has justified this\ncharacter in his Diogenes and Demonax. Again, among modern writers, how\ngrave and beautiful is the character depicted on all occasions by\nCervantes in his Don Quixote! How splendid must have been the ideal that\nfilled the mind of a poet who created a Tom Jones and a Sophonisba! How\ndeeply and strongly our hearts are moved by the jests of Yorick when he\npleases! I detect this seriousness also in our own Wieland: even the\nwanton sportiveness of his humor is elevated and impeded by the goodness\nof his heart; it has an influence even on his rhythm; nor does he ever\nlack elastic power, when it is his wish, to raise us up to the most\nelevated planes of beauty and of thought.\n\nThe same judgment cannot be pronounced on the satire of Voltaire. No\ndoubt, also, in his case, it is the truth and simplicity of nature which\nhere and there makes us experience poetic emotions, whether he really\nencounters nature and depicts it in a simple character, as many times in\nhis \u201cIng\u00e9nu;\u201d or whether he seeks it and avenges it as in his \u201cCandide\u201d\nand elsewhere. But when neither one nor the other takes place, he can\ndoubtless amuse us with his fine wit, but he assuredly never touches us\nas a poet. There is always rather too little of the serious under his\nraillery, and this is what makes his vocation as poet justly suspicious.\nYou always meet his intelligence only; never his feelings. No ideal can\nbe detected under this light gauze envelope; scarcely can anything\nabsolutely fixed be found under this perpetual movement. His prodigious\ndiversity of externals and forms, far from proving anything in favor of\nthe inner fulness of his inspiration, rather testifies to the contrary;\nfor he has exhausted all forms without finding a single one on which he\nhas succeeded in impressing his heart. We are almost driven to fear that\nin the case of his rich talent the poverty of heart alone determined his\nchoice of satire. And how could we otherwise explain the fact that he\ncould pursue so long a road without ever issuing from its narrow rut?\nWhatever may be the variety of matter and of external forms, we see the\ninner form return everywhere with its sterile and eternal uniformity,\nand in spite of his so productive career, he never accomplished in\nhimself the circle of humanity, that circle which we see joyfully\ntraversed throughout by the satirists previously named.\n\n\n                            ELEGIAC POETRY.\n\nWhen the poet opposes nature to art, and the ideal to the real, so that\nnature and the ideal form the principal object of his pictures, and that\nthe pleasure we take in them is the dominant impression, I call him an\n_elegiac_ poet. In this kind, as well as in satire, I distinguish two\nclasses. Either nature and the ideal are objects of sadness, when one is\nrepresented as lost to man and the other as unattained; or both are\nobjects of joy, being represented to us as reality. In the first case it\nis _elegy_ in the narrower sense of the term; in the second case it is\nthe idyl in its most extended acceptation.\n\nIndignation in the pathetic and ridicule in mirthful satire are\noccasioned by an enthusiasm which the ideal has excited; and thus also\nsadness should issue from the same source in elegy. It is this, and this\nonly, that gives poetic value to elegy, and any other origin for this\ndescription of poetical effusion is entirely beneath the dignity of\npoetry. The elegiac poet seeks after nature, but he strives to find her\nin her beauty, and not only in her mirth; in her agreement with\nconception, and not merely in her facile disposition towards the\nrequirements and demands of sense. Melancholy at the privation of joys,\ncomplaints at the disappearance of the world\u2019s golden age, or at the\nvanished happiness of youth, affection, etc., can only become the proper\nthemes for elegiac poetry if those conditions implying peace and calm in\nthe sphere of the senses can moreover be portrayed as states of moral\nharmony. On this account I cannot bring myself to regard as poetry the\ncomplaints of Ovid, which he transmitted from his place of exile by the\nBlack Sea; nor would they appear so to me however touching and however\nfull of passages of the highest poetry they might be. His suffering is\ntoo devoid of spirit, and nobleness. His lamentations display a want of\nstrength and enthusiasm; though they may not reflect the traces of a\nvulgar soul, they display a low and sensuous condition of a noble spirit\nthat has been trampled into the dust by its hard destiny. If, indeed, we\ncall to mind that his regrets are directed to Rome, in the Augustan age,\nwe forgive him the pain he suffers; but even Rome in all its splendor,\nexcept it be transfigured by the imagination, is a limited greatness,\nand therefore a subject unworthy of poetry, which, raised above every\ntrace of the actual, ought only to mourn over what is infinite.\n\nThus the object of poetic complaint ought never to be an external\nobject, but only an internal and ideal object; even when it deplores a\nreal loss, it must begin by making it an ideal loss. The proper work of\nthe poet consists in bringing back the finite object to the proportions\nof the infinite. Consequently the external matter of elegy, considered\nin itself, is always indifferent, since poetry can never employ it as it\nfinds it, and because it is only by what it makes of it that it confers\non it a poetic dignity. The elegiac poet seeks nature, but nature as an\nidea, and in a degree of perfection that it has never reached in\nreality, although he weeps over this perfection as something that has\nexisted and is now lost. When Ossian speaks to us of the days that are\nno more, and of the heroes that have disappeared, his imagination has\nlong since transformed these pictures represented to him by his memory\ninto a pure ideal, and changed these heroes into gods. The different\nexperiences of such or such a life in particular have become extended\nand confounded in the universal idea of transitoriness, and the bard,\ndeeply moved, pursued by the increase of ruin everywhere present, takes\nhis flight towards heaven, to find there in the course of the sun an\nemblem of what does not pass away.\n\nI turn now to the elegiac poets of modern times. Rousseau, whether\nconsidered as a poet or a philosopher, always obeys the same tendency;\nto seek nature or to avenge it by art. According to the state of his\nheart, whether he prefers to seek nature or to avenge it, we see him at\none time roused by elegiac feelings, at others showing the tone of the\nsatire of Juneval; and again, as in his Julia, delighting in the sphere\nof the idyl. His compositions have undoubtedly a poetic value, since\ntheir object is ideal; only he does not know how to treat it in a poetic\nfashion. No doubt his serious character prevents him from falling into\nfrivolity; but this seriousness also does not allow him to rise to\npoetic play. Sometimes absorbed by passion, at others by abstractions,\nhe seldom if ever reaches \u00e6sthetic freedom, which the poet ought to\nmaintain in spite of his material before his object, and in which he\nought to make the reader share. Either he is governed by his sickly\nsensibility and his impressions become a torture, or the force of\nthought chains down his imagination and destroys by its strictness of\nreasoning all the grace of his pictures. These two faculties, whose\nreciprocal influence and intimate union are what properly make the poet,\nare found in this writer in an uncommon degree, and he only lacks one\nthing\u2014it is that the two qualities should manifest themselves actually\nunited; it is that the proper activity of thought should show itself\nmixed more with feeling, and the sensuous more with thought.\nAccordingly, even in the ideal which he has made of human nature, he is\ntoo much taken up with the limits of this nature, and not enough with\nits capabilities; he always betrays a want of physical _repose_ rather\nthan want of moral _harmony_. His passionate sensuousness must be blamed\nwhen, to finish as quickly as possible that struggle in humanity which\noffends him, he prefers to carry man back to the unintelligent\nuniformity of his primitive condition, rather than see that struggle\ncarried out in the intellectual harmony of perfect cultivation, when,\nrather than await the fulfilment of art he prefers not to let it begin;\nin short, when he prefers to place the aim nearer the earth, and to\nlower the ideal in order to reach it the sooner and the safer.\n\nAmong the poets of Germany who belong to this class, I shall only\nmention here Haller, Kleist, and Klopstock. The character of their\npoetry is sentimental; it is by the ideal that they touch us, not by\nsensuous reality; and that not so much because they are themselves\nnature, as because they know how to fill us with enthusiasm for nature.\nHowever, what is true _in general_, as well of these three poets as of\nevery sentimental poet, does not evidently exclude the faculty of moving\nus, _in particular_, by beauties of the simple genus; without this they\nwould not be poets. I only mean that it is not their proper and dominant\ncharacteristic to receive the impression of objects with a calm feeling,\nsimple, easy, and to give forth in like manner the impression received.\nInvoluntarily the imagination in them anticipates intuition, and\nreflection is in play before the sensuous nature has done its function;\nthey shut their eyes and stop their ears to plunge into internal\nmeditations. Their souls could not be touched by any impression without\nobserving immediately their own movements, without placing before their\neyes and outside themselves what takes place in them. It follows from\nthis that we never see the object itself, but what the intelligence and\nreflection of the poet have made of the object; and even if this object\nbe the person itself of the poet, even when he wishes to represent to us\nhis own feelings, we are not informed of his state immediately or at\nfirst hand; we only see how this state is reflected in his mind and what\nhe has thought of it in the capacity of spectator of himself. When\nHaller deplores the death of his wife\u2014every one knows this beautiful\nelegy\u2014and begins in the following manner:\u2014\n\n                 \u201cIf I must needs sing of thy death,\n                 O Marian, what a song it would be!\n                 When sighs strive against words,\n                 And idea follows fast on idea,\u201d etc.,\n\nwe feel that this description is strictly true, but we feel also that\nthe poet does not communicate to us, properly speaking, his feelings,\nbut the thoughts that they suggest to him. Accordingly, the emotion we\nfeel on hearing him is much less vivid! people remark that the poet\u2019s\nmind must have been singularly cooled down to become thus a spectator of\nhis own emotion.\n\nHaller scarcely treated any subjects but the super-sensuous, and part of\nthe poems of Klopstock are also of this nature: this choice itself\nexcludes them from the simple kind. Accordingly, in order to treat these\nsuper-sensuous themes in a poetic fashion, as no body could be given to\nthem, and they could not be made the objects of sensuous intuition, it\nwas necessary to make them pass from the finite to the infinite, and\nraise them to the state of objects of spiritual intuition. In general,\nit may be said, that it is only in this sense that a didactic poetry can\nbe conceived without involving contradiction; for, repeating again what\nhas been so often said, poetry has only two fields, the world of sense\nand the ideal world, since in the sphere of conceptions, in the world of\nthe understanding, it cannot absolutely thrive. I confess that I do not\nknow as yet any didactic poem, either among the ancients or among the\nmoderns, where the subject is completely brought down to the individual,\nor purely and completely raised to the ideal. The most common case, in\nthe most happy essays, is where the two principles are used together;\nthe abstract idea predominates, and the imagination, which ought to\nreign over the whole domain of poetry, has merely the permission to\nserve the understanding. A didactic poem in which thought itself would\nbe poetic, and would remain so, is a thing which we must still wait to\nsee.\n\nWhat we say here of didactic poems in general is true in particular of\nthe poems of Haller. The thought itself of these poems is not poetical,\nbut the execution becomes so sometimes, occasionally by the use of\nimages, at other times by a flight towards the ideal. It is from this\nlast quality only that the poems of Haller belong to this class. Energy,\ndepth, a pathetic earnestness\u2014these are the traits that distinguish this\npoet. He has in his soul an ideal that enkindles it, and his ardent love\nof truth seeks in the peaceful valleys of the Alps that innocence of the\nfirst ages that the world no longer knows. His complaint is deeply\ntouching; he retraces in an energetic and almost bitter satire the\nwanderings of the mind and of the heart, and he lovingly portrays the\nbeautiful simplicity of nature. Only, in his pictures as well as in his\nsoul, abstraction prevails too much, and the sensuous is overweighted by\nthe intellectual. He constantly _teaches_ rather than _paints_; and even\nin his paintings his brush is more energetic than lovable. He is great,\nbold, full of fire, sublime; but he rarely and perhaps never attains to\nbeauty.\n\nFor the solidity and depth of ideas, Kleist is far inferior to Haller;\nin point of grace, perhaps, he would have the advantage\u2014if, as happens\noccasionally, we did not impute to him as a merit, on the one side, that\nwhich really is a want on the other. The sensuous soul of Kleist takes\nespecial delight at the sight of country scenes and manners; he\nwithdraws gladly from the vain jingle and rattle of society, and finds\nin the heart of inanimate nature the harmony and peace that are not\noffered to him by the moral world. How touching is his \u201cAspiration after\nRepose\u201d! how much truth and feeling there is in these verses!\u2014\n\n          \u201cO world, thou art the tomb of true life!\n          Often a generous instinct attracts me to virtue;\n          My heart is sad, a torrent of tears bathes my cheeks\n          But example conquers, and thou, O fire of youth!\n          Soon you dry these noble tears.\n          A true man must live far from men!\u201d\n\nBut if the poetic instinct of Kleist leads him thus far away from the\nnarrow circle of social relations, in solitude and among the fruitful\ninspirations of nature, the image of social life and of its anguish\npursues him, and also, alas! its chains. What he flees from he carries\nin himself, and what he seeks remains entirely outside him: never can he\ntriumph over the fatal influence of his time. In vain does he find\nsufficient flame in his heart and enough energy in his imagination to\nanimate by painting the cold conceptions of the understanding; cold\nthought each time kills the living creations of fancy, and reflection\ndestroys the secret work of the sensuous nature. His poetry, it must be\nadmitted, is of as brilliant color and as variegated as the spring he\ncelebrated in verse; his imagination is vivid and active; but it might\nbe said that it is more variable than rich, that it sports rather than\ncreates, that it always goes forward with a changeful gait, rather than\nstops to accumulate and mould things into shape. Traits succeed each\nother rapidly, with exuberance, but without concentrating to form an\nindividual, without completing each other to make a living whole,\nwithout rounding to a form, a figure. Whilst he remains in purely\nlyrical poetry, and pauses amidst his landscapes of country life, on the\none hand the greater freedom of the lyrical form, and on the other the\nmore arbitrary nature of the subject, prevent us from being struck with\nthis defect; in these sorts of works it is in general rather the\nfeelings of the poet, than the object in itself, of which we expect the\nportraiture. But this defect becomes too apparent when he undertakes, as\nin Cisseis and Paches, or in his Seneca, to represent men and human\nactions; because here the imagination sees itself kept in within certain\nfixed and necessary limits, and because here the effect can only be\nderived from the _object_ itself. Kleist becomes poor, tiresome, jejune,\nand insupportably frigid; an example full of lessons for those who,\nwithout having an inner vocation, aspire to issue from _musical_ poetry,\nto rise to the regions of _plastic_ poetry. A spirit of this family,\nThomson, has paid the same penalty to human infirmity.\n\nIn the sentimental kind, and especially in that part of the sentimental\nkind which we name elegiac, there are but few modern poets, and still\nfewer ancient ones, who can be compared to our Klopstock. Musical poetry\nhas produced in this poet all that can be attained out of the limits of\nthe living form, and out of the sphere of individuality, in the region\nof ideas. It would, no doubt, be doing him a great injustice to dispute\nentirely in his case that individual truth and that feeling of life with\nwhich the simple poet describes his pictures. Many of his odes, many\nseparate traits in his dramas, and in his \u201cMessiah,\u201d represent the\nobject with a striking truth, and mark the outline admirably;\nespecially, when the object is his own heart, he has given evidence on\nmany occasions of a great natural disposition and of a charming\nsimplicity. I mean only that it is not in this that the _proper_ force\nof Klopstock consists, and that it would not perhaps be right to seek\nfor this throughout his work. Viewed as a production of musical poetry,\nthe \u201cMessiah\u201d is a magnificent work; but in the light of _plastic_\npoetry, where we look for determined forms and forms _determined_ for\nthe _intuition_, the \u201cMessiah\u201d leaves much to be desired. Perhaps in\nthis poem the figures are sufficiently determined, but they are not so\nwith intuition in view. It is abstraction alone that created them, and\nabstraction alone can discern them. They are excellent _types_ to\nexpress ideas, but they are not individuals nor living figures. With\nregard to the imagination, which the poet ought to address, and which he\nought to command by putting before it always perfectly determinate\nforms, it is left here much too free to represent as it wishes these men\nand these angels, these divinities and demons, this paradise and this\nhell. We see quite well the vague outlines in which the understanding\nmust be kept to conceive these personages; but we do not find the limit\nclearly traced in which the imagination must be enclosed to represent\nthem. And what I say here of characters must apply to all that in this\npoem is, or ought to be, action and life, and not only in this epop\u0153ia,\nbut also in the dramatic poetry of Klopstock. For the understanding all\nis perfectly determined and bounded in them\u2014I need only here recall his\nJudas, his Pilate, his Philo, his Solomon in the tragedy that bears that\nname\u2014but for the imagination all this wants form too much, and I must\nreadily confess I do not find that our poet is at all in his sphere\nhere. His sphere is always the realm of ideas; and he knows how to raise\nall he touches to the infinite. It might be said that he strips away\ntheir bodily envelope, to spiritualize them from all the objects with\nwhich he is occupied, in the same way that other poets clothe all that\nis spiritual with a body. The pleasure occasioned by his poems must\nalmost always be obtained by an exercise of the faculty of reflection;\nthe feelings he awakens in us, and that so deeply and energetically,\nflow always from super-sensuous sources. Hence the earnestness, the\nstrength, the elasticity, the depth, that characterize all that comes\nfrom him; but from that also issues that perpetual tension of mind in\nwhich we are kept when reading him. No poet\u2014except perhaps Young, who in\nthis respect exacts even more than Klopstock, without giving us so much\ncompensation\u2014no poet could be less adapted than Klopstock to play the\npart of favorite author and guide in life, because he never does\nanything else than lead us out of life, because he never calls to arms\nanything save spirit, without giving recreation and refreshment to\nsensuous nature by the calm presence of any object. His muse is chaste,\nit has nothing of the earthly, it is immaterial and holy as his\nreligion; and we are forced to admit with admiration that if he wanders\nsometimes on these high places, it never happened to him to fall from\nthem. But precisely for this reason, I confess in all ingenuousness,\nthat I am not free from anxiety for the common sense of those who quite\nseriously and unaffectedly make Klopstock the favorite book, the book in\nwhich we find sentiments fitting all situations, or to which we may\nrevert at all times: perhaps even\u2014and I suspect it\u2014Germany has seen\nenough results of his dangerous influence. It is only in certain\ndispositions of the mind, and in hours of exaltation, that recourse can\nbe had to Klopstock, and that he can be felt. It is for this reason that\nhe is the idol of youth, without, however, being by any means the\nhappiest choice that they could make. Youth, which always aspires to\nsomething beyond real life, which avoids all stiffness of form, and\nfinds all limits too narrow, lets itself be carried away with love, with\ndelight, into the infinite spaces opened up to them by this poet. But\nwait till the youth has become a man, and till, from the domain of\nideas, he comes back to the world of experience, then you will see this\nenthusiastic love of Klopstock decrease greatly, without, however, a\nriper age changing at all the esteem due to this unique phenomenon, to\nthis so extraordinary genius, to these noble sentiments\u2014the esteem that\nGermany in particular owes to his high merit.\n\nI have said that this poet was great specially in the elegiac style, and\nit is scarcely necessary to confirm this judgment by entering into\nparticulars. Capable of exercising all kinds of action on the heart, and\nhaving graduated as master in all that relates to sentimental poetry, he\ncan sometimes shake the soul by the most sublime pathos, at others\ncradle it with sweet and heavenly sensations. Yet his heart prefers to\nfollow the direction of a lofty spiritual melancholy; and, however\nsublime be the tones of his harp and of his lyre, they are always the\ntender notes of his lute that resound with most truth and the deepest\nemotion. I take as witnesses all those whose nature is pure and\nsensuous: would they not be ready to give all the passages where\nKlopstock is strong, and bold; all those fictions, all the magnificent\ndescriptions, all the models of eloquence which abound in the \u201cMessiah,\u201d\nall those dazzling comparisons in which our poet excels,\u2014would they not\nexchange them for the pages breathing tenderness, the \u201cElegy to Ebert\u201d\nfor example, or that admirable poem entitled \u201cBardalus,\u201d or again, the\n\u201cTombs Opened before the Hour,\u201d the \u201cSummer\u2019s Night,\u201d the \u201cLake of\nZurich,\u201d and many other pieces of this kind? In the same way the\n\u201cMessiah\u201d is dear to me as a treasure of elegiac feelings and of ideal\npaintings, though I am not much satisfied with it as the recital of an\naction and as an epic.\n\nI ought, perhaps, before quitting this department, to recall the merits\nin this style of Uz, Denis, Gessner\u2014in the \u201cDeath of Abel\u201d\u2014Jacobi,\nGerstenberg, H\u00f6lty, De G\u00f6ckingk, and several others, who all knew how to\ntouch by ideas, and whose poems belong to the sentimental kind in the\nsense in which we have agreed to understand the word. But my object is\nnot here to write a history of German poetry; I only wished to clear up\nwhat I said further back by some examples from our literature. I wished\nto show that the ancient and the modern poets, the authors of simple\npoetry and of sentimental poetry, follow essentially different paths to\narrive at the same end: that the former move by nature, individuality, a\nvery vivid _sensuous_ element; while the latter do it by means of ideas\nand a high _spirituality_, exercising over our minds an equally powerful\nthough less extensive influence.\n\nIt has been seen, by the examples which precede, how sentimental poetry\nconceives and treats subjects taken from nature; perhaps the reader may\nbe curious to know how also simple poetry treats a subject of the\nsentimental order. This is, as it seems, an entirely new question, and\none of special difficulty; for, in the first place, has a _subject of\nthe sentimental order_ ever been presented in primitive and simple\nperiods? And in modern times, where is the _simple poet_ with whom we\ncould make this experiment? This has not, however, prevented genius from\nsetting this problem, and solving it in a wonderfully happy way. A poet\nin whose mind nature works with a purer and more faithful activity than\nin any other, and who is perhaps of all modern poets the one who departs\nthe least from the sensuous truth of things, has proposed this problem\nto himself in his conception of a mind, and of the dangerous extreme of\nthe sentimental character. This mind and this character have been\nportrayed by the modern poet we speak of, a character which with a\nburning sensuousness embraces the ideal and flies the real, to soar up\nto an infinite devoid of being, always occupied in seeking out of\nhimself what he incessantly destroys in himself; a mind that only finds\nreality in his dreams, and to whom the realities of life are only limits\nand obstacles; in short, a mind that sees only in its own existence a\nbarrier, and goes on, as it were, logically to break down this barrier\nin order to penetrate to true reality.\n\nIt is interesting to see with what a happy instinct all that is of a\nnature to feed the sentimental mind is gathered together in Werther: a\ndreamy and unhappy love, a very vivid feeling for nature, the religious\nsense coupled with the spirit of philosophic contemplation, and lastly,\nto omit nothing, the world of Ossian, dark, formless, melancholy. Add to\nthis the aspect under which reality is presented, all is depicted which\nis least adapted to make it lovable, or rather all that is most fit to\nmake it hated; see how all external circumstances unite to drive back\nthe unhappy man into his ideal world; and now we understand that it was\nquite impossible for a character thus constituted to save itself, and\nissue from the circle in which it was enclosed. The same contrast\nreappears in the \u201cTorquato Tasso\u201d of the same poet, though the\ncharacters are very different. Even his last romance presents, like his\nfirst, this opposition between the poetic mind and the common sense of\npractical men, between the ideal and the real, between the subjective\nmode and the objective mode of seeing and representing things; it is the\nsame opposition, I say, but with what a diversity! Even in \u201cFaust\u201d we\nstill find this contrast, rendered, I admit\u2014as the subject required\u2014much\nmore coarsely on both hands, and materialized. It would be quite worth\nwhile if a psychological explanation were attempted of this character,\npersonified and specified in four such different ways.\n\nIt has been observed further back that a mere disposition to frivolity\nof mind, to a merry humor, if a certain fund of the ideal is not joined\nto it, does not suffice to constitute the vocation of a satirical poet,\nthough this mistake is frequently made. In the same way a mere\ndisposition for tender sentiments, softness of heart, and melancholy do\nnot suffice to constitute a vocation for elegy. I cannot detect the true\npoetical talent, either on one side or the other; it wants the\nessential, I mean the energetic and fruitful principle that ought to\nenliven the subject, and produce true beauty. Accordingly the\nproductions of this latter nature, of the tender nature, do nothing but\nenervate us; and without refreshing the heart, without occupying the\nmind, they are only able to flatter in us the sensuous nature. A\nconstant disposition to this mode of feeling ends necessarily, in the\nlong run, by weakening the character, and makes it fall into a state of\npassivity from which nothing real can issue, either for external or for\ninternal life. People have, therefore, been quite right to persecute by\npitiless raillery this fatal mania of _sentimentality_ and of _tearful\nmelancholy_ which possessed Germany eighteen years since, in consequence\nof certain excellent works that were ill understood and indiscreetly\nimitated. People have been right, I say, to combat this perversity,\nthough the indulgence with which men are disposed to receive the\nparodies of these elegiac caricatures\u2014that are very little better\nthemselves\u2014the complaisance shown to bad wit, to heartless satire and\nspiritless mirth, show clearly enough that this zeal against false\nsentimentalism does not issue from quite a pure source. In the balance\nof true taste one cannot weigh more than the other, considering that\nboth here and there is wanting that which forms the \u00e6sthetic value of a\nwork of art, the intimate union of spirit with matter, and the twofold\nrelation of the work with the faculty of perception as well as with the\nfaculty of the ideal.\n\nPeople have turned Siegwart[17] and his convent story into ridicule, and\nyet the \u201cTravels into the South of France\u201d are admired; yet both works\nhave an equal claim to be esteemed in certain respects, and as little to\nbe unreservedly praised in others. A true, though excessive,\nsensuousness gives value to the former of these two romances; a lively\nand sportive humor, a fine wit, recommends the other: but one totally\nlacks all sobriety of mind that would befit it, the other lacks all\n\u00e6sthetic dignity. If you consult experience, one is rather ridiculous;\nif you think of the ideal, the other is almost contemptible. Now, as\ntrue beauty must of necessity accord both with nature and with the\nideal, it is clear that neither the one nor the other of these two\nromances could pretend to pass for a fine work. And notwithstanding all\nthis, it is natural, as I know it by my own experience, that the romance\nof Thummel should be read with much pleasure. As a fact it only wounds\nthose requirements which have their principle in the ideal, and which\nconsequently do not exist for the greater part of readers; requirements\nthat, even in persons of most delicate feeling, do not make themselves\nfelt at the moments when we read romances. With regard to the other\nneeds of the mind, and especially to those of the senses, this book, on\nthe other hand, affords unusual satisfaction. Accordingly, it must be,\nand will be so, that this book will remain justly one of the favorite\nworks of our age, and of all epochs when men only write \u00e6sthetic works\nto please, and people only read to get pleasure.\n\nBut does not poetical literature also offer, even in its classical\nmonuments, some analogous examples of injuries inflicted or attempted\nagainst the ideal and its superior purity? Are there not some who, by\nthe gross, sensuous nature of their subject, seem to depart strangely\nfrom the spiritualism I here demand of all works of art? If this is\npermitted to the poet, the chaste nursling of the muses, ought it not to\nbe conceded to the novelist, who is only the half-brother of the poet,\nand who still touches by so many points? I can the less avoid this\nquestion because there are masterpieces, both in the elegiac and in the\nsatirical kind, where the authors seek and preach up a nature quite\ndifferent from that I am discussing in this essay, and where they seem\nto defend it, not so much against bad as against good morals. The\nnatural conclusion would be either that this sort of poem ought to be\nrejected, or that, in tracing here the idea of elegiac poetry, we have\ngranted far too much to what is arbitrary.\n\nThe question I asked was, whether what was permitted by the poet might\nnot be tolerated in a prose narrator too? The answer is contained in the\nquestion. What is allowed in the poet proves nothing about what must be\nallowed in one who is not a poet. This tolerancy in fact reposes on the\nvery idea which we ought to make to ourselves of the poet, and only on\nthis idea; what in his case is legitimate freedom, is only a license\nworthy of contempt as soon as it no longer takes its source in the\nideal, in those high and noble inspirations which make the poet.\n\nThe laws of decency are strangers to innocent nature; the experience of\ncorruption alone has given birth to them. But when once this experience\nhas been made, and natural innocence has disappeared from manners, these\nlaws are henceforth sacred laws that man, who has a moral sense, ought\nnot to infringe upon. They reign in an artificial world with the same\nright that the laws of nature reign in the innocence of primitive ages.\nBut by what characteristic is the poet recognized? Precisely by his\nsilencing in his soul all that recalls an artificial world, and by\ncausing nature herself to revive in him with her primitive simplicity.\nThe moment he has done this he is emancipated by this alone from all the\nlaws by which a depraved heart secures itself against itself. He is\npure, he is innocent, and all that is permitted to innocent nature is\nequally permitted to him. But you who read him or listen to him, if you\nhave lost your innocence, and if you are incapable of finding it again,\neven for a moment, in a purifying contact with the poet, it is _your\nown_ fault, and not his: why do not you leave him alone? it is not for\nyou that he has sung!\n\nHere follows, therefore, in what relates to these kinds of freedoms, the\nrules that we can lay down.\n\nLet us remark in the first place that nature only can justify these\nlicenses; whence it follows that you could not legitimately take them up\nof your own choice, nor with a determination of imitating them; the\nwill, in fact, ought always to be directed according to the laws of\nmorality, and on its part all condescending to the sensuous is\nabsolutely unpardonable. These licenses must, therefore, above all, be\n_simplicity_. But how can we be convinced that they are actually simple?\nWe shall hold them to be so if we see them accompanied and supported by\nall the other circumstances which also have their spring of action in\nnature; for nature can only be recognized by the close and strict\nconsistency, by the unity and uniformity of its effects. It is only a\nsoul that has on all occasions a horror of all kinds of artifice, and\nwhich consequently rejects them even where they would be useful\u2014it is\nonly that soul which we permit to be emancipated from them when the\nartificial conventionalities hamper and hinder it. A heart that submits\nto all the obligations of nature has alone the right to profit also by\nthe liberties which it authorizes. All the other feelings of that heart\nought consequently to bear the stamp of nature: it will be true, simple,\nfree, frank, sensible, and straightforward; all disguise, all cunning,\nall arbitrary fancy, all egotistical pettiness, will be banished from\nhis character, and you will see no trace of them in his writings.\n\nSecond rule: _beautiful_ nature alone can justify freedoms of this kind;\nwhence it follows that they ought not to be a mere outbreak of the\nappetites; for all that proceeds exclusively from the wants of sensuous\nnature is contemptible. It is, therefore, from the totality and the\nfullness of human nature that these vivid manifestations must also\nissue. We must find _humanity_ in them. But how can we judge that they\nproceed in fact from our whole nature, and not only from an exclusive\nand vulgar want of the sensuous nature? For this purpose it is necessary\nthat we should see\u2014that they should represent to us\u2014this whole of which\nthey form a particular feature. This disposition of the mind to\nexperience the impressions of the sensuous is in itself an innocent and\nan indifferent thing. It does not sit well on a man only because of its\nbeing common to animals with him; it augurs in him the lack of true and\nperfect humanity. It only shocks us in the poem because such a work\nhaving the pretension to please us, the author consequently seems to\nthink us capable, _us also_, of this moral infirmity. But when we see in\nthe man who has let himself be drawn into it by surprise all the other\ncharacteristics that human nature in general embraces; when we find in\nthe work where these liberties have been taken the expression of all the\nrealities of human nature, this motive of discontent disappears, and we\ncan enjoy, without anything changing our joy, this simple expression of\na true and beautiful nature. Consequently this same poet who ventures to\nallow himself to associate us with feelings so basely human, ought to\nknow, on the other hand, how to raise us to all that is grand,\nbeautiful, and sublime in our nature.\n\nWe should, therefore, have found there a measure to which we could\nsubject the poet with confidence, when he trespasses on the ground of\ndecency, and when he does not fear to penetrate as far as that in order\nfreely to paint nature. His work is common, base, absolutely\ninexcusable, from the moment it is frigid, and from the moment it is\n_empty_, because that shows a prejudice, a vulgar necessity, an\nunhealthy appeal to our appetites. His work, on the other hand, is\nbeautiful and noble, and we ought to applaud it without any\nconsideration for all the objections of frigid decency, as soon as we\nrecognize in it simplicity, the alliance of spiritual nature and of the\nheart.\n\nPerhaps I shall be told that if we adopt this criterion, most of the\nrecitals of this kind composed by the French, and the best imitations\nmade of them in Germany, would not perhaps find their interest in it;\nand that it might be the same, at least in part, with many of the\nproductions of our most intellectual and amiable poets, without even\nexcepting his masterpieces. I should have nothing to reply to this. The\nsentence after all is anything but new, and I am only justifying the\njudgment pronounced long since on this matter by all men of delicate\nperceptions. But these same principles which, applied to the works of\nwhich I have just spoken, seem perhaps in too strict a spirit, might\nalso be found too indulgent when applied to some other works. I do not\ndeny, in fact, that the same reasons which make me hold to be quite\ninexcusable the dangerous pictures drawn by the Roman Ovid and the\nGerman Ovid, those of Crebillon, of Voltaire, of Marmontel, who pretends\nto write _moral_ tales!\u2014of Lacroix, and of many others\u2014that these same\nreasons, I say, reconcile me with the elegies of the Roman Propertius\nand of the German Propertius, and even with some of the decried\nproductions of Diderot. This is because the former of those works are\nonly witty, prosaic, and voluptuous, while the others are poetic, human,\nand simple.\n\n\n                                 IDYL.\n\nIt remains for me to say a few words about this third kind of\nsentimental poetry\u2014some few words and no more, for I propose to speak of\nit at another time with the developments particularly demanded by the\ntheme.\n\nThis kind of poetry generally presents the idea and description of an\ninnocent and happy humanity. This innocence and bliss seeming remote\nfrom the artificial refinements of fashionable society, poets have\nremoved the scene of the idyl from crowds of worldly life to the simple\nshepherd\u2019s cot, and have given it a place in the infancy of humanity\nbefore the beginning of culture. These limitations are evidently\naccidental; they do not form the object of the idyl, but are only to be\nregarded as the most natural means to attain this end. The end is\neverywhere to portray man in a state of innocence: which means a state\nof harmony and peace with himself and the external world.\n\nBut a state such as this is not merely met with before the dawn of\ncivilization; it is also the state to which civilization aspires, as to\nits last end, if only it obeys a determined tendency in its progress.\nThe idea of a similar state, and the belief of the possible reality of\nthis state, is the only thing that can reconcile man with all the evils\nto which he is exposed in the path of civilization; and if this idea\nwere only a chimera, the complaints of those who accuse civil life and\nthe culture of the intelligence as an evil for which there is no\ncompensation, and who represent this primitive state of nature that we\nhave renounced as the real end of humanity\u2014their complaints, I say,\nwould have a perfectly just foundation. It is, therefore, of infinite\nimportance for the man engaged in the path of civilization to see\nconfirmed in a sensuous manner the belief that this idea can be\naccomplished in the world of sense, that this state of innocence can be\nrealized in it; and as real experience, far from keeping up this belief,\nis rather made incessantly to contradict it, poetry comes here, as in\nmany other cases, in aid of reason, to cause this idea to pass into the\ncondition of an intuitive idea, and to realize it in a particular fact.\nNo doubt this innocence of pastoral life is also a poetic idea, and the\nimagination must already have shown its creative power in that. But the\nproblem, with this datum, becomes infinitely simpler and easier to\nsolve; and we must not forget that the elements of these pictures\nalready existed in real life, and that it was only requisite to gather\nup the separate traits to form a whole. Under a fine sky, in a primitive\nsociety, when all the relations are still simple, when science is\nlimited to so little, nature is easily satisfied, and man only turns to\nsavagery when he is tortured by want. All nations that have a history\nhave a paradise, an age of innocence, a golden age. Nay, more than this,\nevery man has his paradise, his golden age, which he remembers with more\nor less enthusiasm, according as he is more or less poetical. Thus\nexperience itself furnishes sufficient traits to this picture which the\npastoral idyl executes. But this does not prevent the pastoral idyl from\nremaining always a beautiful and an encouraging fiction; and poetic\ngenius, in retracing these pictures, has really worked in favor of the\nideal. For, to the man who has once departed from simple nature, and who\nhas been abandoned to the dangerous guidance of his reason, it is of the\ngreatest importance to find the laws of nature expressed in a faithful\ncopy, to see their image in a clear mirror, and to reject all the stains\nof artificial life. There is, however, a circumstance which remarkably\nlessens the \u00e6sthetic value of these sorts of poetry. By the very fact\nthat the idyl is transported to the time that precedes civilization, it\nalso loses the advantages thereof; and by its nature finds itself in\nopposition to itself. Thus, in a _theoretical_ sense, it takes us back\nat the same time that in a _practical_ sense it leads us on and ennobles\nus. Unhappily it places _behind us_ the end _towards which it ought to\nlead_ us, and consequently it can only inspire us with the sad feeling\nof a loss, and not the joyous feeling of a hope. As these poems can only\nattain their end by dispensing with all art, and by simplifying human\nnature, they have the highest value for the _heart_, but they are also\nfar too poor for what concerns the _mind_, and their uniform circle is\ntoo quickly traversed. Accordingly we can only seek them and love them\nin moments in which we need calm, and not when our faculties aspire\nafter movement and exercise. A morbid mind will find its _cure_ in them,\na sound soul will not find its _food_ in them. They cannot vivify, they\ncan only soften. This defect, grounded in the essence of the pastoral\nidyll, has not been remedied by the whole art of poets. I know that this\nkind of poem is not without admirers, and that there are readers enough\nwho prefer an Amyntus and a Daphnis to the most splendid masterpieces of\nthe epic or the dramatic muse; but in them it is less the \u00e6sthetical\ntaste than the feeling of an individual want that pronounces on works of\nart; and their judgment, by that very fact, could not be taken into\nconsideration here. The reader who judges with his mind, and whose heart\nis sensuous without being blind to the merit of these poems, will\nconfess that he is rarely affected by them, and that they tire him most\nquickly. But they act with so much the more effect in the exact moment\nof need. But must the truly beautiful be reduced to await our hours of\nneed? and is it not rather its office to awaken in our soul the want\nthat it is going to satisfy?\n\nThe reproaches I here level against the bucolic idyl cannot be\nunderstood of the sentimental. The simple pastoral, in fact, cannot be\ndeprived of \u00e6sthetic value, since this value is already found in _the\nmere form_. To explain myself: every kind of poetry is bound to possess\nan infinite ideal value, which alone constitutes it a true poetry; but\nit can satisfy this condition in two different ways. It can give us the\nfeeling of the infinite as to form, by representing the object\n_altogether limited_ and individualizing it; it can awaken in us the\nfeeling of the infinite as to matter, in _freeing its object from all\nlimits_ in which it is enclosed, by idealizing this object; therefore it\ncan have an ideal value either by an absolute representation or by the\nrepresentation of an absolute. Simple poetry takes the former road, the\nother is that of sentimental poetry. Accordingly the simple poet is not\nexposed to failure in value so long as he keeps faithfully to nature,\nwhich is always completely circumscribed, that is, is infinite as\nregards form. The sentimental poet, on the contrary, by that very fact,\nthat nature only offers him completely circumscribed objects, finds in\nit an obstruction when he wishes to give an absolute value to a\nparticular object. Thus the sentimental poet understands his interests\nbadly when he goes along the trail of the simple poet, and _borrows his\nobjects_ from him\u2014objects which by themselves are perfectly indifferent,\nand which only become poetical by the way in which they are treated. By\nthis he imposes on himself without any necessity the same limits that\nconfine the field of the simple poet, without, however, being able to\ncarry out the limitation properly, or to vie with his rival in absolute\ndefiniteness of representation. He ought rather, therefore, to depart\nfrom the simple poet, just in the choice of object; because, the latter\nhaving the advantage of him on the score of form, it is only by the\nnature of the objects that he can resume the upper hand.\n\nApplying this to the pastoral idylls of the sentimental poet, we see why\nthese poems, whatever amount of art and genius be displayed in them, do\nnot fully satisfy the heart or the mind. An ideal is proposed in it,\nand, at the same time, the writer keeps to this narrow and poor medium\nof pastoral life. Would it not have been better, on the contrary, to\nchoose for the ideal another frame, or for the pastoral world another\nkind of picture? These pictures are just ideal enough for painting to\nlose its individual truth in them, and, again, just individual enough\nfor the ideal in them to suffer therefrom. For example, a shepherd of\nGessner can neither charm by the illusion of nature nor by the beauty of\nimitation; he is too ideal a being for that, but he does not satisfy us\nany more as an ideal by the infinity of the thought; he is a far too\nlimited creature to give us this satisfaction. He will, therefore,\nplease up to a _certain point_ all classes of readers, without\nexception, because he seeks to unite the simple with the sentimental,\nand he thus gives a commencement of satisfaction to the two opposite\nexigencies that may be brought to bear on any particular part of a poem;\nbut the author, in trying to unite the two points, does not _fully\nsatisfy_ either one or the other exigency, as you do not find in him\neither pure nature or the pure ideal; he cannot rank himself as entirely\nup to the mark of a stringent critical taste, for taste does not accept\nanything equivocal or incomplete in \u00e6sthetical matters. It is a strange\nthing that, in the poet whom I have named, this equivocal character\nextends to the language, which floats undecided between poetry and\nprose, as if he feared either to depart too far from nature, by speaking\nrhythmical language, or if he completely freed himself from rhythm, to\nlose all poetic flight. Milton gives a higher satisfaction to the mind,\nin the magnificent picture of the first human pair, and of the state of\ninnocence in paradise;\u2014the most beautiful idyl I know of the sentimental\nkind. Here nature is noble, inspired, simple, full of breadth, and, at\nthe same time, of depth; it is humanity in its highest moral value,\nclothed in the most graceful form.\n\nThus, even in respect to the idyl, as well as to all kinds of poetry, we\nmust once for all declare either for individuality or ideality; for to\naspire to give satisfaction to both exigencies is the surest means,\nunless you have reached the terminus of perfection, to miss both ends.\nIf the modern poet thinks he feels enough of the Greeks\u2019 mind to vie\nwith them, notwithstanding all the indocility of his matter, on their\nown ground, namely that of simple poetry, let him do it exclusively, and\nplace himself apart from all the requirements of the sentimental taste\nof his age. No doubt it is very doubtful if he come up to his models;\nbetween the original and the happiest imitation there will always remain\na notable distance; but, by taking this road, he is at all events secure\nof producing a really poetic work. If, on the other hand, he feels\nhimself carried to the ideal by the instinct of sentimental poetry, let\nhim decide to pursue this end fully; let him seek the ideal in its\npurity, and let him not pause till he has reached the highest regions\nwithout looking behind him to know if the real follows him, and does not\nleave him by the way. Let him not lower himself to this wretched\nexpedient of spoiling the ideal to accommodate himself to the wants of\nhuman weakness, and to turn out _mind_ in order to play more easily with\nthe _heart_. Let him not take us back to our infancy, to make us buy, at\nthe cost of the most precious acquisitions of the understanding, a\nrepose that can only last as long as the slumber of our spiritual\nfaculties; but let him lead us on to emancipation, and give us this\nfeeling of higher harmony which compensates for all his troubles and\nsecures the happiness of the victor! Let him prepare as his task an idyl\nthat realizes the pastoral innocence, even in the children of\ncivilization, and in all the conditions of the most militant and excited\nlife; of thought enlarged by culture; of the most refined art; of the\nmost delicate social conventionalities\u2014an idyl, in short, that is made,\nnot to bring back man to _Arcadia_, but to lead him to _Elysium_.\n\nThis idyl, as I conceive it, is the idea of humanity definitely\nreconciled with itself, in the individual as well as in the whole of\nsociety; it is union freely re-established between inclination and duty;\nit is nature purified, raised to its highest moral dignity; in short, it\nis no less than the ideal of beauty applied to real life. Thus, the\ncharacter of this idyl is to reconcile perfectly all the _contradictions\nbetween the real and the ideal_, which formed the matter of satirical\nand elegiac poetry, and, setting aside their contradictions, to put an\nend to all conflict between the feelings of the soul. Thus, the dominant\nexpression of this kind of poetry would be _calm_; but the calm that\nfollows the accomplishment, and not that of indolence\u2014the calm that\ncomes from the equilibrium re-established between the faculties, and not\nfrom the suspending of their exercise; from the fulness of our strength,\nand not from our infirmity; the calm, in short, which is accompanied in\nthe soul by the feeling of an infinite power. But precisely because idyl\nthus conceived removes all idea of struggle, it will be infinitely more\ndifficult than it was in two previously-named kinds of poetry to express\n_movement_; yet this is an indispensable condition, without which poetry\ncan never act on men\u2019s souls. The most perfect unity is required, but\nunity ought not to wrong variety; the heart must be satisfied, but\nwithout the inspiration ceasing on that account. The solution of this\nproblem is properly what ought to be given us by the theory of the idyl.\n\nNow, what are the relations of the two poetries to one another, and\ntheir relations to the poetic ideal? Here are the principles we have\nestablished.\n\nNature has granted this favor to the simple poet, to act always as an\nindivisible unity, to be at all times identical and perfect, and to\nrepresent, in the real world, humanity at its highest value. In\nopposition, it has given a powerful faculty to the sentimental poet, or,\nrather, it has imprinted an ardent feeling on him; this is to replace\nout of himself this first unity that abstraction has destroyed in him,\nto complete humanity in his person, and to pass from a limited state to\nan infinite state. They both propose to represent human nature fully, or\nthey would not be poets; but the simple poet has always the advantage of\nsensuous reality over the sentimental poet, by setting forth as a real\nfact what the other aspires only to reach. Every one experiences this in\nthe pleasure he takes in simple poetry. We there feel that the human\nfaculties are brought into play; no vacuum is felt; we have the feeling\nof unity, without distinguishing anything of what we experience; we\nenjoy both our spiritual activity and also the fulness of physical life.\nVery different is the disposition of mind elicited by the sentimental\npoet. Here we feel only a vivid _aspiration_ to produce in us this\nharmony of which we had in the other case the consciousness and reality;\nto make of ourselves a single and same totality; to realize in ourselves\nthe idea of humanity as a complete expression. Hence it comes that the\nmind is here all in movement, stretched, hesitating between contrary\nfeelings; whereas it was before calm and at rest, in harmony with\nitself, and fully satisfied.\n\nBut if the simple poet has the advantage over the sentimental poet on\nthe score of reality; if he causes really to live that of which the\nother can only elicit a vivid instinct, the sentimental poet, in\ncompensation, has this great advantage over the simple poet: to be in a\nposition to offer to this instinct a _greater object_ than that given by\nhis rival, and the only one he could give. All reality, we know, is\nbelow the ideal; all that exists has limits, but thought is infinite.\nThis limitation, to which everything is subject in sensuous reality, is,\ntherefore, a disadvantage for the simple poet, while the absolute,\nunconditional freedom of the ideal profits the sentimental poet. No\ndoubt the former accomplishes his object, but this object is limited;\nthe second, I admit, does not entirely accomplish his, but his object is\ninfinite. Here I appeal to experience. We pass pleasantly to real life\nand things from the frame of mind in which the simple poet has placed\nus. On the other hand, the sentimental poet will always disgust us, for\na time, with real life. This is because the infinite character has, in a\nmanner, enlarged our mind beyond its natural measure, so that nothing it\nfinds in the world of sense can fill its capacity. We prefer to fall\nback in contemplation on ourselves, where we find food for this awakened\nimpulse towards the ideal world; while, in the simple poet, we only\nstrive to issue out of ourselves, in search of sensuous objects.\nSentimental poetry is the offspring of retirement and science, and\ninvites to it; simple poetry is inspired by the spectacle of life, and\nbrings back life.\n\nI have styled simple poetry a _gift of nature_ to show that thought has\nno share in it. It is a first jet, a happy inspiration, that needs no\ncorrection, when it turns out well, and which cannot be rectified if ill\nturned out. The entire work of the simple genius is accomplished by\nfeeling; in that is its strength, and in it are its limits. If, then, he\nhas not _felt_ at once in a poetic manner\u2014that is, in a perfectly human\nmanner\u2014no art in the world can remedy this defect. Criticism may help\nhim to see the defect, but can place no beauty in its stead. Simple\ngenius must draw all from nature; it can do nothing, or almost nothing,\nby its will; and it will fulfil the idea of this kind of poetry provided\nnature acts in it by an inner necessity. Now, it is true that all which\nhappens by nature is necessary, and all the productions, happy or not,\nof the simple genius, which is disassociated from nothing so much as\nfrom arbitrary will, are also imprinted with this character of\nnecessity; momentary constraint is one thing, and the internal necessity\ndependent on the totality of things another. Considered as a whole,\nnature is independent and infinite; in isolated operations it is poor\nand limited. The same distinction holds good in respect to the nature of\nthe poet. The very moment when he is most happily inspired depends on a\npreceding instant, and consequently only a conditional necessity can be\nattributed to him. But now the problem that the poet ought to solve is\nto make an individual state similar to the human whole, and consequently\nto base it in an absolute and necessary manner on itself. It is\ntherefore necessary that at the moment of inspiration every trace of a\ntemporal need should be banished, and that the object itself, however\nlimited, should not limit the flight of the poet. But it may be\nconceived that this is only possible in so far as the poet brings to the\nobject an absolute freedom, an absolute fulness of faculties, and in so\nfar as he is prepared by an anterior exercise to embrace all things with\nall his humanity. Now he cannot acquire this exercise except by the\nworld in which he lives, and of which he receives the impressions\nimmediately. Thus simple genius is in a state of dependence with regard\nto experience, while the sentimental genius is forced from it. We know\nthat the sentimental genius begins its operation at the place where the\nother finishes its own: its virtue is to complete by _the elements which\nit derives from itself_ a defective object, and to transport itself by\nits own strength from a limited state to one of absolute freedom. Thus\nthe simple poet needs a help from without, while the sentimental poet\nfeeds his genius from his own fund, and purifies himself by himself. The\nformer requires a picturesque nature, a poetical world, a simple\nhumanity which casts its eyes around; for he ought to do his work\nwithout issuing from the sensuous sphere. If external aid fails him, if\nhe be surrounded by matter not speaking to mind, one of two things will\nhappen: either, if the general character of the poet-race is what\nprevails in him, he issues from the particular class to which he belongs\nas a poet, and becomes sentimental to be at any rate poetic; or, if his\nparticular character as simple poet has the upper hand, he leaves his\nspecies and becomes a common nature, in order to remain at any rate\nnatural. The former of these two alternatives might represent the case\nof the principal poets of the sentimental kind in Roman antiquity and in\nmodern times. Born at another period of the world, transplanted under\nanother sky, these poets who stir us now by ideas, would have charmed us\nby individual truth and simple beauty. The other alternative is the\nalmost unavoidable quicksand for a poet who, thrown into a vulgar world,\ncannot resolve to lose sight of nature.\n\nI mean, to lose sight of actual nature; but the greatest care must be\ngiven to distinguish actual nature from true nature, which is the\nsubject of simple poetry. Actual nature exists everywhere; but true\nnature is so much the more rare because it requires an internal\nnecessity that determines its existence. Every eruption of passion,\nhowever vulgar, is _real_\u2014it may be even _true_ nature; but it is not\ntrue _human_ nature, for true human nature requires that the\nself-directing faculty in us should have a share in the manifestation,\nand the expression of this faculty is always dignified. All moral\nbaseness is an actual human phenomenon, but I hope not real human\nnature, which is always noble. All the faults of taste cannot be\nsurveyed that have been occasioned in criticism or the practice of art\nby this confusion between actual human nature and true human nature. The\ngreatest trivialities are tolerated and applauded under the pretext that\nthey are real nature. Caricatures not to be tolerated in the real world\nare carefully preserved in the poetic world and reproduced according to\nnature! The poet can certainly imitate a lower nature, and it enters\ninto the very definition of a satirical poet: but then a beauty by its\nown nature must sustain and raise the object, and the vulgarity of the\nsubject must not lower the imitator too much. If at the moment he paints\nhe is true human nature himself, the object of his paintings is\nindifferent; but it is only on this condition we can tolerate a faithful\nreproduction of reality. Unhappy for us readers when the rod of satire\nfalls into hands that nature meant to handle another instrument, and\nwhen, devoid of all poetic talent, with nothing but the ape\u2019s mimicry,\nthey exercise it brutally at the expense of our taste!\n\nBut vulgar nature has even its dangers for the simple poet; for the\nsimple poet is formed by this fine harmony of the feeling and thinking\nfaculty, which yet is only an idea, never actually realized. Even in the\nhappiest geniuses of this class, receptivity will always more or less\ncarry the day over spontaneous activity. But receptivity is always more\nor less subordinate to external impressions, and nothing but a perpetual\nactivity of the creative faculty could prevent matter from exercising a\nblind violence over this quality. Now, every time this happens the\nfeeling becomes vulgar instead of poetical.\n\nNo genius of the simple class, from Homer down to Bodmer, has entirely\nsteered clear of this quicksand. It is evident that it is most perilous\nto those who have to struggle against external vulgarity, or who have\nparted with their refinement owing to a want of proper restraint. The\nfirst-named difficulty is the reason why even authors of high\ncultivation are not always emancipated from platitudes\u2014a fact which has\nprevented many splendid talents from occupying the place to which they\nwere summoned by nature. For this reason, a comic poet whose genius has\nchiefly to deal with scenes of real life, is more liable to the danger\nof acquiring vulgar habits of style and expression\u2014a fact evidenced in\nthe case of Aristophanes, Plautus, and all the poets who have followed\nin their track. Even Shakspeare, with all his sublimity, suffers us to\nfall very low now and then. Again, Lope De Vega, Moli\u00e8re, Regnard,\nGoldoni worry us with frequent trifling. Holberg drags us down into the\nmire. Schlegel, a German poet, among the most remarkable for\nintellectual talent, with genius to raise him to a place among poets of\nthe first order; Gellert, a truly simple poet, Rabener, and Lessing\nhimself, if I am warranted to introduce his name in this category\u2014this\nhighly-cultivated scholar of criticism and vigilant examiner of his own\ngenius\u2014all these suffer in different degrees from the platitudes and\nuninspired movements of the natures they chose as the theme of their\nsatire. With regard to more recent authors of this class, I avoid naming\nany of them, as I can make no exceptions in their case.\n\nBut not only is simple genius exposed to the danger of coming too near\nto vulgar reality; the ease of expression, even this too close\napproximation to reality, encourages vulgar imitators to try their hand\nin poetry. Sentimental poetry, though offering danger enough, has this\nadvantage, to keep this crowd at a distance, for it is not for the first\ncomer to rise to the ideal; but simple poetry makes them believe that,\nwith feeling and humor, you need only imitate real nature to claim the\ntitle of poet. Now nothing is more revolting than platitude when it\ntries to be simple and amiable, instead of hiding its repulsive nature\nunder the veil of art. This occasions the incredible trivialities loved\nby the Germans under the name of simple and facetious songs, and which\ngive them endless amusement round a well-garnished table. Under the\npretext of good humor and of sentiment people tolerate these poverties:\nbut this good humor and this sentiment ought to be carefully proscribed.\nThe Muses of the Pleisse, in particular, are singularly pitiful; and\nother Muses respond to them, from the banks of the Seine, and the Elbe.\nIf these pleasantries are flat, the passion heard on our tragic stage is\nequally pitiful, for, instead of imitating true nature, it is only an\ninsipid and ignoble expression of _the actual_. Thus, after shedding\ntorrents of tears, you feel as you would after visiting a hospital or\nreading the \u201cHuman Misery\u201d of Saltzmann. But the evil is worse in\nsatirical poetry and comic romance, kinds which touch closely on\neveryday life, and which consequently, as all frontier posts, ought to\nbe in safer hands. In truth, he less than any other is called on to\nbecome the _painter_ of his century, who is himself the child and\n_caricature_ of his century. But as, after all, nothing is easier than\nto take in hand, among our acquaintances, a comic character\u2014a big, fat\nman\u2014and draw a coarse likeness of him on paper, the sworn enemies of\npoetic inspiration are often led to blot some paper in this way to amuse\na circle of friends. It is true that a pure heart, a well-made mind,\nwill never confound these vulgar productions with the inspirations of\nsimple genius. But purity of feeling is the very thing that is wanting,\nand in most cases nothing is thought of but satisfying a want of sense,\nwithout spiritual nature having any share. A fundamentally just idea,\nill understood, that works of _bel esprit_ serve to _recreate_ the mind,\ncontributes to keep up this indulgence, if indulgence it may be called\nwhen nothing higher occupies the mind, and reader as well as writer find\ntheir chief interest therein. This is because vulgar natures, if\noverstrained, can only be refreshed by vacuity; and even a higher\nintelligence, when not sustained by a proportional culture, can only\nrest from its work amidst sensuous enjoyments, from which spiritual\nnature is absent.\n\nPoetic genius ought to have strength enough to rise with a free and\ninnate activity above all the _accidental_ hinderances which are\ninseparable from every confined condition, to arrive at a representation\nof humanity in the absolute plenitude of its powers; it is not, however,\npermitted, on the other hand, to emancipate itself from the necessary\n_limits_ implied by the very idea of human nature: for the absolute only\nin the circle of humanity is its true problem. Simple genius is not\nexposed to overstep this sphere, but rather _not to fill it entirely_,\ngiving too much scope to external necessity, to accidental wants, at the\nexpense of the inner necessity. The danger for the sentimental genius\nis, on the other hand, by trying to remove all limits, of nullifying\nhuman nature absolutely, and not only rising, as is its right and duty,\nbeyond finite and determinate reality, as far as absolute possibility,\nor in other terms to idealize; but of passing even beyond possibility,\nor, in other words, _dreaming_. This fault\u2014overstraining\u2014is precisely\ndependent on the specific property of the sentimental process, as the\nopposite defect, _inertia_, depends on the peculiar operation of the\nsimple genius. The simple genius lets nature dominate, without\nrestricting it; and as nature in her particular phenomena is always\nsubject to some want, it follows that the simple sentiment will not be\nalways _exalted_ enough to resist the accidental limitations of the\npresent hour. The sentimental genius, on the contrary, leaves aside the\nreal world, to rise to the ideal and to command its matter with free\nspontaneity. But while reason, according to law, aspires always to the\nunconditional, so the sentimental genius will not always remain _calm_\nenough to restrain itself uniformly and without interruption within the\nconditions implied by the idea of human nature, and to which reason must\nalways, even in its freest acts, remain attached. He could only confine\nhimself in these conditions by help of a receptivity proportioned to his\nfree activity; but most commonly the activity predominates over\nreceptivity in the sentimental poet, as much as receptivity over\nactivity in the simple poet. Hence, in the productions of simple genius,\nif sometimes inspiration is wanting, so also in works of sentimental\npoetry the _object_ is often missed. Thus, though they proceed in\nopposite ways, they will both fall into a _vacuum_, for before the\n\u00e6sthetic judgment an object without inspiration, and inspiration without\nan object, are both negations.\n\nThe poets who borrow their matter too much from thought, and rather\nconceive poetic pictures by the internal abundance of ideas than by the\nsuggestions of feeling, are more or less likely to be addicted to go\nthus astray. In their creations reason makes too little of the limits of\nthe sensuous world, and thought is always carried too far for experience\nto follow it. Now, when the idea is carried so far that not only no\nexperience corresponds to it\u2014as is the case in the _beau ideal_\u2014but also\nthat it is repugnant to the conditions of all possible experience, so\nthat, in order to realize it, one must leave human nature altogether, it\nis no longer a poetic but an exaggerated thought; that is, supposing it\nclaims to be representable and poetical, for otherwise it is enough if\nit is not self-contradictory. If thought is contradictory it is not\nexaggeration, but nonsense; for what does not exist cannot exceed. But\nwhen the thought is not an object proposed to the fancy, we are just as\nlittle justified in calling it exaggerated. For simple thought is\ninfinite, and what is limitless also cannot exceed. Exaggeration,\ntherefore, is only that which wounds, not logical truth, but sensuous\ntruth, and what pretends to be sensuous truth. Consequently, if a poet\nhas the unhappy chance to choose for his picture certain natures that\nare merely _superhuman_ and _cannot possibly_ be represented, he can\nonly avoid exaggeration by ceasing to be a poet, and not trusting the\ntheme to his imagination. Otherwise one of two things would happen:\neither imagination, applying its limits to the object, would make a\nlimited and merely _human_ object of an absolute object\u2014which happened\nwith the gods of Greece\u2014or the object would take away limits from fancy,\nthat is, would render it null and void, and this is precisely\nexaggeration.\n\nExtravagance of feeling should be distinguished from extravagance of\nportraiture; we are speaking of the former. The object of the feeling\nmay be unnatural, but the feeling itself is natural, and ought\naccordingly to be shadowed forth in the language of nature. While\nextravagant feelings may issue from a warm heart and a really poetic\nnature, extravagance of portraiture always displays a cold heart, and\nvery often a want of poetic capacity. Therefore this is not a danger for\nthe sentimental poet, but only for the imitator, who has no vocation; it\nis therefore often found with platitude, insipidity, and even baseness.\nExaggeration of sentiment is not without truth, and must have a real\nobject; as nature inspires it, it admits of simplicity of expression and\ncoming from the heart it goes to the heart. As its object, however, is\nnot in nature, but artificially produced by the understanding, it has\nonly a logical reality, and the feeling is not purely human. It was not\nan illusion that Heloise had for Abelard, Petrarch for Laura, Saint\nPreux for his Julia, Werther for his Charlotte; Agathon, Phanias, and\nPeregrinus\u2014in Wieland\u2014for the object of their dreams: the feeling is\ntrue, only the object is factitious and outside nature. If their thought\nhad kept to simple sensuous truth, it could not have taken this flight;\nbut on the other hand a mere play of fancy, without inner value, could\nnot have stirred the heart: this is only stirred by reason. Thus this\nsort of exaggeration must be called to order, but it is not\ncontemptible: and those who ridicule it would do well to find out if the\nwisdom on which they pride themselves is not want of heart, and if it is\nnot through want of reason that they are so acute. The exaggerated\ndelicacy in gallantry and honor which characterizes the chivalrous\nromances, especially of Spain, is of this kind; also the refined and\neven ridiculous tenderness of French and English sentimental romances of\nthe best kind. These sentiments are not only subjectively true, but also\nobjectively they are not without value; they are sound sentiments\nissuing from a moral source, only reprehensible as overstepping the\nlimits of human truth. Without this moral reality how could they stir\nand touch so powerfully? The same remark applies to moral and religious\nfanaticism, patriotism, and the love of freedom when carried up to\nexaltation. As the object of these sentiments is always a pure idea, and\nnot an external experience, imagination with its proper activity has\nhere a dangerous liberty, and cannot, as elsewhere, be called back to\nbounds by the presence of a visible object. But neither the man nor the\npoet can withdraw from the law of nature, except to submit to that of\nreason. He can only abandon reality for the ideal; for liberty must hold\nto one or the other of these anchors. But it is far from the real to the\nideal; and between the two is found fancy, with its arbitrary conceits\nand its unbridled freedom. It must needs be, therefore, that man in\ngeneral, and the poet in particular, when he withdraws by liberty of his\nunderstanding from the dominion of feeling, without being moved to it by\nthe laws of reason\u2014that is, when he abandons nature through pure\nliberty\u2014he finds himself _freed from all law_, and therefore a prey to\nthe illusions of phantasy.\n\nIt is testified by experience that entire nations, as well as individual\nmen, who have parted with the safe direction of nature, are actually in\nthis condition; and poets have gone astray in the same manner. The true\ngenius of sentimental poetry, if its aim is to raise itself to the rank\nof the ideal, must overstep the limits of the existing nature; but false\ngenius oversteps all boundaries without any discrimination, flattering\nitself with the belief that the wild sport of the imagination is poetic\ninspiration. A true poetical genius can never fall into this error,\nbecause it only abandons the real for the sake of the ideal, or, at all\nevents, it can only do so at certain moments when the poet forgets\nhimself; but his main tendencies may dispose him to extravagance within\nthe sphere of the senses. His example may also drive others into a chase\nof wild conceptions, because readers of lively fancy and weak\nunderstanding only remark the freedom which he takes with existing\nnature, and are unable to follow him in copying the elevated necessities\nof his inner being. The same difficulties beset the path of the\nsentimental genius in this respect, as those which afflict the career of\na genius of the simple order. If a genius of this class carries out\nevery work, obedient to the free and spontaneous impulses of his nature,\nthe man devoid of genius who seeks to imitate him is not willing to\nconsider his own nature a worse guide than that of the great poet. This\naccounts for the fact that masterpieces of simple poetry are commonly\nfollowed by a host of stale and unprofitable works in print, and\nmasterpieces of the sentimental class by wild and fanciful effusions,\u2014a\nfact that may be easily verified on questioning the history of\nliterature.\n\nTwo maxims are prevalent in relation to poetry, both of them quite\ncorrect in themselves, but mutually destructive in the way in which they\nare generally conceived. The first is, that \u201cpoetry serves as a means of\namusement and recreation,\u201d and we have previously observed that this\nmaxim is highly favorable to aridity and platitudes in poetical\nfictions. The other maxim, that \u201cpoetry is conducive to the moral\nprogress of humanity,\u201d takes under its shelter theories and views of the\nmost wild and extravagant character. It may be profitable to examine\nmore attentively these two maxims, of which so much is heard, and which\nare so often imperfectly understood and falsely applied.\n\nWe say that a thing amuses us when it makes us pass from a forced state\nto the state that is natural to us. The whole question here is to know\nin what our natural state ought to consist, and what a forced state\nmeans. If our natural state is made to consist merely in the free\ndevelopment of all our physical powers, in emancipation from all\nconstraint, it follows that every act of reason by resisting what is\nsensuous, is a violence we undergo, and rest of mind combined with\nphysical movement will be a recreation _par excellence_. But if we make\nour natural state consist in a limitless power of human expression and\nof freely disposing of all our strength, all that divides these forces\nwill be a forced state, and recreation will be what brings all our\nnature to harmony. Thus, the first of these ideal recreations is simply\ndetermined by the wants of our _sensuous nature_; the second, by the\nautonomous activity of _human nature_. Which of these two kinds of\nrecreation can be demanded of the poet? Theoretically, the question is\ninadmissible, as no one would put the _human_ ideal beneath the brutal.\nBut in practice the requirements of a poet have been especially directed\nto the sensuous ideal, and for the most part _favor_, though not the\n_esteem_, for these sorts of works is regulated thereby. Men\u2019s minds are\nmostly engaged in a labor that exhausts them, or an enjoyment that sets\nthem asleep. Now labor makes rest a sensible want, much more imperious\nthan that of the moral nature; for physical nature must be satisfied\nbefore the mind can show its requirements. On the other hand, enjoyment\nparalyzes the moral instinct. Hence these two dispositions common in men\nare very injurious to the feeling for true beauty, and thus very few\neven of the best judge soundly in \u00e6sthetics. Beauty results from the\nharmony between spirit and sense; it addresses all the faculties of man,\nand can only be appreciated if a man employs fully all his strength. He\nmust bring to it an open sense, a broad heart, a spirit full of\nfreshness. All a man\u2019s nature must be on the alert, and this is not the\ncase with those divided by abstraction, narrowed by formulas, enervated\nby application. They demand, no doubt, a material for the senses; but\nnot to quicken, only to suspend, thought. They ask to be freed from\nwhat? From a load that oppressed their indolence, and not a rein that\ncurbed their activity.\n\nAfter this can one wonder at the success of mediocre talents in\n\u00e6sthetics? or at the bitter anger of small minds against true energetic\nbeauty? They reckon on finding therein a congenial recreation, and\nregret to discover that a display of strength is required to which they\nare unequal. With mediocrity they are always welcome; however little\nmind they bring, they want still less to exhaust the author\u2019s\ninspiration. They are relieved of the load of thought; and their nature\ncan lull itself in beatific nothings on the soft pillow of _platitude_.\nIn the temple of Thalia and Melpomene\u2014at least, so it is with us\u2014the\nstupid _savant_ and the exhausted man of business are received on the\nbroad bosom of the goddess, where their intelligence is wrapped in a\nmagnetic sleep, while their sluggish senses are warmed, and their\nimagination with gentle motions rocked.\n\nVulgar people may be excused what happens to the best capacities. Those\nmoments of repose demanded by nature after lengthy labor are not\nfavorable to \u00e6sthetic judgment, and hence in the busy classes few can\npronounce safely on matters of taste. Nothing is more common than for\nscholars to make a ridiculous figure, in regard to a question of beauty,\nbesides cultured men of the world; and technical critics are especially\nthe laughing-stock of connoisseurs. Their opinion, from exaggeration,\ncrudeness, or carelessness guides them generally quite awry, and they\ncan only devise a _technical_ judgment, and not an _\u00e6sthetical_ one,\nembracing the whole work, in which feeling should decide. If they would\nkindly keep to technicalities they might still be useful, for the poet\nin moments of inspiration and readers under his spell are little\ninclined to consider details. But the spectacle which they afford us is\nonly the more ridiculous inasmuch as we see these crude natures\u2014with\nwhom all labor and trouble only develop at the most a particular\naptitude,\u2014when we see them set up their paltry individualities as the\nrepresentation of universal and complete feeling, and in the sweat of\ntheir brow pronounce judgment on beauty.\n\nWe have just seen that the kind of recreation poetry ought to afford is\ngenerally conceived in too restricted a manner, and only referred to a\nsimple sensuous want. Too much scope, however, is also given to the\nother idea, the moral ennobling the poet should have in view, inasmuch\nas too purely an ideal aim is assigned.\n\nIn fact, according to the pure ideal, the ennobling goes on to infinity,\nbecause reason is not restricted to any sensuous limits, and only finds\nrest in absolute perfection. Nothing can satisfy whilst a superior thing\ncan be conceived; it judges strictly and admits no excuses of infirmity\nand finite nature. It only admits for limits those of thought, which\ntranscends time and space. Hence the poet could no more propose to\nhimself such an ideal of ennobling (traced for him by pure (didactic)\nreason) any more than the coarse ideal of recreation of sensuous nature.\nThe aim is to free human nature from accidental hinderances, without\ndestroying the essential ideal of our humanity, or displacing its\nlimits. All beyond this is exaggeration, and a quicksand in which the\npoet too easily suffers shipwreck if he mistakes the idea of nobleness.\nBut, unfortunately, he cannot rise to the true ideal of ennobled human\nnature without going some steps beyond it. To rise so high he must\nabandon the world of reality, for, like every ideal, it is only to be\ndrawn from its inner moral source. He does not find it in the turmoil of\nworldly life, but only in his heart, and that only in calm meditation.\nBut in this separation from real life he is likely to lose sight of all\nthe limits of human nature, and seeking pure form he may easily lose\nhimself in arbitrary and baseless conceptions. Reason will abstract\nitself too much from experience, and the practical man will not be able\nto carry out, in the crush of real life, what the contemplative mind has\ndiscovered on the peaceful path of thought. Thus, what makes a dreamy\nman is the very thing that alone could have made him a sage; and the\nadvantage for the latter is not that he has never been a dreamer, but\nrather that he has not remained one.\n\nWe must not, then, allow the workers to determine recreation according\nto their wants, nor thinkers that of nobleness according to their\nspeculations, for fear of either a too low physical poetry, or a poetry\ntoo given to hyperphysical exaggeration. And as these two ideas direct\nmost men\u2019s judgments on poetry, we must seek a class of mind at once\nactive, but not slavishly so, and idealizing, but not dreamy; uniting\nthe reality of life within as few limits as possible, obeying the\ncurrent of human affairs, but not enslaved by them. Such a class of men\ncan alone preserve the beautiful unity of human nature, that harmony\nwhich all work for a moment disturbs, and a life of work destroys; such\nalone can, in all that is purely human, give by its feelings universal\nrules of judgment. Whether such a class exists, or whether the class now\nexisting in like conditions answers to this ideal conception, I am not\nconcerned to inquire. If it does not respond to the ideal it has only\nitself to blame. In such a class\u2014here regarded as a mere ideal\u2014the\nsimple and sentimental would keep each other from extremes of\nextravagance and relaxation. For the idea of a beautiful humanity is not\nexhausted by either, but can only be presented in the union of both.\n\n\n                   THE STAGE AS A MORAL INSTITUTION.\n\nSulzer has remarked that the stage has arisen from an irresistible\nlonging for the new and extraordinary. Man, oppressed by divided cares,\nand satiated with sensual, pleasure, felt an emptiness or want. Man,\nneither altogether satisfied with the senses, nor forever capable of\nthought, wanted a middle state, a bridge between the two states,\nbringing them into harmony. Beauty and \u00e6sthetics supplied that for him.\nBut a good lawgiver is not satisfied with discovering the bent of his\npeople\u2014he turns it to account as an instrument for higher use; and hence\nhe chose the stage, as giving nourishment to the soul, without straining\nit, and uniting the noblest education of the head and heart.\n\nThe man who first pronounced religion to be the strongest pillar of the\nstate, unconsciously defended the stage, when he said so, in its noblest\naspect. The uncertain nature of political events, rendering religion a\nnecessity, also demands the stage as a moral force. Laws only prevent\ndisturbances of social life; religion prescribes positive orders\nsustaining social order. Law only governs actions; religion controls the\nheart and follows thought to the source.\n\nLaws are flexible and capricious; religion binds forever. If religion\nhas this great sway over man\u2019s heart, can it also complete his culture?\nSeparating the political from the divine element in it, religion acts\nmostly on the senses; she loses her sway if the senses are gone. By what\nchannel does the stage operate? To most men religion vanishes with the\nloss of her symbols, images, and problems; and yet they are only\npictures of the imagination, and insolvable problems. Both laws and\nreligion are strengthened by a union with the stage, where virtue and\nvice, joy and sorrow, are thoroughly displayed in a truthful and popular\nway; where a variety of providential problems are solved; where all\nsecrets are unmasked, all artifice ends, and truth alone is the judge,\nas incorruptible as Rhadamanthus.\n\nWhere the influence of civil laws ends that of the stage begins. Where\nvenality and corruption blind and bias justice and judgment, and\nintimidation perverts its ends, the stage seizes the sword and scales\nand pronounces a terrible verdict on vice. The fields of fancy and of\nhistory are open to the stage; great criminals of the past live over\nagain in the drama, and thus benefit an indignant posterity. They pass\nbefore us as empty shadows of their age, and we heap curses on their\nmemory while we enjoy on the stage the very horror of their crimes. When\nmorality is no more taught, religion no longer received, or laws exist,\nMedea would still terrify us with her infanticide. The sight of Lady\nMacbeth, while it makes us shudder, will also make us rejoice in a good\nconscience, when we see her, the sleep-walker, washing her hands and\nseeking to destroy the awful smell of murder. Sight is always more\npowerful to man than description; hence the stage acts more powerfully\nthan morality or law.\n\nBut in this the stage only aids justice. A far wider field is really\nopen to it. There are a thousand vices unnoticed by human justice, but\ncondemned by the stage; so, also, a thousand virtues overlooked by man\u2019s\nlaws are honored on the stage. It is thus the handmaid of religion and\nphilosophy. From these pure sources it draws its high principles and the\nexalted teachings, and presents them in a lovely form. The soul swells\nwith noblest emotions when a divine ideal is placed before it. When\nAugustus offers his forgiving hand to Cinna, the conspirator, and says\nto him: \u201cLet us be friends, Cinna!\u201d what man at the moment does not feel\nthat he could do the same. Again, when Francis von Sickingen, proceeding\nto punish a prince and redress a stranger, on turning sees the house,\nwhere his wife and children are, in flames, and yet goes on for the sake\nof his word\u2014how great humanity appears, how small the stern power of\nfate!\n\nVice is portrayed on the stage in an equally telling manner. Thus, when\nold Lear, blind, helpless, childless, is seen knocking in vain at his\ndaughters\u2019 doors, and in tempest and night he recounts by telling his\nwoes to the elements, and ends by saying: \u201cI have given you all,\u201d\u2014how\nstrongly impressed we feel at the value of filial piety, and how hateful\ningratitude seems to us!\n\nThe stage does even more than this. It cultivates the ground where\nreligion and law do not think it dignified to stop. Folly often troubles\nthe world as much as crime; and it has been justly said that the\nheaviest loads often hang suspended by the slightest threads. Tracing\nactions to their sources, the list of criminals diminish, and we laugh\nat the long catalogue of fools. In our sex all forms of evil emanate\nalmost entirely from _one_ source, and all our excesses are only varied\nand higher forms of one quality, and that a quality which in the end we\nsmile at and love; and why should not nature have followed this course\nin the opposite sex too? In man there is only one secret to guard\nagainst depravity; that is, to protect his heart against wickedness.\n\nMuch of all this is shown up on the stage. It is a mirror to reflect\nfools and their thousand forms of folly, which are there turned to\nridicule. It curbs vice by terror, and folly still more effectually by\nsatire and jest. If a comparison be made between tragedy and comedy,\nguided by experience, we should probably give the palm to the latter as\nto effects produced. Hatred does not wound the conscience so much as\nmockery does the pride of man. We are exposed specially to the sting of\nsatire by the very cowardice that shuns terrors. From sins we are\nguarded by law and conscience, but the ludicrous is specially punished\non the stage. Where we allow a friend to correct our morals, we rarely\nforgive a laugh. We may bear heavy judgment on our transgressions, but\nour weaknesses and vulgarities must not be criticised by a witness.\n\nThe stage alone can do this with impunity, chastising us as the\nanonymous fool. We can bear this rebuke without a blush, and even\ngratefully.\n\nBut the stage does even more than this. It is a great school of\npractical wisdom, a guide for civil life, and a key to the mind in all\nits sinuosities. It does not, of course, remove egoism and stubbornness\nin evil ways; for a thousand vices hold up their heads in spite of the\nstage, and a thousand virtues make no impression on cold-hearted\nspectators. Thus, probably, Moli\u00e8re\u2019s Harpagon never altered a usurer\u2019s\nheart, nor did the suicide in Beverley save any one from the\ngaming-table. Nor, again, is it likely that the high roads will be safer\nthrough Karl Moor\u2019s untimely end. But, admitting this, and more than\nthis, still how great is the influence of the stage! It has shown us the\nvices and virtues of men with whom we have to live. We are not surprised\nat their weaknesses, we are prepared for them. The stage points them out\nto us, and their remedy. It drags off the mask from the hypocrite, and\nbetrays the meshes of intrigue. Duplicity and cunning have been forced\nby it to show their hideous features in the light of day. Perhaps the\ndying Sarah may not deter a single debauchee, nor all the pictures of\navenged seduction stop the evil; yet unguarded innocence has been shown\nthe snares of the corrupter, and taught to distrust his oaths.\n\nThe stage also teaches men to bear the strokes of fortune. Chance and\ndesign have equal sway over life. We have to bow to the former, but we\ncontrol the latter. It is a great advantage if inexorable facts do not\nfind us unprepared and unexercised, and if our breast has been steeled\nto bear adversity. Much human woe is placed before us on the stage. It\ngives us momentary pain in the tears we shed for strangers\u2019 troubles,\nbut as a compensation it fills us with a grand new stock of courage and\nendurance. We are led by it, with the abandoned Ariadne, through the\nIsle of Naxos, and we descend the Tower of Starvation in Ugolino; we\nascend the terrible scaffold, and we are present at the awful moment of\nexecution. Things remotely present in thought become palpable realities\nnow. We see the deceived favorite abandoned by the queen. When about to\ndie, the perfidious Moor is abandoned by his own sophistry. Eternity\nreveals the secrets of the unknown through the dead, and the hateful\nwretch loses all screen of guilt when the tomb opens to condemn him.\n\nThen the stage teaches us to be more considerate to the unfortunate, and\nto judge gently. We can only pronounce on a man when we know his whole\nbeing and circumstances. Theft is a base crime, but tears mingle with\nour condemnation, when we read what obliged Edward Ruhberg to do the\nhorrid deed. Suicide is shocking; but the condemnation of an enraged\nfather, her love, and the fear of a convent, lead Marianne to drink the\ncup, and few would dare to condemn the victim of a dreadful tyranny.\nHumanity and tolerance have begun to prevail in our time at courts of\nprinces and in courts of law. A large share of this may be due to the\ninfluence of the stage in showing man and his secret motives.\n\nThe great of the world ought to be especially grateful to the stage, for\nit is here alone that they hear the truth.\n\nNot only man\u2019s mind, but also his intellectual culture, has been\npromoted by the higher drama. The lofty mind and the ardent patriot have\noften used the stage to spread enlightenment.\n\nConsidering nations and ages, the thinker sees the masses enchained by\nopinion and cut off by adversity from happiness; truth only lights up a\nfew minds, who perhaps have to acquire it by the trials of a lifetime.\nHow can the wise ruler put these within the reach of his nation.\n\nThe thoughtful and the worthier section of the people diffuse the light\nof wisdom over the masses through the stage. Purer and better principles\nand motives issue from the stage and circulate through society; the\nnight of barbarism and superstition vanishes. I would mention two\nglorious fruits of the higher class of dramas. Religious toleration has\nlatterly become universal. Before Nathan the Jew and Saladin the Saracen\nput us to shame, and showed that resignation to God\u2019s will did not\ndepend on a fancied belief of His nature\u2014even before Joseph II.\ncontended with the hatred of a narrow piety\u2014the stage had sown seeds of\nhumanity and gentleness: pictures of fanaticism had taught a hatred of\nintolerance, and Christianity, seeing itself in this awful mirror,\nwashed off its stains. It is to be hoped that the stage will equally\ncombat mistaken systems of education. This is a subject of the first\npolitical importance, and yet none is so left to private whims and\ncaprice. The stage might give stirring examples of mistaken education,\nand lead parents to juster, better views of the subject. Many teachers\nare led astray by false views, and methods are often artificial and\nfatal.\n\nOpinions about governments and classes might be reformed by the stage.\nLegislation could thus justify itself by foreign symbols, and silence\ndoubtful aspersions without offence.\n\nNow, if poets would be patriotic they could do much on the stage to\nforward invention and industry. A standing theatre would be a material\nadvantage to a nation. It would have a great influence on the national\ntemper and mind by helping the nation to agree in opinions and\ninclinations. The stage alone can do this, because it commands all human\nknowledge, exhausts all positions, illumines all hearts, unites all\nclasses, and makes its way to the heart and understanding by the most\npopular channels.\n\nIf one feature characterized all dramas; if the poets were allied in\naim\u2014that is, if they selected well and from national topics\u2014there would\nbe a national stage, and we should become a nation. It was this that\nknit the Greeks so strongly together, and this gave to them the\nall-absorbing interest in the republic and the advancement of humanity.\n\nAnother advantage belongs to the stage; one which seems to have become\nacknowledged even by its censurers. Its influence on intellectual and\nmoral culture, which we have till now been advocating, may be doubted;\nbut its very enemies have admitted that it has gained the palm over all\nother means of amusement. It has been of much higher service here than\npeople are often ready to allow.\n\nHuman nature cannot bear to be always on the rack of business, and the\ncharms of sense die out with their gratification. Man, oppressed by\nappetites, weary of long exertion, thirsts for refined pleasure, or\nrushes into dissipations that hasten his fall and ruin, and disturb\nsocial order. Bacchanal joys, gambling, follies of all sorts to disturb\nennui, are unavoidable if the lawgiver produces nothing better. A man of\npublic business, who has made noble sacrifices to the state, is apt to\npay for them with melancholy, the scholar to become a pedant, and the\npeople brutish, without the stage. The stage is an institution combining\namusement with instruction, rest with exertion, where no faculty of the\nmind is overstrained, no pleasure enjoyed at the cost of the whole. When\nmelancholy gnaws the heart, when trouble poisons our solitude, when we\nare disgusted with the world, and a thousand worries oppress us, or when\nour energies are destroyed by over-exercise, the stage revives us, we\ndream of another sphere, we recover ourselves, our torpid nature is\nroused by noble passions, our blood circulates more healthily. The\nunhappy man forgets his tears in weeping for another. The happy man is\ncalmed, the secure made provident. Effeminate natures are steeled,\nsavages made man, and, as the supreme triumph of nature, men of all\nranks, zones, and conditions, emancipated from the chains of\nconventionality and fashion, fraternize here in a universal sympathy,\nforget the world, and come nearer to their heavenly destination. The\nindividual shares in the general ecstacy, and his breast has now only\nspace for an emotion: he is a _man_.\n\n\n                           ON THE TRAGIC ART.\n\nThe state of passion in itself, independently of the good or bad\ninfluence of its object on our morality, has something in it that charms\nus. We aspire to transport ourselves into that state, even if it costs\nus some sacrifices. You will find this instinct at the bottom of all our\nmost habitual pleasures. As to the nature itself of the affection,\nwhether it be one of aversion or desire, agreeable or painful, this is\nwhat we take little into consideration. Experience teaches us that\npainful affections are those which have the most attraction for us, and\nthus that the pleasure we take in an affection is precisely in an\ninverse ratio to its nature. It is a phenomenon common to all men, that\nsad, frightful things, even the horrible, exercise over us an\nirresistible seduction, and that in presence of a scene of desolation\nand of terror we feel at once repelled and attracted by two equal\nforces. Suppose the case be an assassination. Then every one crowds\nround the narrator and shows a marked attention. Any ghost story,\nhowever embellished by romantic circumstances, is greedily devoured by\nus, and the more readily in proportion as the story is calculated to\nmake our hair stand on end.\n\nThis disposition is developed in a more lively manner when the objects\nthemselves are placed before our eyes. A tempest that would swallow up\nan entire fleet would be, seen from shore, a spectacle as attractive to\nour imagination as it would be shocking to our heart. It would be\ndifficult to believe with Lucretius that this natural pleasure results\nfrom a comparison between our own safety and the danger of which we are\nwitnesses. See what a crowd accompanies a criminal to the scene of his\npunishment! This phenomenon cannot be explained either by the pleasure\nof satisfying our love of justice, nor the ignoble joy of vengeance.\nPerhaps the unhappy man may find excuses in the hearts of those present;\nperhaps the sincerest pity takes an interest in his reprieve: this does\nnot prevent a lively curiosity in the spectators to watch his\nexpressions of pain with eye and ear. If an exception seems to exist\nhere in the case of a well-bred man, endowed with a delicate sense, this\ndoes not imply that he is a complete stranger to this instinct; but in\nhis case the painful strength of compassion carries the day over this\ninstinct, or it is kept under by the laws of decency. The man of nature,\nwho is not chained down by any feeling of human delicacy, abandons\nhimself without any sense of shame to this powerful instinct. This\nattraction must, therefore, have its spring of action in an original\ndisposition, and it must be explained by a psychological law common to\nthe whole species.\n\nBut if it seems to us that these brutal instincts of nature are\nincompatible with the dignity of man, and if we hesitate, for this\nreason, to establish on this fact a law common to the whole species, yet\nno experiences are required to prove, with the completest evidence, that\nthe pleasure we take in painful emotions is real, and that it is\ngeneral. The painful struggle of a heart drawn asunder between its\ninclinations or contrary duties, a struggle which is a cause of misery\nto him who experiences it, delights the person who is a mere spectator.\nWe follow with always heightening pleasure the progress of a passion to\nthe abyss into which it hurries its unhappy victim. The same delicate\nfeeling that makes us turn our eyes aside from the sight of physical\nsuffering, or even from the physical expression of a purely moral pain,\nmakes us experience a pleasure heightened in sweetness, in the sympathy\nfor a purely moral pain. The interest with which we stop to look at the\npainting of these kinds of objects is a general phenomenon.\n\nOf course this can only be understood of sympathetic affections, or\nthose felt as a secondary effect after their _first impression_; for\ncommonly _direct_ and _personal_ affections immediately call into life\nin us the instinct of our own happiness, they take up all our thoughts,\nand seize hold of us too powerfully to allow any room for the feeling of\npleasure that accompanies them, when the affection is freed from all\npersonal relation. Thus, in the mind that is really a prey to painful\npassion, the feeling of pain commands all others notwithstanding all the\ncharm that the painting of its moral state may offer to the hearers and\nthe spectators. And yet the painful affection is not deprived of all\npleasure, even for him who experiences it directly; only this pleasure\ndiffers in degree according to the nature of each person\u2019s mind. The\nsports of chance would not have half so much attraction for us were\nthere not a kind of enjoyment in anxiety, in doubt, and in fear; danger\nwould not be encountered from mere foolhardiness; and the very sympathy\nwhich interests us in the trouble of another would not be to us that\npleasure which is never more lively than at the very moment when the\nillusion is strongest, and when we substitute ourselves most entirely in\nthe place of the person who suffers. But this does not imply that\ndisagreeable affections cause pleasure of themselves, nor do I think any\none will uphold this view; it suffices that these states of the mind are\nthe conditions that alone make possible for us certain kinds of\npleasure. Thus the hearts particularly sensitive to this kind of\npleasure, and most greedy of them, will be more easily led to share\nthese disagreeable affections, which are the condition of the former;\nand even in the most violent storms of passion they will always preserve\nsome remains of their freedom.\n\nThe displeasure we feel in disagreeable affections comes from the\nrelation of our sensuous faculty or of our moral faculty with their\nobject. In like manner, the pleasure we experience in agreeable\naffections proceeds from the very same source. The degree of liberty\nthat may prevail in the affections depends on the proportion between the\nmoral nature and the sensuous nature of a man. Now it is well known that\nin the moral order there is nothing arbitrary for us, that, on the\ncontrary, the sensuous instinct is subject to the laws of reason and\nconsequently depends more or less on our will. Hence it is evident that\nwe can keep our liberty full and entire in all those affections that are\nconcerned with the instinct of self-love, and that we are the masters to\ndetermine the degree which they ought to attain. This degree will be\nless in proportion as the moral sense in a man will prevail over the\ninstinct of happiness, and as by obeying the universal laws of reason he\nwill have freed himself from the selfish requirements of his\nindividuality, his Ego. A man of this kind must therefore, in a state of\npassion, feel much less vividly the relation of an object with his own\ninstinct of happiness, and consequently he will be much less sensible of\nthe displeasure that arises from this relation. On the other hand, he\nwill be perpetually more attentive to the relation of this same object\nwith his moral nature, and for this very reason he will be more sensible\nto the pleasure which the relation of the object with morality often\nmingles with the most painful affections. A mind thus constituted is\nbetter fitted than all others to enjoy the pleasure attaching to\ncompassion, and even to regard a personal affection as an object of\nsimple compassion. Hence the inestimable value of a moral philosophy,\nwhich, by raising our eyes constantly towards general laws, weakens in\nus the feeling of our individuality, teaches us to plunge our paltry\npersonality in something great, and enables us thus to act to ourselves\nas to strangers. This sublime state of the mind is the lot of strong\nphilosophic minds, which by working assiduously on themselves have\nlearned to bridle the egotistical instinct. Even the most cruel loss\ndoes not drive them beyond a certain degree of sadness, with which an\nappreciable sum of pleasure can always be reconciled. These souls, which\nare alone capable of separating themselves from themselves, alone enjoy\nthe privilege of sympathizing with themselves and of receiving of their\nown sufferings only a reflex, softened by sympathy.\n\nThe indications contained in what precedes will suffice to direct our\nattention to the sources of the pleasure that the affection in itself\ncauses, more particularly the sad affection. We have seen that this\npleasure is more energetic in moral souls, and it acts with greater\nfreedom in proportion as the soul is more independent of the egotistical\ninstinct. This pleasure is, moreover, more vivid and stronger in sad\naffections, when self-love is painfully disquieted, than in gay\naffections, which imply a satisfaction of self-love. Accordingly this\npleasure increases when the egotistical instinct is wounded, and\ndiminishes when that instinct is flattered. Now we only know of two\nsources of pleasure\u2014the satisfaction of the instinct of happiness, and\nthe accomplishment of the moral laws. Therefore, when it is shown that a\nparticular pleasure does not emanate from the former source, it must of\nnecessity issue from the second. It is therefore from our moral nature\nthat issues the charm of the painful affections shared by sympathy, and\nthe pleasure that we sometimes feel even where the painful affection\ndirectly affects ourselves.\n\nMany attempts have been made to account for the pleasure of pity, but\nmost of these solutions had little chance of meeting the problem,\nbecause the principle of this phenomenon was sought for rather in the\naccompanying circumstances than in the nature of the affection itself.\nTo many persons the pleasure of pity is simply the pleasure taken by the\nmind in exercising its own sensibility. To others it is the pleasure of\noccupying their forces energetically, of exercising the social faculty\nvividly\u2014in short, of satisfying the instinct of restlessness. Others\nagain make it derived from the discovery of morally fine features of\ncharacter, placed in a clear light by the struggle against adversity or\nagainst the passions. But there is still the difficulty to explain why\nit should be exactly the very feeling of pain,\u2014_suffering_ properly so\ncalled,\u2014that in objects of pity attracts us with the greatest force,\nwhile, according to those elucidations, a less degree of suffering ought\nevidently to be more favorable to those causes to which the source of\nthe emotion is traced. Various matters may, no doubt, increase the\npleasure of the emotion without occasioning it. Of this nature are: the\nvividness and force of the ideas awakened in our imagination, the moral\nexcellence of the suffering persons, the reference to himself of the\nperson feeling pity. I admit that the suffering of a weak soul, and the\npain of a wicked character, do not procure us this enjoyment. But this\nis because they do not excite our pity to the same degree as the hero\nwho suffers, or the virtuous man who struggles. Thus we are constantly\nbrought back to the first question: why is it precisely the degree of\nsuffering that determines the degree of sympathetic pleasure which we\ntake in an emotion? and one answer only is possible; it is because the\nattack made on our sensibility is precisely the condition necessary to\nset in motion that quality of mind of which the activity produces the\npleasure we feel in sympathetic affections.\n\nNow this faculty is no other than the reason; and because the free\nexercise of reason, as an absolutely independent activity, deserves _par\nexcellence_ the name of activity; as, moreover, the heart of man only\nfeels itself perfectly free and independent in its moral acts, it\nfollows that the charm of tragic emotions is really dependent on the\nfact that this instinct of activity finds its gratification in them.\nBut, even admitting this, it is neither the great number nor the\nvivacity of the ideas that are awakened then in our imagination, nor in\ngeneral the exercise of the social faculty, but a certain kind of ideas\nand a certain activity of the social faculty brought into play by\nreason, which is the foundation of this pleasure.\n\nThus the sympathetic affections in general are for us a source of\npleasure because they give satisfaction to our instinct of activity, and\nthe sad affections produce this effect with more vividness because they\ngive more satisfaction to this instinct. The mind only reveals all its\nactivity when it is in full possession of its liberty, when it has a\nperfect consciousness of its rational nature, because it is only then\nthat it displays a force superior to all resistance.\n\nHence the state of mind which allows most effectually the manifestation\nof this force, and awakens most successfully its activity, is that state\nwhich is most suitable to a rational being, and which best satisfies our\ninstincts of activity: whence it follows that a greater amount of\npleasure must be attached necessarily to this state. Now it is the\ntragic states that place our soul in this state, and the pleasure found\nin them is necessarily higher than the charm produced by gay affections,\nin the same degree that moral power in us is superior to the power of\nthe senses.\n\nPoints that are only subordinate and partial in a system of final causes\nmay be considered by art independently of that relation with the rest,\nand may be converted into principal objects. It is right that in the\ndesigns of nature pleasure should only be a mediate end, or a means; but\nfor art it is the highest end. It is therefore essentially important for\nart not to neglect this high enjoyment attaching to the tragic emotion.\nNow, _tragic_ art, taking this term in its widest acceptation, is that\namong the fine arts which proposes as its principal object the pleasure\nof pity.\n\nArt attains its end by the _imitation of nature_, by satisfying the\nconditions which make pleasure possible in reality, and by combining,\naccording to a plan traced by the intelligence, the scattered elements\nfurnished by nature, so as to attain as a principal end to that which,\nfor nature, was only an accessory end. Thus tragic art ought to imitate\nnature in those kinds of actions that are specially adapted to awaken\npity.\n\nIt follows that, in order to determine generally the system to be\nfollowed by tragic art, it is necessary before all things to know on\nwhat conditions in real life the pleasure of the emotion is commonly\nproduced in the surest and the strongest manner; but it is necessary at\nthe same time to pay attention to the circumstances that restrict or\nabsolutely extinguish this pleasure.\n\nAfter what we have established in our essay \u201cOn the Cause of the\nPleasure we derive from Tragic Objects,\u201d it is known that in every\ntragic emotion there is an idea of incongruity, which, though the\nemotion may be attended with charm, must always lead on to the\nconception of a higher consistency. Now it is the relation that these\ntwo opposite conceptions mutually bear which determines in an emotion if\nthe prevailing impression shall be pleasurable or the reverse. If the\nconception of incongruity be more vivid than that of the contrary, or if\nthe end sacrificed is more important than the end gained, the prevailing\nimpression will always be displeasure, whether this be understood\n_objectively_ of the human race in general, or only _subjectively_ of\ncertain individuals.\n\nIf the cause that has produced a misfortune gives us too much\ndispleasure, our compassion for the victim is diminished thereby. The\nheart cannot feel simultaneously, in a high degree, two absolutely\ncontrary affections. Indignation against the person who is the primary\ncause of the suffering becomes the prevailing affection, and all other\nfeeling has to yield to it. Thus our interest is always enfeebled when\nthe unhappy man whom it would be desirable to pity had cast himself into\nruin by a personal and an inexcusable fault; or if, being able to save\nhimself, he did not do so, either through feebleness of mind or\npusillanimity. The interest we take in unhappy King Lear, ill-treated by\ntwo ungrateful daughters, is sensibly lessened by the circumstance that\nthis aged man, in his second childhood, so weakly gave up his crown, and\ndivided his love among his daughters with so little discernment. In the\ntragedy of Kronegk, \u201cOlinda and Sophronia,\u201d the most terrible suffering\nto which we see these martyrs to their faith exposed only excites our\npity feebly, and all their heroism only stirs our admiration moderately,\nbecause madness alone can suggest the act by which Olinda has placed\nhimself and all his people on the brink of the precipice.\n\nOur pity is equally lessened when the primary cause of a misfortune,\nwhose innocent victim ought to inspire us with compassion, fills our\nmind with horror. When the tragic poet cannot clear himself of his plot\nwithout introducing a wretch, and when he is reduced to derive the\ngreatness of suffering from the greatness of wickedness, the supreme\nbeauty of his work must always be seriously injured. Iago and Lady\nMacbeth in Shakspeare, Cleopatra in the tragedy of \u201cRodogune,\u201d or Franz\nMoor in \u201cThe Robbers,\u201d are so many proofs in support of this assertion.\nA poet who understands his real interest will not bring about the\ncatastrophe through a malicious will which proposes misfortune as its\nend; nor, and still less, by want of understanding: but rather through\nthe imperious force of circumstances. If this catastrophe does not come\nfrom moral sources, but from outward things, which have no volition and\nare not subject to any will, the pity we experience is more pure, or at\nall events it is not weakened by any idea of moral incongruity. But then\nthe spectator cannot be spared the disagreeable feeling of an\nincongruity in the order of nature, which can alone save in such a case\nmoral propriety. Pity is far more excited when it has for its object\nboth him who suffers and him who is the primary cause of the suffering.\nThis can only happen when the latter has neither elicited our contempt\nnor our hatred, but when he has been brought against his inclination to\nbecome the cause of this misfortune. It is a singular beauty of the\nGerman play of \u201cIphigenia\u201d that the King of Tauris, the only obstacle\nwho thwarts the wishes of Orestes and of his sister, never loses our\nesteem, and that we love him to the end.\n\nThere is something superior even to this kind of emotion; this is the\ncase when the cause of the misfortune not only is in no way repugnant to\nmorality, but only becomes possible through morality, and when the\nreciprocal suffering comes simply from the idea that a fellow-creature\nhas been made to suffer. This is the situation of Chimene and Rodrigue\nin \u201cThe Cid\u201d of Pierre Corneille, which is undeniably in point of\nintrigue the masterpiece of the tragic stage. Honor and filial love arm\nthe hand of Rodrigue against the father of her whom he loves, and his\nvalor gives him the victory. Honor and filial love rouse up against him,\nin the person of Chimene, the daughter of his victim, an accuser and a\nformidable persecutor. Both act in opposition to their inclination, and\nthey tremble with anguish at the thought of the misfortune of the object\nagainst which they arm themselves, in proportion as zeal inspires them\nfor their duty to inflict this misfortune. Accordingly both conciliate\nour esteem in the highest sense, as they accomplish a moral duty at the\ncost of inclination; both inflame our pity in the highest degree,\nbecause they suffer spontaneously for a motive that renders them in the\nhighest degree to be respected. It results from this that our pity is in\nthis case so little modified by any opposite feeling that it burns\nrather with a double flame; only the impossibility of reconciling the\nidea of misfortune with the idea of a morality so deserving of happiness\nmight still disturb our sympathetic pleasure, and spread a shade of\nsadness over it. It is besides a great point, no doubt, that the\ndiscontent given us by this contradiction does not bear upon our moral\nbeing, but is turned _aside_ to a harmless place, to necessity only; but\nthis blind subjection to destiny is always afflicting and humiliating\nfor free beings, who determine themselves. This is the cause that always\nleaves something to be wished for even in the best Greek pieces. In all\nthese pieces, at the bottom of the plot it is always fatality that is\nappealed to, and in this there is a knot that cannot be unravelled by\nour reason, which wishes to solve everything.\n\nBut even this knot is untied, and with it vanishes every shade of\ndispleasure, at the highest and last step to which man perfected by\nmorality rises, and at the highest point, which is attained by the art\nwhich moves the feelings. This happens when the very discontent with\ndestiny becomes effaced, and is resolved in a presentiment or rather a\nclear consciousness of a teleological concatenation of things, of a\nsublime order, of a beneficent will. Then, to the pleasure occasioned in\nus by moral consistency is joined the invigorating idea of the most\nperfect suitability in the great whole of nature. In this case the thing\nthat seemed to militate against this order, and that caused us pain, in\na particular case, is only a spur that stimulates our reason to seek in\ngeneral laws for the justification of this particular case, and to solve\nthe problem of this separate discord in the centre of the general\nharmony. Greek art never rose to this supreme serenity of tragic\nemotion, because neither the national religion, nor even the philosophy\nof the Greeks, lighted their step on this advanced road. It was reserved\nfor modern art, which enjoys the privilege of finding a purer matter in\na purer philosophy, to satisfy also this exalted want, and thus to\ndisplay all the moral dignity of art.\n\nIf we moderns must resign ourselves never to reproduce Greek art because\nthe philosophic genius of our age, and modern civilization in general\nare not favorable to poetry, these influences are at all events less\nhurtful to tragic art, which is based rather on the moral element.\nPerhaps it is in the case of this art only that our civilization repairs\nthe injury that it has caused to art in general.\n\nIn the same manner as the tragic emotion is weakened by the admixture of\nconflicting ideas and feelings, and the charm attaching to it is thus\ndiminished, so this emotion can also, on the contrary, by approaching\nthe excess of direct and personal affection, become exaggerated to the\npoint where pain carries the day over pleasure. It has been remarked\nthat displeasure, in the affections, comes from the relation of their\nobject with our senses, in the same way as the pleasure felt in them\ncomes from the relation of the affection itself to our moral faculty.\nThis implies, then, between our senses and our moral faculty a\ndetermined relation, which decides as regards the relation between\npleasure and displeasure in tragic emotions. Nor could this relation be\nmodified or overthrown without overthrowing at the same time the\nfeelings of pleasure and displeasure which we find in the emotions, or\neven without changing them into their opposites. In the same ratio that\nthe senses are vividly roused in us, the influence of morality will be\nproportionately diminished; and reciprocally, as the sensuous loses,\nmorality gains ground. Therefore that which in our hearts gives a\npreponderance to the sensuous faculty, must of necessity, by placing\nrestrictions on the moral faculty, diminish the pleasure that we take in\ntragic emotions, a pleasure which emanates exclusively from this moral\nfaculty. In like manner, all that in our heart impresses an impetus on\nthis latter faculty, must blunt the stimulus of pain even in direct and\npersonal affections. Now our sensuous nature actually acquires this\npreponderance, when the ideas of suffering rise to a degree of vividness\nthat no longer allows us to distinguish a sympathetic affection from a\npersonal affection, or our own proper Ego from the subject that\nsuffers,\u2014reality, in short, from poetry. The sensuous also gains the\nupper hand when it finds an aliment in the great number of its objects,\nand in that dazzling light which an over-excited imagination diffuses\nover it. On the contrary, nothing is more fit to reduce the sensuous to\nits proper bounds than to place alongside it super-sensuous ideas, moral\nideas, to which reason, oppressed just before, clings as to a kind of\nspiritual props, to right and raise itself above the fogs of the\nsensuous to a serener atmosphere. Hence the great charm which general\ntruths or moral sentences, scattered opportunely over dramatic dialogue,\nhave for all cultivated nations, and the almost excessive use that the\nGreeks made of them. Nothing is more agreeable to a moral soul than to\nhave the power, after a purely passive state that has lasted too long,\nof escaping from the subjection of the senses, and of being recalled to\nits spontaneous activity, and restored to the possession of its liberty.\n\nThese are the remarks I had to make respecting the causes that restrict\nour pity and place an obstacle to our pleasure in tragic emotions. I\nhave next to show on what conditions pity is solicited and the pleasure\nof the emotion excited in the most infallible and energetic manner.\n\nEvery feeling of pity implies the idea of suffering, and the degree of\npity is regulated according to the degree more or less of vividness, of\ntruth, of intensity, and of duration of this idea.\n\n1st. The moral faculty is provoked to reaction in proportion to the\nvividness of ideas in the soul, which incites it to activity and\nsolicits its sensuous faculty. Now the ideas of suffering are conceived\nin two different manners, which are not equally favorable to the\nvividness of the impression. The sufferings that we witness affect us\nincomparably more than those that we have through a description or a\nnarrative. The former suspend in us the free play of the fancy, and\nstriking our senses immediately penetrate by the shortest road to our\nheart. In the narrative, on the contrary, the particular is first raised\nto the general, and it is from this that the knowledge of the special\ncase is afterwards derived; accordingly, merely by this necessary\noperation of the understanding, the impression already loses greatly in\nstrength. Now a weak impression cannot take complete possession of our\nmind, and it will allow other ideas to disturb its action and to\ndissipate the attention. Very frequently, moreover, the narrative\naccount transports us from the moral disposition, in which the acting\nperson is placed, to the state of mind of the narrator himself, which\nbreaks up the illusion so necessary for pity. In every case, when the\nnarrator in person puts himself forward, a certain stoppage takes place\nin the action, and, as an unavoidable result, in our sympathetic\naffection. This is what happens even when the dramatic poet forgets\nhimself in the dialogue, and puts in the mouth of his dramatic persons\nreflections that could only enter the mind of a disinterested spectator.\nIt would be difficult to mention a single one of our modern tragedies\nquite free from this defect; but the French alone have made a rule of\nit. Let us infer, then, that the immediate vivid and sensuous presence\nof the object is necessary to give to the ideas impressed on us by\nsuffering that strength without which the emotion could not rise to a\nhigh degree.\n\n2d. But we can receive the most vivid impressions of the idea of\nsuffering without, however, being led to a remarkable degree of pity, if\nthese impressions lack _truth_. It is necessary that we should form of\nsuffering an _idea_ of such a nature that we are obliged to share and\ntake part in it. To this end there must be a certain agreement between\nthis suffering and something that w?e have already in us. In other\nwords, pity is only possible inasmuch as we can prove or suppose a\nresemblance between ourselves and the subject that suffers. Everywhere\nwhere this resemblance makes itself known, pity is necessary; where this\nresemblance is lacking, pity is impossible. The more visible and the\ngreater is the resemblance, the more vivid is our pity; and they\nmutually slacken in dependence on each other. In order that we may feel\nthe affections of another after him, all the _internal_ conditions\ndemanded by this affection must be found beforehand in us, in order that\nthe _external_ cause which, by meeting with the internal conditions, has\ngiven birth to the affection, may also produce on us a like effect. It\nis necessary that, without doing violence to ourselves, we should be\nable to exchange persons with another, and transport our Ego by an\ninstantaneous substitution in the state of the subject. Now, how is it\npossible to feel in us the state of another, if we have not beforehand\nrecognized ourselves in this other.\n\nThis resemblance bears on the totality of the constitution of the mind,\nin as far as that is necessary and universal. Now, this character of\nnecessity and of universality belongs especially to our moral nature.\nThe faculty of feeling can be determined differently by accidental\ncauses: our cognitive faculties themselves depend on variable\nconditions: the moral faculty only has its principle in itself, and by\nthat very fact it can best give us a general measure and a certain\ncriterion of this resemblance. Thus an idea which we find in accord with\nour mode of thinking and of feeling, which offers at once a certain\nrelationship with the train of our own ideas, which is easily grasped by\nour heart and our mind, we call a true idea. If this relationship bears\non what is peculiar to our heart, on the _private_ determinations that\nmodify in us the common fundamentals of humanity, and which may be\nwithdrawn without altering this general character, this idea is then\nsimply true _for us_. If it bears on the general and necessary form that\nwe suppose in the whole species, the truth of this idea ought to be held\nto be equal to objective truth. For the Roman, the sentence of the first\nBrutus and the suicide of Cato are of subjective truth. The ideas and\nthe feelings that have inspired the actions of these two men are not an\nimmediate consequence of human nature in general, but the mediate\nconsequence of a human nature determined by particular modifications. To\nshare with them these feelings we must have a Roman soul, or at least be\ncapable of assuming for a moment a Roman soul. It suffices, on the other\nhand, to be a _man in general_, to be vividly touched by the heroic\nsacrifice of Leonidas, by the quiet resignation of Aristides, by the\nvoluntary death of Socrates, and to be moved to tears by the terrible\nchanges in the fortunes of Darius. We attribute to these kinds of ideas,\nin opposition to the preceding ones, an objective truth because they\nagree with the _nature_ of all human subjects, which gives them a\ncharacter of universality and of necessity as strict as if they were\nindependent of every subjective condition.\n\nMoreover, although the subjectively true description is based on\naccidental determinations, this is no reason for confounding it with an\narbitrary description. After all, the subjectively true emanates also\nfrom the general constitution of the human soul, modified only in\nparticular directions by special circumstances; and the two kinds of\ntruth are equally necessary conditions of the human mind. If the\nresolution of Cato were in contradiction with the general laws of human\nnature, it could not be true, even subjectively. The only difference is\nthat the ideas of the second kind are enclosed in a narrower sphere of\naction; because they imply, besides the general modes of the human mind,\nother special determinations. Tragedy can make use of it with a very\nintense effect, if it will renounce the extensive effect; still the\nunconditionally true, what is purely _human_ in human relations, will be\nalways the richest matter for the tragic poet, because this ground is\nthe only one on which tragedy, without ceasing to aspire to strength of\nexpression can be certain of the _generality_ of this impression.\n\n3d. Besides the vividness and the truth of tragic pictures, there must\nalso be _completeness_. None of the external data that are necessary to\ngive to the soul the desired movement ought to be omitted in the\nrepresentation. In order that the spectator, however Roman his\nsentiments may be, may understand the moral state of Cato\u2014that he may\nmake his own the high resolution of the republican, this resolution must\nhave its principle, not only in the mind of the Roman, but also in the\ncircumstances of the action. His external situation as well as his\ninternal situation must be before our eyes in all their consequences and\nextent: and we must, lastly, have unrolled before us, without omitting a\nsingle link, the whole chain of determinations to which are attached the\nhigh resolution of the Roman as a necessary consequence. It may be said\nin general that without this third condition, even the truth of a\npainting cannot be recognized; for the similarity of _circumstances_,\nwhich ought to be fully evident, can alone justify our judgment on the\nsimilarity of the _feelings_, since it is only from the competition of\nexternal conditions and of internal conditions that the affective\nphenomenon results. To decide if we should have acted like Cato, we must\nbefore all things transport ourselves in thought to the external\nsituation in which Cato was placed, and then only we are entitled to\nplace our feelings alongside his, to pronounce if there is or is not\nlikeness, and to give a verdict on the truth of these feelings.\n\nA complete picture, as I understand it, is only possible by the\nconcatenation of several separate ideas, and of several separate\nfeelings, which are connected together as cause and effect, and which,\nin their sum total, form one single whole for our cognitive faculty. All\nthese ideas, in order to affect us closely, must make an immediate\nimpression on our senses; and, as the narrative form always weakens this\nimpression, they must be produced by a present action. Thus, in order\nthat a tragic picture may be complete, a whole series is required of\nparticular actions, rendered sensuous and connected with the tragic\naction as to one whole.\n\n4th. It is necessary, lastly, that the ideas we receive of suffering\nshould act on us in a durable manner, to excite in us a high degree of\nemotion. The affection created in us by the suffering of another is to\nus a constrained state, from which we hasten to get free; and the\nillusion so necessary for pity easily disappears in this case. It is,\ntherefore, a necessity to fasten the mind closely to these ideas, and\nnot to leave it the freedom to get rid too soon of the illusion. The\nvividness of sudden ideas and the energy of sudden impressions, which in\nrapid succession affect our senses, would not suffice for this end. For\nthe power of reaction in the mind is manifested in direct proportion to\nthe force with which the receptive faculty is solicited, and it is\nmanifested to triumph over this impression. Now, the poet who wishes to\nmove us ought not to weaken this independent power in us, for it is\nexactly in the struggle between it and the suffering of our sensuous\nnature that the higher charm of tragic emotions lies. In order that the\nheart, in spite of that spontaneous force which reacts against sensuous\naffections, may remain attached to the impressions of sufferings, it is,\ntherefore, necessary that these impressions should be cleverly suspended\nat intervals, or even interrupted and intercepted by contrary\nimpressions, to return again with twofold energy and renew more\nfrequently the vividness of the first impression. Against the exhaustion\nand languor that result from habit, the most effectual remedy is to\npropose new objects to the senses; this variety retempers them, and the\ngradation of impressions calls forth the innate faculty, and makes it\nemploy a proportionately stronger resistance. This faculty ought to be\nincessantly occupied in maintaining its independence against the attacks\nof the senses, but it must not triumph before the end, still less must\nit succumb in the struggle. Otherwise, in the former case, suffering,\nand, in the latter, moral activity is set aside; while it is the union\nof these two that can alone elicit emotion. The great secret of the\ntragic art consists precisely in managing this struggle well; it is in\nthis that it shows itself in the most brilliant light.\n\nFor this, a succession of alternate ideas is required; therefore a\nsuitable combination is wanted of several particular actions\ncorresponding with these different ideas; actions round which the\nprincipal action and the tragic impression which it is wished to produce\nthrough it unroll themselves like the yarn from the distaff, and end by\nenlacing our souls in nets, through which they cannot break. Let me be\npermitted to make use of a simile, by saying that the artist ought to\nbegin by gathering up with parsimonious care all the separate rays that\nissue from the object by aid of which he seeks to produce the tragic\neffect that he has in view, and these rays, in his hands, become a\nlightning flash, setting the hearts of all on fire. The tyro casts\nsuddenly and vainly all the thunderbolts of horror and fear into the\nsoul; the artist, on the contrary, advances step by step to his end; he\nonly strikes with measured strokes, but he penetrates to the depth of\nour soul, precisely because he has only stirred it by degrees.\n\nIf we now form the proper deductions from the previous investigation,\nthe following will be the conditions that form bases of the tragic art.\nIt is necessary, in the first place, that the object of our pity should\nbelong to our own species\u2014I mean belong in the full sense of the\nterm\u2014and that the action in which it is sought to interest us be a moral\naction; that is, an action comprehended in the field of free will. It is\nnecessary, in the second place, that suffering, its sources, its\ndegrees, should be completely communicated by a series of events chained\ntogether. It is necessary, in the third place, that the object of the\npassion be rendered present to our senses, not in a mediate way and by\ndescription, but immediately and in action. In tragedy art unites all\nthese conditions and satisfies them.\n\nAccording to these principles tragedy might be defined as the poetic\nimitation of a coherent series of particular events (forming a complete\naction): an imitation which shows us man in a state of suffering, and\nwhich has for its end to excite our pity.\n\nI say first that it is the _imitation_ of an action; and this idea of\nimitation already distinguishes tragedy from the other kinds of poetry,\nwhich only narrate or describe. In tragedy particular events are\npresented to our imagination or to our senses at the very time of their\naccomplishment; they are present, we see them immediately, without the\nintervention of a third person. The epos, the romance, simple narrative,\neven in their form, withdraw action to a distance, causing the narrator\nto come between the acting person and the reader. Now what is distant\nand past always weakens, as we know, the impressions and the sympathetic\naffection; what is present makes them stronger. All narrative forms make\nof the present something past; all dramatic form makes of the past a\npresent.\n\nSecondly, I say that tragedy is the imitation of a succession of\n_events_, of an action. Tragedy has not only to represent by imitation\nthe feelings and the affections of tragic persons, but also the events\nthat have produced these feelings, and the occasion on which these\naffections are manifested. This distinguishes it from lyric poetry, and\nfrom its different forms, which no doubt offer, like tragedy, the poetic\nimitation of certain states of the mind, but not the poetic imitation of\ncertain actions. An elegy, a song, an ode, can place before our eyes, by\nimitation, the moral state in which the poet actually is\u2014whether he\nspeaks in his own name, or in that of an ideal person\u2014a state determined\nby particular circumstances; and up to this point these lyric forms seem\ncertainly to be incorporated in the idea of tragedy; but they do not\ncomplete that idea, because they are confined to representing our\nfeelings. There are still more essential differences, if the end of\nthese lyrical forms and that of tragedy are kept in view.\n\nI say, in the third place, that tragedy is the imitation of a complete\naction. A separate event, though it be ever so tragic, does not in\nitself constitute a tragedy. To do this, several events are required,\nbased one on the other, like cause and effect, and suitably connected so\nas to form a whole; without which the truth of the feeling represented,\nof the character, etc.\u2014that is, their conformity with the nature of our\nmind, a conformity which alone determines our sympathy\u2014will not be\nrecognized. If we do not feel that we ourselves in similar circumstances\nshould have experienced the same feelings and acted in the same way, our\npity would not be awakened. It is, therefore, important that we should\nbe able to follow in all its concatenation the action that is\nrepresented to us, that we should see it issue from the mind of the\nagent by a natural gradation, under the influence and with the\nconcurrence of external circumstances. It is thus that we see spring up,\ngrow, and come to maturity under our eyes, the curiosity of \u0152dipus and\nthe jealousy of Iago. It is also the only way to fill up the great gap\nthat exists between the joy of an innocent soul and the torments of a\nguilty conscience, between the proud serenity of the happy man and his\nterrible catastrophe; in short, between the state of calm, in which the\nreader is at the beginning, and the violent agitation he ought to\nexperience at the end.\n\nA series of several connected incidents is required to produce in our\nsouls a succession of different movements which arrest the attention,\nwhich, appealing to all the faculties of our minds, enliven our instinct\nof activity when it is exhausted, and which, by delaying the\nsatisfaction of this instinct, do not kindle it the less. Against the\nsuffering of sensuous nature the human heart has only recourse to its\nmoral nature as counterpoise. It is, therefore, necessary, in order to\nstimulate this in a more pressing manner, for the tragic poet to prolong\nthe torments of sense, but he must also give a glimpse to the latter of\nthe satisfaction of its wants, so as to render the victory of the moral\nsense so much the more difficult and glorious. This twofold end can only\nbe attained by a succession of actions judiciously chosen and combined\nto this end.\n\nIn the fourth place, I say that tragedy is the poetic _imitation_ of an\naction deserving of pity, and, therefore, tragic imitation is opposed to\n_historic_ imitation. It would only be a historic imitation if it\nproposed a historic end, if its principal object were to _teach_ us that\na thing has taken place, and how it took place. On this hypothesis it\nought to keep rigorously to historic accuracy, for it would only attain\nits end by representing faithfully that which really took place. But\ntragedy has a _poetic_ end, that is to say, it represents an action to\n_move_ us, and to _charm_ our souls by the medium of this emotion. If,\ntherefore, a matter being given, tragedy treats it conformably with this\npoetic end, which is proper to it, it becomes, by that very thing, free\nin its imitation. It is a right\u2014nay, more, it is an obligation\u2014for\ntragedy to subject historic truth to the laws of poetry; and to treat\nits matter in conformity with requirements of this art. But as it cannot\nattain its end, which is emotion, except on the condition of a perfect\nconformity with the laws of nature, tragedy is, notwithstanding its\nfreedom in regard to history, strictly subject to the laws of natural\ntruth, which, in opposition to the truth of history, takes the name of\npoetic truth. It may thus be understood how much poetic truth may lose,\nin many cases by a strict observance of historic truth, and,\nreciprocally, how much it may gain by even a very serious alteration of\ntruth according to history. As the tragic poet, like poets in general,\nis only subject to the laws of poetic truth, the most conscientious\nobservance of historic truth could never dispense him from his duties as\npoet, and could never excuse in him any infraction of poetic truth or\nlack of interest. It is, therefore, betraying very narrow ideas on\ntragic art, or rather on poetry in general, to drag the tragic poet\nbefore the tribunal of history, and to require _instruction_ of the man\nwho by his very title is only bound to move and charm you. Even\nsupposing the poet, by a scrupulous submission to historic truth, had\nstripped himself of his privilege of artist, and that he had tacitly\nacknowledged in history a jurisdiction over his work, art retains all\nher rights to summon him before its bar; and pieces such as \u201cThe Death\nof Hermann,\u201d \u201cMinona,\u201d \u201cFust of Stromberg,\u201d if they could not stand the\ntest on this side, would only be tragedies of mediocre value,\nnotwithstanding all the minuteness of costume\u2014of national costume\u2014and of\nthe manners of the time.\n\nFifthly, tragedy is the imitation of an action that lets us see _man\nsuffering_. The word _man_ is essential to mark the limits of tragedy.\nOnly the suffering of a being like ourselves can move our pity. Thus,\nevil genii, demons\u2014or even men like them, without morals\u2014and again pure\nspirits, without our weaknesses, are unfit for tragedy. The very idea of\nsuffering implies a man in the full sense of the term. A pure spirit\ncannot suffer, and a man approaching one will never awaken a high degree\nof sympathy. A purely sensuous being can indeed have terrible suffering;\nbut without moral sense it is a prey to it, and a suffering with reason\ninactive is a disgusting spectacle. The tragedian is right to prefer\nmixed characters, and to place the ideal of his hero half way between\nutter perversity and entire perfection.\n\nLastly, tragedy unites all these requisites to excite pity. Many means\nthe tragic poet takes might serve another object; but he frees himself\nfrom all requirements not relating to this end, and is thereby obliged\nto direct himself with a view to this supreme object.\n\nThe final aim to which all the laws tend is called the _end_ of any\nstyle of poetry. The means by which it attains this are its _form_. The\nend and form are, therefore, closely related. The form is determined by\nthe end, and when the form is well observed the end is generally\nattained. Each kind of poetry having a special end must have a\ndistinguishing form. What it exclusively produces it does in virtue of\nthis special nature it possesses. The end of tragedy is _emotion_; its\nform is the imitation of an action that leads to suffering. Many kinds\nmay have the same object as tragedy, of emotion, though it be not their\nprincipal end. Therefore, what distinguishes tragedy is the relation of\nits form to its end, the way in which it attains its end by means of its\nsubject.\n\nIf the end of tragedy is to awaken sympathy, and its form is the means\nof attaining it, the imitation of an action fit to move must have all\nthat favors sympathy. Such is the form of tragedy.\n\nThe production of a kind of poetry is perfect when the form peculiar to\nits kind has been used in the best way. Thus, a perfect tragedy is that\nwhere the form is best used to awaken sympathy. Thus, the best tragedy\nis that where the pity excited results more from the treatment of the\npoet than the theme. Such is the ideal of a tragedy.\n\nA good number of tragedies, though fine as poems, are bad as dramas,\nbecause they do not seek their end by the best use of tragic form.\nOthers, because they use the form to attain an end different from\ntragedy. Some very popular ones only touch us on account of the subject,\nand we are blind enough to make this a merit in the poet. There are\nothers in which we seem to have quite forgotten the object of the poet,\nand, contented with pretty plays of fancy and wit, we issue with our\nhearts cold from the theatre. Must art, so holy and venerable, defend\nits cause by such champions before such judges? The indulgence of the\npublic only emboldens mediocrity: it causes genius to blush, and\ndiscourages it.\n\n\n      OF THE CAUSE OF THE PLEASURE WE DERIVE FROM TRAGIC OBJECTS.\n\nWhatever pains some modern \u00e6sthetics give themselves to establish,\ncontrary to general belief, that the arts of imagination and of feeling\nhave not pleasure for their object, and to defend them against this\ndegrading accusation, this belief will not cease: it reposes upon a\nsolid foundation, and the fine arts would renounce with a bad grace the\nbeneficent mission which has in all times been assigned to them, to\naccept the new employment to which it is generously proposed to raise\nthem. Without troubling themselves whether they lower themselves in\nproposing our pleasure as object, they become rather proud of the\nadvantages of reaching immediately an aim never attained except\nmediately in other routes followed by the activity of the human mind.\nThat the aim of nature, with relation to man, is the happiness of\nman,\u2014although he ought of himself, in his moral conduct, to take no\nnotice of this aim, \u2014is what, I think, cannot be doubted in general by\nany one who admits that nature has an aim. Thus the fine arts have the\nsame aim as nature, or rather as the Author of nature, namely, to spread\npleasure and render people happy. It procures for us in play what at\nother more austere sources of good to man we extract only with\ndifficulty. It lavishes as a pure gift that which elsewhere is the price\nof many hard efforts. With what labor, what application, do we not pay\nfor the pleasures of the understanding; with what painful sacrifices the\napprobation of reason; with what hard privations the joys of sense! And\nif we abuse these pleasures, with what a succession of evils do we\nexpiate excess! Art alone supplies an enjoyment which requires no\nappreciable effort, which costs no sacrifice, and which we need not\nrepay with repentance. But who could class the merit of charming in this\nmanner with the poor merit of amusing? who would venture to deny the\nformer of these two aims of the fine arts solely because they have a\ntendency higher than the latter.\n\nThe praiseworthy object of pursuing everywhere moral good as the supreme\naim, which has already brought forth in art so much mediocrity, has\ncaused also in theory a similar prejudice. To assign to the fine arts a\nreally elevated position, to conciliate for them the favor of the State,\nthe veneration of all men, they are pushed beyond their true domain, and\na vocation is imposed upon them contrary to their nature. It is supposed\nthat a great service is awarded them by substituting for a frivolous\naim\u2014that of charming\u2014a moral aim; and their influence upon morality,\nwhich is so apparent, necessarily militates in favor of this pretension.\nIt is found illogical that the art which contributes in so great a\nmeasure to the development of all that is most elevated in man, should\nproduce but accessorily this effect, and make its chief object an aim so\nvulgar as we imagine pleasure to be. But this apparent contradiction it\nwould be very easy to conciliate if we had a good theory of pleasure,\nand a complete system of \u00e6sthetic philosophy.\n\nIt would result from this theory that a free pleasure, as that which the\nfine arts procure for us, rests wholly upon moral conditions, and all\nthe moral faculties of man are exercised in it. It would further result\nthat this pleasure is an aim which can never be attained but by moral\nmeans, and consequently that art, to tend and perfectly attain to\npleasure, as to a real aim, must follow the road of healthy morals. Thus\nit is perfectly indifferent for the dignity of art whether its aim\nshould be a moral aim, or whether it should reach only through moral\nmeans; for in both cases it has always to do with the morality, and must\nbe rigorously in unison with the sentiment of duty; but for the\nperfection of art, it is by no means indifferent which of the two should\nbe the aim and which the means. If it is the aim that is moral, art\nloses all that by which it is powerful,\u2014I mean its freedom, and that\nwhich gives it so much influence over us\u2014the charm of pleasure. The play\nwhich recreates is changed into serious occupation, and yet it is\nprecisely in recreating us that art can the better complete the great\naffair\u2014the moral work. It cannot have a salutary influence upon the\nmorals but in exercising its highest \u00e6sthetic action, and it can only\nproduce the \u00e6sthetic effect in its highest degree in fully exercising\nits liberty.\n\nIt is certain, besides, that all pleasure, the moment it flows from a\nmoral source, renders man morally better, and then the effect in its\nturn becomes cause. The pleasure we find in what is beautiful, or\ntouching, or sublime, strengthens our moral sentiments, as the pleasure\nwe find in kindness, in love, etc., strengthens these inclinations. And\njust as contentment of mind is the sure lot of the morally excellent\nman, so moral excellence willingly accompanies satisfaction of heart.\nThus the moral efficacy of art is, not only because it employs moral\nmeans in order to charm us, but also because even the pleasure which it\nprocures us is a means of morality.\n\nThere are as many means by which art can attain its aim as there are in\ngeneral sources from which a free pleasure for the mind can flow. I call\na free pleasure that which brings into play the spiritual forces\u2014reason\nand imagination\u2014and which awakens in us a sentiment by the\nrepresentation of an idea, in contradistinction to physical or sensuous\npleasure, which places our soul under the dependence of the blind forces\nof nature, and where sensation is immediately awakened in us by a\nphysical cause. Sensual pleasure is the only one excluded from the\ndomain of the fine arts; and the talent of exciting this kind of\npleasure could never raise itself to the dignity of an art, except in\nthe case where the sensual impressions are ordered, reinforced or\nmoderated, after a plan which is the production of art, and which is\nrecognized by representation. But, in this case even, that alone here\ncan merit the name of art which is the object of a free pleasure\u2014I mean\ngood taste in the regulation, which pleases our understanding, and not\nphysical charms themselves, which alone flatter our sensibility.\n\nThe general source of all pleasure, even of sensual pleasure, is\npropriety, the conformity with the aim. Pleasure is sensual when this\npropriety is manifested by means of some necessary law of nature which\nhas for physical result the sensation of pleasure. Thus the movement of\nthe blood, and of the animal life, when in conformity with the aim of\nnature, produces in certain organs, or in the entire organism, corporeal\npleasure with all its varieties and all its modes. We feel this\nconformity by the means of agreeable sensation, but we arrive at no\nrepresentation of it, either clear or confused.\n\nPleasure is free when we represent to ourselves the conformability, and\nwhen the sensation that accompanies this representation is agreeable.\nThus all the representations by which we have notice that there is\npropriety and harmony between the end and the means, are for us the\nsources of free pleasure, and consequently can be employed to this end\nby the fine arts. Thus, all the representations can be placed under one\nof these heads: the good, the true, the perfect, the beautiful, the\ntouching, the sublime. The good especially occupies our reason; the true\nand perfect, our intelligence; the beautiful interests both the\nintelligence and the imagination; the touching and the sublime, the\nreason and the imagination. It is true that we also take pleasure in the\ncharm (_Reiz_) or the power called out by action from play, but art uses\ncharm only to accompany the higher enjoyments which the idea of\npropriety gives to us. Considered in itself the charm or attraction is\nlost amid the sensations of life, and art disdains it together with all\nmerely sensual pleasures.\n\nWe could not establish a classification of the fine arts only upon the\ndifference of the sources from which each of them draws the pleasure\nwhich it affords us; for in the same class of the fine arts many sorts\nof pleasures may enter, and often all together. But in as far as a\ncertain sort of pleasure is pursued as a principal aim, we can make of\nit, if not a specific character of a class properly so called, at least\nthe principle and the tendency of a class in the works of art. Thus, for\nexample, we could take the arts which, above all, satisfy the\nintelligence and imagination\u2014consequently those which have as chief\nobject the true, the perfect, and the beautiful\u2014and unite them under the\nname of fine arts (arts of taste, arts of intelligence); those, on the\nother hand, which especially occupy the imagination and the reason, and\nwhich, in consequence, have for principal object the good, the sublime,\nand the touching, could be limited in a particular class under the\ndenomination of touching arts (arts of sentiment, arts of the heart).\nWithout doubt it is impossible to separate absolutely the touching from\nthe beautiful, but the beautiful can perfectly subsist without the\ntouching. Thus, although we are not authorized to base upon this\ndifference of principle a rigorous classification of the liberal arts,\nit can at least serve to determine with more of precision the criterion,\nand prevent the confusion in which we are inevitably involved, when,\ndrawing up laws of \u00e6sthetic things, we confound two absolutely different\ndomains, as that of the touching and that of the beautiful.\n\nThe touching and the sublime resemble in this point, that both one and\nthe other produce a pleasure by a feeling at first of displeasure, and\nthat consequently (pleasure proceeding from suitability, and displeasure\nfrom the contrary) they give us a feeling of suitability which\npresupposes an unsuitability.\n\nThe feeling of the sublime is composed in part of the feeling of our\nfeebleness, of our impotence to embrace an object; and, on the other\nside, of the feeling of our moral power\u2014of this superior faculty which\nfears no obstacle, no limit, and which subdues spiritually that even to\nwhich our physical forces give way. The object of the sublime thwarts,\nthen, our physical power; and this contrariety (impropriety) must\nnecessarily excite a displeasure in us. But it is, at the same time, an\noccasion to recall to our conscience another faculty which is in us\u2014a\nfaculty which is even superior to the objects before which our\nimagination yields. In consequence, a sublime object, precisely because\nit thwarts the senses, is suitable with relation to reason, and it gives\nto us a joy by means of a higher faculty, at the same time that it\nwounds us in an interior one.\n\nThe touching, in its proper sense, designates this mixed sensation, into\nwhich enters at the same time suffering and the pleasure that we find in\nsuffering. Thus we can only feel this kind of emotion in the case of a\npersonal misfortune, only when the grief that we feel is sufficiently\ntempered to leave some place for that impression of pleasure that would\nbe felt by a compassionate spectator. The loss of a great good\nprostrates for the time, and the remembrance itself of the grief will\nmake us experience emotion after a year. The feeble man is always the\nprey of his grief; the hero and the sage, whatever the misfortune that\nstrikes them, never experience more than emotion.\n\nEmotion, like the sentiment of the sublime, is composed of two\naffections\u2014grief and pleasure. There is, then, at the bottom a\npropriety, here as well as there, and under this propriety a\ncontradiction. Thus it seems that it is a contradiction in nature that\nman, who is not born to suffer, is nevertheless a prey to suffering, and\nthis contradiction hurts us. But the evil which this contradiction does\nus is a propriety with regard to our reasonable nature in general,\ninsomuch as this evil solicits us to act: it is a propriety also with\nregard to human society; consequently, even displeasure, which excites\nin us this contradiction, ought necessarily to make us experience a\nsentiment of pleasure, because this displeasure is a propriety. To\ndetermine in an emotion if it is pleasure or displeasure which triumphs,\nwe must ask ourselves if it is the idea of impropriety or that of\npropriety which affects us the more deeply. That can depend either on\nthe number of the aims reached or abortive, or on their connection with\nthe final aim of all.\n\nThe suffering of the virtuous man moves us more painfully than that of\nthe perverse man, because in the first case there is contradiction not\nonly to the general destiny of man, which is happiness, but also to this\nother particular principle, viz., that virtue renders happy; whilst in\nthe second case there is contradiction only with regard to the end of\nman in general. Reciprocally, the happiness of the wicked also offends\nus much more than the misfortune of the good man, because we find in it\na double contradiction: in the first place vice itself, and in the\nsecond place, the recompense of vice.\n\nThere Is also this other consideration, that virtue is much more able to\nrecompense itself than vice, when it triumphs, is to punish itself; and\nit is precisely for this that the virtuous man in misfortune would much\nmore remain faithful to the cultus of virtue than the perverse man would\ndream of converting himself in prosperity.\n\nBut what is above all important in determining in the emotions the\nrelation of pleasure and displeasure, is to compare the two ends\u2014that\nwhich has been fulfilled and that which has been ignored\u2014and to see\nwhich is the most considerable. There is no propriety which touches us\nso nearly as moral propriety, and no superior pleasure to that which we\nfeel from it. Physical propriety could well be a problem, and a problem\nforever unsolvable. Moral propriety is already demonstrated. It alone is\nfounded upon our reasonable nature and upon internal necessity. It is\nour nearest interest, the most considerable, and at the same time, the\nmost easily recognized, because it is not determined by any external\nelement but by an internal principle of our reason: it is the palladium\nof our liberty.\n\nThis moral propriety is never more vividly recognized than when it is\nfound in conflict with another propriety, and still keeps the upper\nhand; then only the moral law awakens in full power, when we find it\nstruggling against all the other forces of nature, and when all those\nforces lose in its presence their empire over a human soul. By these\nwords, \u201cthe other forces of nature,\u201d we must understand all that is not\nmoral force, all that is not subject to the supreme legislation of\nreason: that is to say, feelings, affections, instincts, passions, as\nwell as physical necessity and destiny. The more redoubtable the\nadversary, the more glorious the victory; resistance alone brings out\nthe strength of the force and renders it visible. It follows that the\nhighest degree of moral consciousness can only exist in strife, and the\nhighest moral pleasure is always accompanied by pain.\n\nConsequently, the kind of poetry which secures us a high degree of moral\npleasure, must employ mixed feelings, and please us through pain or\ndistress,\u2014this is what tragedy does specially; and her realm embraces\nall that sacrifices a physical propriety to a moral one; or one moral\npropriety to a higher one. It might be possible, perhaps, to form a\nmeasure of moral pleasure, from the lowest to the highest degree, and to\ndetermine by this principle of propriety the degree of pain or pleasure\nexperienced. Different orders of tragedy might be classified on the same\nprinciple, so as to form a complete exhaustive tabulation of them. Thus,\na tragedy being given, its place could be fixed, and its genus\ndetermined. Of this subject more will be said separately in its proper\nplace.\n\nA few examples will show how far moral propriety commands physical\npropriety in our souls.\n\nTheron and Amanda are both tied to the stake as martyrs, and free to\nchoose life or death by the terrible ordeal of fire\u2014they select the\nlatter. What is it which gives such pleasure to us in this scene? Their\nposition so conflicting with the smiling destiny they reject, the reward\nof misery given to virtue\u2014all here awakens in us the feeling of\nimpropriety: it ought to fill us with great distress. What is nature,\nand what are her ends and laws, if all this impropriety shows us moral\npropriety in its full light. We here see the triumph of the moral law,\nso sublime an experience for us that we might even hail the calamity\nwhich elicits it. For harmony in the world of moral freedom gives us\ninfinitely more pleasure than all the discords in nature give us pain.\n\nWhen Coriolanus, obedient to duty as husband, son, and citizen, raises\nthe siege of Rome, then almost conquered, withdrawing his army, and\nsilencing his vengeance, he commits a very contradictory act evidently.\nHe loses all the fruit of previous victories, he runs spontaneously to\nhis ruin; yet what moral excellence and grandeur he offers! How noble to\nprefer any impropriety rather than wound moral sense; to violate natural\ninterests and prudence in order to be in harmony with the higher moral\nlaw! Every sacrifice of a life is a contradiction, for life is the\ncondition of all good; but in the light of morality the sacrifice of\nlife is in a high degree proper, because life is not great in itself,\nbut only as a means of accomplishing the moral law. If then the\nsacrifice of life be the way to do this, life must go. \u201cIt is not\nnecessary for me to live, but it is necessary for Rome to be saved from\nfamine,\u201d said Pompey, when the Romans embarked for Africa, and his\nfriends begged him to defer his departure till the gale was over.\n\nBut the sufferings of a criminal are as charming to us tragically as\nthose of a virtuous man; yet here is the idea of moral impropriety. The\nantagonism of his conduct to moral law, and the moral imperfection which\nsuch conduct presupposes, ought to fill us with pain. Here there is no\nsatisfaction in the morality of his person, nothing to compensate for\nhis misconduct. Yet both supply a valuable object for art; this\nphenomenon can easily be made to agree with what has been said.\n\nWe find pleasure not only in obedience to morality, but in the\npunishment given to its infraction. The pain resulting from moral\nimperfection agrees with its opposite, the satisfaction at conformity\nwith the law. Repentance, even despair, have nobleness morally, and can\nonly exist if an incorruptible sense of justice exists at the bottom of\nthe criminal heart, and if conscience maintains its ground against\nself-love. Repentance comes by comparing our acts with the moral law,\nhence in the moment of repenting the moral law speaks loudly in man. Its\npower must be greater than the gain resulting from the crime as the\ninfraction poisons the enjoyment. Now, a state of mind where duty is\nsovereign is morale proper, and therefore a source of moral pleasure.\nWhat, then, sublimer than the heroic despair that tramples even life\nunderfoot, because it cannot bear the judgment within? A good man\nsacrificing his life to conform to the moral law, or a criminal taking\nhis own life because of the morality he has violated: in both cases our\nrespect for the moral law is raised to the highest power. If there be\nany advantage it is in the case of the latter; for the good man may have\nbeen encouraged in his sacrifice by an approving conscience, thus\ndetracting from his merit. Repentance and regret at past crimes show us\nsome of the sublimest pictures of morality in active condition. A man\nwho violates morality comes back to the moral law by repentance.\n\nBut moral pleasure is sometimes obtained only at the cost of moral pain.\nThus one duty may clash with another. Let us suppose Coriolanus encamped\nwith a Roman army before Antium or Corioli, and his mother a Volscian;\nif her prayers move him to desist, we now no longer admire him. His\nobedience to his mother would be at strife with a higher duty, that of a\ncitizen. The governor to whom the alternative is proposed, either of\ngiving up the town or of seeing his son stabbed, decides at once on the\nlatter, his duty as father being beneath that of citizen. At first our\nheart revolts at this conduct in a father, but we soon pass to\nadmiration that moral instinct, even combined with inclination, could\nnot lead reason astray in the empire where it commands. When Timoleon of\nCorinth puts to death his beloved but ambitious brother, Timophanes, he\ndoes it because his idea of duty to his country bids him to do so. The\nact here inspires horror and repulsion as against nature and the moral\nsense, but this feeling is soon succeeded by the highest admiration for\nhis heroic virtue, pronouncing, in a tumultuous conflict of emotions,\nfreely and calmly, with perfect rectitude. If we differ with Timoleon\nabout his duty as a republican, this does not change our view. Nay, in\nthose cases, where our understanding judges differently, we see all the\nmore clearly how high we put moral propriety above all other.\n\nBut the judgments of men on this moral phenomenon are exceedingly\nvarious, and the reason of it is clear. Moral sense is common to all\nmen, but differs in strength. To most men it suffices that an act be\npartially conformable with the moral law to make them obey it; and to\nmake them condemn an action it must glaringly violate the law. But to\ndetermine the relation of moral duties with the highest principle of\nmorals requires an enlightened intelligence and an emancipated reason.\nThus an action which to a few will be a supreme propriety, will seem to\nthe crowd a revolting impropriety, though both judge morally; an hence\nthe emotion felt at such actions is by no means uniform. To the mass the\nsublimest and highest is only exaggeration, because sublimity is\nperceived by reason, and all men have not the same share of it. A vulgar\nsoul is oppressed or overstretched by those sublime ideas, and the crowd\nsees dreadful disorder where a thinking mind sees the highest order.\n\nThis is enough about moral propriety as a principle of tragic emotion,\nand the pleasure it elicits. It must be added that there are cases where\nnatural propriety also seems to charm our mind even at the cost of\nmorality. Thus we are always pleased by the sequence of machinations of\na perverse man, though his means and end are immoral. Such a man deeply\ninterests us, and we tremble lest his plan fail, though we ought to wish\nit to do so. But this fact does not contradict what has been advanced\nabout moral propriety, and the pleasure resulting from it.\n\nPropriety, the reference of means to an end, is to us, in all cases, a\nsource of pleasure; even disconnected with morality. We experience this\npleasure unmixed, so long as we do not think of any moral end which\ndisallows action before us. Animal instincts give us pleasure\u2014as the\nindustry of bees\u2014without reference to morals; and in like manner human\nactions are a pleasure to us when we consider in them only the relation\nof means to ends. But if a moral principle be added to these, and\nimpropriety be discovered, if the idea of moral agent comes in, a deep\nindignation succeeds our pleasure, which no intellectual propriety can\nremedy. We must not call to mind too vividly that Richard III., Iago,\nand Lovelace are _men_; otherwise our sympathy for them infallibly turns\ninto an opposite feeling. But, as daily experience teaches, we have the\npower to direct our attention to different sides of things; and\npleasure, only possible through this abstraction, invites us to exercise\nit, and to prolong its exercise.\n\nYet it is not rare for intelligent perversity to secure our favor by\nbeing the means of procuring us the pleasure of moral propriety. The\ntriumph of moral propriety will be great in proportion as the snares set\nby Lovelace for the virtue of Clarissa are formidable, and as the trials\nof an innocent victim by a cruel tyrant are severe. It is a pleasure to\nsee the craft of a seducer foiled by the omnipotence of the moral sense.\nOn the other hand, we reckon as a sort of merit the victory of a\nmalefactor over his moral sense, because it is the proof of a certain\nstrength of mind and intellectual propriety.\n\nYet this propriety in vice can never be the source of a perfect\npleasure, except when it is humiliated by morality. In that case it is\nan essential part of our pleasure, because it brings moral sense into\nstronger relief. The last impression left on us by the author of\nClarissa is a proof of this. The intellectual propriety in the plan of\nLovelace is greatly surpassed by the rational propriety of Clarissa.\nThis allows us to feel in full the satisfaction caused by both.\n\nWhen the tragic poet has for object to awaken in us the feeling of moral\npropriety, and chooses his means skilfully for that end, he is sure to\ncharm doubly the connoisseur, by moral and by natural propriety. The\nfirst satisfies the heart, the second the mind. The crowd is impressed\nthrough the heart without knowing the cause of the magic impression.\nBut, on the other hand, there is a class of connoisseurs on whom that\nwhich affects the heart is entirely lost, and who can only be gained by\nthe appropriateness of the means; a strange contradiction resulting from\nover-refined taste, especially when moral culture remains behind\nintellectual. This class of connoisseurs seek only the intellectual side\nin touching and sublime themes. They appreciate this in the justest\nmanner, but you must beware how you appeal to their heart! The\nover-culture of the age leads to this shoal, and nothing becomes the\ncultivated man so much as to escape by a happy victory this twofold and\npernicious influence. Of all other European nations, our neighbors, the\nFrench, lean most to this extreme, and we, as in all things, strain\nevery nerve to imitate this model.\n\n\n\n\n                   SCHILLER\u2019S PHILOSOPHICAL LETTERS.\n\n\n                           PREFATORY REMARKS.\n\nThe reason passes, like the heart, through certain epochs and\ntransitions, but its development is not so often portrayed. Men seem to\nhave been satisfied with unfolding the passions in their extremes, their\naberration, and their results, without considering how closely they are\nbound up with the intellectual constitution of the individual.\nDegeneracy in morals roots in a one-sided and wavering philosophy,\ndoubly dangerous, because it blinds the beclouded intellect with an\nappearance of correctness, truth, and conviction, which places it less\nunder the restraining influence of man\u2019s instinctive moral sense. On the\nother hand, an enlightened understanding ennobles the feelings,\u2014the\nheart must be formed by the head.\n\nThe present age has witnessed an extraordinary increase of a thinking\npublic, by the facilities afforded to the diffusion of reading; the\nformer happy resignation to ignorance begins to make way for a state of\nhalf-enlightenment, and few persons are willing to remain in the\ncondition in which their birth has placed them. Under these\ncircumstances it may not be unprofitable to call attention to certain\nperiods of the awakening and progress of the reason, to place in their\nproper light certain truths and errors, closely connected with morals,\nand calculated to be a source of happiness or misery, and, at all\nevents, to point out the hidden shoals on which the reason of man has so\noften suffered shipwreck. Rarely do we arrive at the summit of truth\nwithout running into extremes; we have frequently to exhaust the part of\nerror, and even of folly, before we work our way up to the noble goal of\ntranquil wisdom.\n\nSome friends, inspired by an equal love of truth and moral beauty, who\nhave arrived at the same conviction by different roads, and who view\nwith serener eye the ground over which they have travelled, have thought\nthat it might be profitable to present a few of these resolutions and\nepochs of thought. They propose to represent these and certain excesses\nof the inquiring reason in the form of two young men, of unequal\ncharacter, engaged in epistolary correspondence. The following letters\nare the beginning of this essay.\n\nThe opinions that are offered in these letters can only be true and\nfalse relatively, and in the form in which the world is mirrored in the\nsoul of the correspondent, and of him only. But the course of the\ncorrespondence will show that the one-sided, often exaggerated and\ncontradictory opinions at length issue in a general, purified, and\nwell-established truth.\n\nScepticism and free-thinking are the feverish paroxysms of the human\nmind, and must needs at length confirm the health of well-organized\nsouls by the unnatural convulsion which they occasion. In proportion to\nthe dazzling and seducing nature of error will be the greatness of the\ntriumphs of truth: the demand for conviction and firm belief will be\nstrong and pressing in proportion to the torment occasioned by the pangs\nof doubt. But doubt was necessary to elicit these errors; the knowledge\nof the disease had to precede its cure. Truth suffers no loss if a\nvehement youth fails in finding it, in the same way that virtue and\nreligion suffer no detriment if a criminal denies them.\n\nIt was necessary to offer these prefatory remarks to throw a proper\nlight on the point of view from which the following correspondence has\nto be read and judged.\n\n\n                               LETTER I.\n                          _Julius to Raphael._\n\n                                                                October.\n\nYou are gone, Raphael,\u2014and the beauty of nature departs: the sere and\nyellow leaves fall from the trees, while a thick autumn fog hangs\nsuspended like a bier over the lifeless fields. Solitary, I wander\nthrough the melancholy country. I call aloud your name, and am irritated\nthat my Raphael does not answer me.\n\nI had received your last embrace. The mournful sound of the carriage\nwheels that bore you away had at length died upon my ear. In happier\nmoments I had just succeeded in raising a tumulus over the joys of the\npast, but now again you stand up before me, as your departed spirit, in\nthese regions, and you accompany me to each favorite haunt and pleasant\nwalk. These rocks I have climbed by your side: by your side have my eyes\nwandered over this immense landscape. In the dark sanctuary of this\nbeech-grove we first conceived the bold ideal of our friendship. It was\nhere that we unfolded the genealogical tree of the soul, and that we\nfound that Julius was so closely related to Raphael. Not a spring, not a\nthicket, or a hill exists in this region where some memory of departed\nhappiness does not come to destroy my repose. All things combine to\nprevent my recovery. Wherever I go, I repeat the painful scene of our\nseparation.\n\nWhat have you done to me, Raphael? What am I become? Man of dangerous\npower! would that I had never known or never lost you! Hasten back; come\non the wings of friendship, or the tender plant, your nursling, shall\nhave perished. How could you, endowed with such tender feelings, venture\nto leave the work you had begun, but still so incomplete. The\nfoundations that your proud wisdom tried to establish in my brain and\nheart are tottering; all the splendid palaces which you erected are\ncrumbling, and the worm crushed to earth is writhing under the ruins.\n\nHappy, heavenly time, when I groped through life, with bandaged eyes,\nlike a drunken man,\u2014when all my knowledge and my wishes were confined to\nthe narrow horizon of my childhood\u2019s teachings! Blessed time, when a\ncheerful sunset raised no higher aspiration in my soul than the wish of\na fine day on the morrow; when nothing reminded me of the world save the\nnewspaper; nothing spoke of eternity save the passing bell; only\nghost-stories brought to mind the thought of death and judgment; when I\ntrembled at the thought of the devil, and was proportionately drawn to\nthe Godhead! I felt and was happy. Raphael has taught me to think I am\non the way to regret that I was ever created.\n\nCreation? No, that is only a sound lacking all meaning, which my reason\ncannot receive. There was a time when I knew nothing, when no one knew\nme: accordingly, it is usual to say, I was not. That time is past:\ntherefore it is usual to say that I was created. But also of the\nmillions who existed centuries ago nothing more is now known, and yet\nmen are wont to say, they are. On what do we found the right to grant\nthe beginning and to deny the end? It is assumed that the cessation of\nthinking beings contradicts Infinite Goodness. Did, then, Infinite\nGoodness come first into being at the creation of the world? If there\nwas a period when there were no spirits, Infinite Goodness must have\nbeen imperative for a whole eternity. If the fabric of the universe is a\nperfection of the Creator, He, therefore, lacked a perfection before the\ncreation of the world. But an assumption like this contradicts the idea\nof perfect goodness, therefore there is no creation. To what have I\narrived, Raphael? Terrible fallacy of my conclusions! I give up the\nCreator as soon as I believe in a God. Wherefore do I require a God, if\nI suffice without the Creator?\n\nYou have robbed me of the thought that gave me peace. You have taught me\nto despise where I prayed before. A thousand things were venerable in my\nsight till your dismal wisdom stripped off the veil from them. I saw a\ncrowd of people streaming to church, I heard their enthusiastic devotion\npoured forth in a common act of prayer and praise; twice did I stand\nbeside a deathbed, and saw\u2014wonderful power of religion!\u2014the hope of\nheaven triumphant over the terror of annihilation, and the serene light\nof joy beaming from the eyes of those departing.\n\n\u201cSurely that doctrine must be divine,\u201d I exclaimed, \u201cwhich is\nacknowledged by the best among men, which triumphs and comforts so\nwondrously!\u201d Your coldblooded wisdom extinguished my enthusiasm. You\naffirmed that an equal number of devotees streamed formerly round the\nIrmens\u00e4ule and to Jupiter\u2019s temple; an equal number of votaries, with\nlike exultation, ascended the stake kindled in honor of Brahma. \u201cCan the\nvery feeling,\u201d you added, \u201cwhich you found so detestable in heathenism\nprove the truth of your doctrine?\u201d\n\nYou proceeded to say: \u201cTrust nothing but your own reason. There is\nnothing holy, save truth.\u201d I have obeyed you: I have sacrificed all my\nopinions, I have set fire to all my ships when I landed on this island,\nand I have destroyed all my hopes of return. Never can I become\nreconciled to a doctrine which I joyfully welcomed once. My reason is\nnow all to me\u2014my only warrant for God, virtue, and immortality. Woe to\nme if I catch this, my only witness, in a contradiction! if my esteem\nfor its conclusions diminishes! if a broken vessel in my brain diverts\nits action! My happiness is henceforth intrusted to the harmonious\naction of my sensorium: woe to me if the strings of this instrument give\na false note in the critical moments of my life\u2014if my convictions vary\nwith my pulsations!\n\n\n                               LETTER II.\n                          _Julius to Raphael._\n\nYour doctrine has flattered my pride. I was a prisoner: you have led me\nout into the daylight; the golden shimmer and the measureless vault have\nenraptured my eye. Formerly, I was satisfied with the modest reputation\nof being a good son of my father\u2019s house, a friend of my friends, a\nuseful member of society. You have changed me into a citizen of the\nuniverse. At that time my wishes had not aspired to infringe on the\nrights of the great: I tolerated these fortunate people because beggars\ntolerated me. I did not blush to envy a part of the human race, because\nthere was a still larger part of humanity that I was obliged to pity.\nMeeting you, I learned for the first time that my claims on enjoyment\nwere as well founded as those of my brethren. Now, for the first time, I\nlearned that, raised one stratum above this atmosphere, I weighed just\nas much and as little as the rulers of this world. Raphael severed all\nbonds of agreement and of opinion. I felt myself quite free; for reason,\nas Raphael declared, is the only monarchy in the world of spirits, and I\ncarried my imperial throne in my brain. All things in heaven and earth\nhave no value, no estimation, except that which my reason grants them.\nThe whole creation is mine, for I possess an irresistible omnipotence,\nand am empowered to enjoy it fully. All spirits\u2014one degree below the\nmost perfect Spirit\u2014are my brethren, because we all obey one rule, and\ndo homage to one supremacy.\n\nHow magnificent and sublime this announcement sounds! What a field for\nmy thirst of knowledge! But\u2014unlucky contradiction of nature\u2014this free\nand soaring spirit is woven together with the rigid, immovable clockwork\nof a mortal body, mixed up with its little necessities, and yoked to its\nfate\u2014this god is banished into a world of worms. The immense space of\nnature is opened to his research, but he cannot think two ideas at the\nsame time. With his eyes he reaches up to the sunny focus of the\nGodhead, but he himself is obliged to creep after Him slowly and wearily\nthrough the elements of time. To absorb one enjoyment he must give up\nall others: two unlimited desires are too great for his little heart.\nEvery fresh joy costs him the sum of all previous joys. The present\nmoment is the sepulchre of all that went before it. An idyllic hour of\nlove is an intermittent pulsation of friendship.\n\nWherever I look, Raphael, how limited man appears! How great the\ndistance between his aims and their fulfilment!\u2014yet do not begrudge him\nhis soothing slumber. Wake him not! He was so happy before he began to\ninquire whither he was to go and whence he came! Reason is a torch in a\nprison. The prisoner knew nothing of the light, but a dream of freedom\nappeared over him like a flash in the night which leaves the darkness\ndeeper than before. Our philosophy is the unhappy curiosity of \u0152dipus,\nwho did not cease to inquire till the dreadful oracle was unravelled.\nMayest thou never learn who thou art!\n\nDoes your wisdom replace what it has set aside? If you had no key to\nopen heaven, why did you lead me away from earth? If you knew beforehand\nthat the way to wisdom leads through the frightful abyss of doubt, why\ndid you venture the innocence of your friend Julius on this desperate\nthrow?\u2014\n\n                If to the good, which I propose to do,\n                Something very bad borders far too near,\n                I prefer not to do this good.\n\nYou have pulled down a shelter that was inhabited, and founded a\nsplendid but lifeless palace on the spot.\n\nRaphael, I claim my soul from you! I am unhappy. My courage is gone. I\ndespair of my own strength. Write to me soon!\u2014your healing hand alone\ncan pour balm on my burning wounds.\n\n\n                              LETTER III.\n                          _Raphael to Julius._\n\nJulius, happiness such as ours, if unbroken, would be too much for human\nlot. This thought often haunted me even in the full enjoyment of our\nfriendship. This thought, then darkening our happiness, was a salutary\nforetaste, intended to mitigate the pain of my present position.\nHardened in the stern school of resignation, I am still more susceptible\nof the comfort of seeing in our separation a slight sacrifice whose\nmerit may win from fate the reward of our future reunion. You did not\nyet know what privation was. You suffer for the first time.\n\nAnd yet it is perhaps an advantage for you that I have been torn from\nyou exactly at this time. You have to endure a malady, from which you\ncan only perfectly recover by your own energy, so as not to suffer a\nrelapse. The more deserted you feel, the more you will stir up all\nhealing power in yourself, and in proportion as you derive little or no\nbenefit from temporary and deceptive palliatives, the more certainly\nwill you succeed in eradicating the evil fundamentally.\n\nI do not repent that I roused you from your dream, though your present\nposition is painful. I have done nothing more than hasten a crisis,\nwhich every soul like yours has sooner or later to pass through, and\nwhere the essential thing is, at what time of life it is endured. There\nare times and seasons when it is terrible to doubt truth and virtue. Woe\nto the man who has to fight through the quibbles of a self-sufficient\nreason while he is immersed in the storms of the passions. I have felt\nin its fulness all that is expressed by this, and, to preserve you from\nsimilar troubles I could devise no means but to ward off the pestilence\nby timely inoculation.\n\nNor could I, my dear Julius, choose a more propitious time? I met you in\nthe full and glorious bloom of youthful intelligence and bodily vigor;\nbefore you had been oppressed by care or enchained by passion; fully\nprepared, in your freedom and strength, to stand the great fight, of\nwhich a sublime tranquillity, produced by conviction, is the prize.\nTruth and error had not yet been interwoven with your interests. Your\nenjoyments and virtues were independent of both. You required no images\nof terror to tear you from low dissipation. The feeling for nobler joys\nhad made these odious to you. You were good from instinct and from\nunconsecrated moral grace. I had nothing to fear for your morality, if a\nbuilding crumbled down on which it was not founded. Nor do your\nanxieties alarm me, though you may conjure up many dark anticipations in\nyour melancholy mood. I know you better, Julius!\n\nYou are ungrateful, too! You despise the reason, and forget what joys it\nhas procured you. Though you might have escaped the dangers of doubt all\nyour life, still it was my duty not to deprive you of the pleasures\nwhich you were capable of enjoying. The height at which you were was not\nworthy of you. The way up which you climbed gave you compensation for\nall of which I deprived you. I still recall the delight\u2014with what\ndelight you blessed the moment when the bandage dropped from your eyes!\nThe warmth with which you grasped the truth possibly may have led your\nall-devouring imagination to an abyss at sight of which you draw back\nshuddering.\n\nI must follow the course of your inquiries to discover the sources of\nyour complaints. You have written down the results of your thoughts:\nsend me these papers and then I will answer you.\n\n\n                               LETTER IV.\n                          _Julius to Raphael._\n\nI have been looking over my papers this morning. Among them I have found\na lost memorandum written down in those happy hours when I was inspired\nwith a proud enthusiasm. But on looking over it how different seem all\nthe things treated of! My former views look like the gloomy boarding of\na playhouse when the lights have been removed. My heart sought a\nphilosophy, and imagination substituted her dreams. I took the warmest\nfor the truest coloring.\n\nI seek for the laws of spirits\u2014I soar up to the infinite, but I forget\nto prove that they really exist. A bold attack of materialism overthrows\nmy creation.\n\nYou will read through this fragment, my dear Raphael. Would that you\ncould succeed in kindling once again the extinct flames of my\nenthusiasm, to reconcile me again to my genius! but my pride has sunk so\nlow that even Raphael\u2019s friendly hand can hardly raise me up again.\n\n\n                          THEOSOPHY OF JULIUS.\n                   THE WORLD AND THE THINKING BEING.\n\nThe universe is a thought of God. After this ideal thought-fabric passed\nout into reality, and the new-born world fulfilled the plan of its\nCreator\u2014permit me to use this human simile\u2014the first duty of all\nthinking beings has been to retrace the original design in this great\nreality; to find the principle in the mechanism, the unity in the\ncompound, the law in the phenomenon, and to pass back from the structure\nto its primitive foundation. Accordingly to me there is only one\nappearance in nature\u2014the thinking being. The great compound called the\nworld is only remarkable to me because it is present to shadow forth\nsymbolically the manifold expressions of that being. All in me and out\nof me is only the hieroglyph of a power which is like to me. The laws of\nnature are the cyphers which the thinking mind adds on to make itself\nunderstandable to intelligence\u2014the alphabet by means of which all\nspirits communicate with the most perfect Spirit and with one another.\nHarmony, truth, order, beauty, excellence, give me joy, because they\ntransport me into the active state of their author, of their possessor,\nbecause they betray the presence of a rational and feeling Being, and\nlet me perceive my relationship with that Being. A new experience in\nthis kingdom of truth: gravitation, the circulation of the blood, the\nnatural system of Linn\u00e6us, correspond essentially in my mind to the\ndiscovery of an antique dug up at Herculaneum\u2014they are both only the\nreflections of one spirit, a renewed acquaintance with a being like\nmyself. I speak with the Eternal through the instrument of\nnature,\u2014through the world\u2019s history: I read the soul of the artist in\nhis Apollo.\n\nIf you wish to be convinced, my dear Raphael, look back. Each state of\nthe human mind has some parable in the physical creation by which it is\nshadowed forth; nor is it only artists and poets, but even the most\nabstract thinkers that have drawn from this source. Lively activity we\nname fire; time is a stream that rolls on, sweeping all before it;\neternity is a circle; a mystery is hid in midnight gloom, and truth\ndwells in the sun. Nay, I begin to believe that even the future destiny\nof the human race is prefigured in the dark oracular utterances of\nbodily creation. Each coming spring, forcing the sprouts of plants out\nof the earth, gives me explanations of the awful riddle of death, and\ncontradicts my anxious fears about an everlasting sleep. The swallow\nthat we find stiffened in winter, and see waking up to life after; the\ndead grub coming to life again as the butterfly and rising into the\nair,\u2014all these give excellent pictures of our immortality.\n\nHow strange all seems to me now, Raphael! Now all seems peopled round\nabout me. To me there is no solitude in nature. Wherever I see a body I\nanticipate a spirit. Wherever I trace movement I infer thought.\n\nWhere no dead lie buried, where no resurrection will be, Omnipotence\nspeaks to me this through His works, and thus I understand the doctrine\nof the omnipresence of God.\n\n\n                                 IDEA.\n\nAll spirits are attracted by perfection. There may be deviations, but\nthere is no exception to this, for all strive after the condition of the\nhighest and freest exercise of their powers; all possess the common\ninstinct of extending their sphere of action; of drawing all, and\ncentring all in themselves; of appropriating all that is good, all that\nis acknowledged as charming and excellent. When the beautiful, the true,\nand the excellent are once seen, they are immediately grasped at. A\ncondition once perceived by us, we enter into it immediately. At the\nmoment when we think of them, we become possessors of a virtue, authors\nof an action, discoverers of a truth, possessors of a happiness. We\nourselves become the object perceived. Let no ambiguous smile from you,\ndear Raphael, disconcert me here,\u2014this assumption is the basis on which\nI found all that follows, and we must be agreed before I take courage to\ncomplete the structure.\n\nHis inner feeling or innate consciousness tells every man almost the\nsame thing. For example, when we admire an act of magnanimity, of\nbravery and wisdom, does not a secret feeling spring up in our heart\nthat we are capable of doing the same? Does not the rush of blood\ncoloring our cheeks on hearing narratives of this kind proclaim that our\nmodesty trembles at the admiration called forth by such acts? that we\nare confused at the praise which this ennobling of our nature must call\ndown upon us? Even our body at such moments agrees with the attitude of\nthe man, and shows clearly that our soul has passed into the state we\nadmire. If you were ever present, Raphael, when a great event was\nrelated to a large assembly, did you not see how the relater waited for\nthe incense of praise, how he devoured it, though it was given to the\nhero of his story,\u2014and if you were ever a relater did you not trace how\nyour heart was subject to this pleasing deception? You have had\nexamples, my dear Raphael, of how easily I can wrangle with my best\nfriend respecting the reading aloud of a pleasing anecdote or of a\nbeautiful poem, and my heart told me truly on these occasions that I was\nonly displeased at your carrying off the laurels because these passed\nfrom the head of author to that of the reader. A quick and deep artistic\nappreciation of virtue is justly held to be a great aptitude for virtue,\nin the same way as it is usual to have no scruple in distrusting the\nheart of a man whose intelligence is slow to take in moral beauty.\n\nYou need not advance as an objection that, frequently, coupled with a\nlively perception of a perfection, the opposite failing is found to\nco-exist, that evil-doers are often possessed with strong enthusiasm for\nwhat is excellent, and that even the weak flame up into enthusiasm of\nherculean growth. I know, for example, that our admired Haller, who\nunmasked in so manly a spirit the sickly nothingness of vain honors; a\nman whose philosophical greatness I so highly appreciated, that he was\nnot great enough to despise the still greater vanity of an order of\nknighthood, which conferred an injury on his greatness. I am convinced\nthat in the happy moment of their ideal conceptions, the artist, the\nphilosopher, and the poet are really the great and good man whose image\nthey throw out; but with many this ennobling of the mind is only an\nunnatural condition occasioned by a more active stirring of the blood,\nor a more rapid vibration of the fancy: it is accordingly very\ntransient, like every other enchantment, disappearing rapidly and\nleaving the heart more exhausted than before, and delivered over to the\ndespotic caprice of low passions. I expressly said more exhausted than\nbefore, for universal experience teaches that a relapsing criminal is\nalways the most furious, and that the renegades of virtue seek\nadditional sweets in the arms of crime to compensate for the heavy\npressure of repentance.\n\nI wished to establish, my Raphael, that it is our own condition, when we\nfeel that of another, that perfection becomes ours for the moment during\nwhich we raise in ourselves the representation of it; that the delight\nwe take in truth, beauty, and virtue shows itself when closely analyzed\nto be the consciousness of our individual ennobling and enriching; and I\nthink I have proved this.\n\nWe have ideas of the wisdom of the highest Being, of His goodness, of\nHis justice, but none of His omnipotence. To describe His omnipotence,\nwe help ourselves by the graduated representation of three successions:\nNothing, His Will, and Something. It is waste and empty; God calls on\nlight; and there is light. If we had a real idea of His operative\nomnipotence we should be creators, as He.\n\nAccordingly, every perfection which I perceive becomes my own; it gives\nme joy, because it is my own; I desire it, because I love myself.\nPerfection in nature is no property of matter, but of spirits. All\nspirits are happy through their perfection. I desire the happiness of\nall souls, because I love myself. The happiness which I represent to\nmyself becomes my happiness; accordingly I am interested in awakening\nthese representations, to realize them, to exalt them; I am interested\nin diffusing happiness around me. Whenever I produce beauty, excellence,\nor enjoyment beyond myself, I produce myself; when I neglect or destroy\nanything, I neglect, I destroy myself. I desire the happiness of others,\nbecause I desire my own; and the desire of the happiness of others we\ncall benevolence and love.\n\n\n                                 LOVE.\n\nNow, my most worthy Raphael, let me look round. The height has been\nascended, the mist is dissipated; I stand in the midst of immensity, as\nin the middle of a glowing landscape. A purer ray of sunlight has\nclarified all my thoughts. Love is the noblest phenomenon in the world\nof souls, the all-powerful magnet in the spiritual sphere, the source of\ndevotion and of the sublimest virtue. Yet love is only the reflection of\nthis single original power, an attraction of the excellent, based upon\nan instantaneous permutation of individuality, an interchange of being.\n\nWhen I hate, I take something from myself; when I love, I become richer\nby what I love. To pardon is to recover a property that has been lost.\nMisanthropy is a protracted suicide: egotism is the supremest poverty of\na created being.\n\nWhen Raphael tore himself from my embrace my soul was rent in twain, and\nI weep over the loss of my nobler half. On that holy evening\u2014you must\nremember it\u2014when our souls first communed together in ardent sympathy,\nall your great emotions became my own, and I only entered into my\nunvarying right of property over your excellence; I was prouder to love\nyou than to be loved by you, for my own affection had changed me into\nRaphael.\n\n            Was it not this almighty instinct\n            That forced our hearts to meet\n            In the eternal bond of love?\n            Raphael! enraptured, resting on your arm,\n            I venture, joyful, the march towards perfection,\n            That leadeth to the spiritual sun.\n\n            Happy! happy! I have found thee,\n            Have secured thee \u2019midst millions,\n            And of all this multitude thou art mine!\n            Let the wild chaos return;\n            Let it cast adrift the atoms!\n            Forever our hearts fly to meet each other.\n\n            Must I not draw reflections of my ecstasy\n            From thy radiant, ardent eyes?\n            In thee alone do I wonder at myself.\n            The earth in brighter tints appears,\n            Heaven itself shines in more glowing light,\n            Seen through the soul and action of my friend.\n\n            Sorrow drops the load of tears;\n            Soothed, it rests from passion\u2019s storms,\n            Nursed upon the breast of love.\n            Nay, delight grows torment, and seeks\n            My Raphael, basking in thy soul,\n            Sweetest sepulchre! impatiently.\n\n            If I alone stood in the great All of things,\n            Dreamed I of souls in the very rocks,\n            And, embracing, I would have kissed them.\n            I would have sighed my complaints into the air;\n            The chasms would have answered me.\n            O fool! sweet sympathy was every joy to me.\n\nLove does not exist between monotonous souls, giving out the same tone;\nit is found between harmonious souls. With pleasure I find again my\nfeelings in the mirror of yours, but with more ardent longing I devour\nthe higher emotions that are wanting in me. Friendship and love are led\nby one common rule. The gentle Desdemona loves Othello for the dangers\nthrough which he has passed; the manly Othello loves her for the tears\nthat she shed hearing of his troubles.\n\nThere are moments in life when we are impelled to press to our heart\nevery flower, every remote star, each worm, and the sublimest spirit we\ncan think of. We are impelled to embrace them, and all nature, in the\narms of our affection, as things most loved. You understand me, Raphael.\nA man who has advanced so far as to read off all the beauty, greatness,\nand excellence in the great and small of nature, and to find the great\nunity for this manifold variety, has advanced much nearer to the\nDivinity. The great creation flows into his personality. If each man\nloved all men, each individual would possess the whole world.\n\nI fear that the philosophy of our time contradicts this doctrine. Many\nof our thinking brains have undertaken to drive out by mockery this\nheavenly instinct from the human soul, to efface the effigy of Deity in\nthe soul, and to dissolve this energy, this noble enthusiasm, in the\ncold, killing breath of a pusillanimous indifference. Under the slavish\ninfluence of their own unworthiness they have entered into terms with\nself-interest, the dangerous foe of benevolence; they have done this to\nexplain a phenomenon which was too godlike for their narrow hearts. They\nhave spun their comfortless doctrine out of a miserable egotism, and\nthey have made their own limits the measure of the Creator; degenerate\nslaves decrying freedom amidst the rattle of their own chains. Swift,\nwho exaggerated the follies of men till he covered the whole race with\ninfamy, and wrote at length his own name on the gallows which he had\nerected for it\u2014even Swift could not inflict such deadly wounds on human\nnature as these dangerous thinkers, who, laying great claim to\npenetration, adorn their system with all the specious appearance of art,\nand strengthen it with all the arguments of self-interest.\n\nWhy should the whole species suffer for the shortcomings of a few\nmembers?\n\nI admit freely that I believe in the existence of a disinterested love.\nI am lost if I do not exist; I give up the Deity, immortality, and\nvirtue. I have no remaining proof of these hopes if I cease to believe\nin love. A spirit that loves itself alone is an atom giving out a spark\nin the immeasurable waste of space.\n\n\n                               SACRIFICE.\n\nBut love has produced effects that seem to contradict its nature.\n\nIt can be conceived that I increase my own happiness by a sacrifice\nwhich I offer for the happiness of others; but suppose this sacrifice is\nmy life? History has examples of this kind of sacrifice, and I feel most\nvividly that it would cost me nothing to die in order to save Raphael.\nHow is it possible that we can hold death to be a means of increasing\nthe sum of our enjoyments? How can the cessation of my being be\nreconciled with the enriching of my being?\n\nThe assumption of immortality removes this contradiction; but it also\ndisplaces the supreme gracefulness of this act of sacrifice. The\nconsideration of a future reward excludes love. There must be a virtue\nwhich even without the belief in immortality, even at the peril of\nannihilation, suffices to carry out this sacrifice.\n\nI grant it is ennobling to the human soul to sacrifice present enjoyment\nfor a future eternal good; it is the noblest degree of egotism; but\negotism and love separate humanity into two very unlike races, whose\nlimits are never confounded.\n\nEgotism erects its centre in itself; love places it out of itself in the\naxis of the universal whole. Love aims at unity, egotism at solitude.\nLove is the citizen ruler of a flourishing republic, egotism is a despot\nin a devastated creation. Egotism sows for gratitude, love for the\nungrateful. Love gives, egotism lends; and love does this before the\nthrone of judicial truth, indifferent if for the enjoyment of the\nfollowing moment, or with the view to a martyr\u2019s crown\u2014indifferent\nwhether the reward is in this life or in the next.\n\nThink, O Raphael, of a truth that benefits the whole human race to\nremote ages; add that this truth condemns its confessor to death; that\nthis truth can only be proved and believed if he dies. Conceive this man\ngifted with the clear all-embracing and illumining eye of genius, with\nthe flaming torch of enthusiasm, with all the sublime adaptations for\nlove; let the grand ideal of this great effect be presented to his soul;\nlet him have only an obscure anticipation of all the happy beings he\nwill make; let the present and future crowd at the same time into his\nsoul; and then answer me,\u2014does this man require to be referred to a\nfuture life?\n\nThe sum of all these emotions will become confounded with his\npersonality; will flow together in his personal identity, his I or Ego.\nThe human race he is thinking of is himself. It is a body, in which his\nlife swims forgotten like a blood-drop, forgotten, but essential to the\nwelfare of the economy; and how quickly and readily he will shed it to\nsecure his health.\n\n\n                                  GOD.\n\nAll perfections in the universe are united in God. God and nature are\ntwo magnitudes which are quite alike. The whole sum of harmonic activity\nwhich exists together in the divine substance, is in nature the antitype\nof this substance, united to incalculable degrees, and measures, and\nsteps. If I may be allowed this expressive imagery, nature is an\ninfinitely divided God.\n\nJust as in the prism a white ray of light is split up into seven darker\nshades of color, so the divine personality or Ego has been broken into\ncountless susceptible substances. As seven darker shades melt together\nin one clear pencil of light, out of the union of all these substances a\ndivine being would issue. The existing form of nature\u2019s fabric is the\noptical glass, and all the activities of spirits are only an endless\nplay of colors of that simple divine ray. If it pleased Omnipotence some\nday to break up this prism, the barrier between it and the world would\nfall down, all spirits would be absorbed in one infinite spirit, all\naccords would flow together in one common harmony, all streams would\nfind their end in the ocean.\n\nThe bodily form of nature came to pass through the attractive force of\nthe elements. The attraction of spirits, varied and developed\ninfinitely, would at length lead to the cessation of that separation (or\nmay I venture the expression) would produce God. An attraction of this\nkind is love.\n\nAccordingly, my dear Raphael, love is the ladder by which we climb up to\nlikeness to God. Unconsciously to ourselves, without laying claim to it,\nwe aim at this.\n\n             Lifeless masses are we, when we hate;\n             Gods, when we cling in love to one another,\n             Rejoicing in the gentle bond of love.\n             Upwards this divinest impulse holdeth sway\n             Through the thousandfold degrees of creation\n             Of countless spirits who did not create.\n\n             Arm-in-arm, higher and still higher,\n             From the savage to the Grecian seer,\n             Who is linked to the last seraph of the ring,\n             We turn, of one mind, in the same magic dance,\n             Till measure, and e\u2019en time itself,\n             Sink at death in the boundless, glowing sea.\n\n             Friendless was the great world\u2019s Master;\n             And feeling this, he made the spirit world\n             Blessed mirrors of his own blessedness!\n             And though the Highest found no equal,\n             Yet infinitude foams upward unto Him\n             From the vast basin of creation\u2019s realm.\n\nLove is, Raphael, the great secret that can restore the dishonored king\nof gold from the flat, unprofitable chalk; that can save the eternal\nfrom the temporal and transient, and the great oracle of duration from\nthe consuming conflagration of time.\n\nWhat does all that has been said amount to?\n\nIf we perceive excellence, it is ours. Let us become intimate with the\nhigh ideal unity, and we shall be drawn to one another in brotherly\nlove. If we plant beauty and joy we shall reap beauty and joy. If we\nthink clearly we shall love ardently. \u201cBe ye perfect, as your Father in\nheaven is perfect,\u201d says the Founder of our Faith. Weak human nature\nturned pale at this command, therefore He explained himself in clearer\nterms: \u201cLove one another!\u201d\n\n              Wisdom, with thy sunlike look,\n              Awful goddess! turn thee back,\n                And give way to Love;\n              Who before thee went, with hero heart,\n              Up the steep and stormy path\n              To the Godhead\u2019s very throne;\n              Who, unveiling the Holiest,\n              Showed to thee Elysium\n              Through the vaulted sepulchre.\n                Did it not invite us in?\n              Could we reach immortality\u2014\n              Or could we seek the spirit\n              Without Love, the spirit\u2019s master?\n              Love, Love leadeth only to Nature\u2019s Father,\n                _Only love the spirits_.\n\nI have now given you, Raphael, my spirit\u2019s confession of faith\u2014a flying\noutline of the creation I have undertaken. As you may perceive, the seed\nwhich you scattered in my soul took root. Mock, or rejoice, or blush at\nyour scholar, as you please. Certain it is this philosophy has ennobled\nmy heart, and extended and beautified the perspective of my life. It is\npossible, my excellent friend, that the entire structure of my\nconclusions may have been a baseless and visionary edifice. Perhaps the\nworld, as I depicted it, nowhere exists, save in the brain of your\nJulius. Perhaps, after the lapse of thousands on thousands of years,\nwhen the wiser Judge promised in the future, sits on the judgment-seat,\nat the sight of the true original, filled with confusion, I should tear\nin pieces my schoolboy\u2019s design. All this may happen\u2014I expect it; and\neven if not a vestige of reality is found in my dream, the reality will\nfill me with proportionately greater delight and wonder. Ought my ideas\nto be more beautiful than those of the Creator? How so? Could we\ntolerate that His exalted artistic structure should fall beneath the\nexpectations of a mortal connoisseur? This is exactly the fiery\nprobation of His great perfection, and the sweetest triumph for the\nExalted Spirit, that false conclusions and deception do not injure His\nacknowledgment; that all tortuous deviations of the wandering reason at\nlength strike into the straight road of everlasting truth; that all\ndiverging arms and currents ultimately meet in the main stream. What an\nidea, Raphael, I form of the Great Artist, who, differently travestied\nin a thousand copies, still retains identical features in all this\ndiversity, from which even the depreciating hand of a blunderer cannot\nremove admiration.\n\nMoreover, my representation may certainly be fallacious, wholly an\ninvention,\u2014nay, I am persuaded that it must necessarily be so; and yet\nit is possible that all results of this may come to pass. All great\nsages are agreed that our whole knowledge moves on ultimately to a\nconventional deception, with which, however, the strictest truth can\nco-exist. Our purest ideas are by no means images of things, but only\ntheir signs or symbols determined by necessity, and co-existing with\nthem.\n\nNeither God, nor the human soul, nor the world, are really what we\nconsider them. Our thoughts of these are only the endemic forms in which\nthe planet we inhabit hands them to us. Our brain belongs to this\nplanet; accordingly, also, the idioms of our ideas, which are treasured\nup in it. But the power of the soul is peculiar, necessary, and always\nconsistent: the capricious nature of the materials through which it\nfinds expression changes nothing in the eternal laws, as long as this\ncapriciousness does not stand in contradiction with itself, and so long\nas the sign remains true to the thing it designates. As the thinking\npower develops the relations of the idioms, these relations of things\nmust also really be present in them. Therefore, truth is no property of\nthe idioms, but of the conclusion; it is not the likeness of the sign\nwith the thing signified, of the conception with the object; but the\nagreement of this conception with the laws of thought. In a similar\nmanner, the doctrine of quantity makes use of cyphers which are nowhere\npresent, except upon paper, and yet it finds with them what is present\nin the world of reality. For example, what resemblance is there between\nthe letters A and B, the signs: and =, +, and -, and the fact that has\nto be ascertained? Yet the comet, foretold centuries before, advances\nfrom a remote corner of the heavens, and the expected planet eclipses\nthe disk at the proper time. Trusting to the infallibility of his\ncalculation, the discoverer Columbus plunges into unknown regions of the\nsea to seek the missing other half of the known hemisphere\u2014the great\nisland of Atlantis\u2014to fill up a blank in his geographical map. He found\nthis island of his paper calculation, and his calculation was right.\nWould it have been less great if a hostile storm had shattered his fleet\nor driven it back? The human mind makes a similar calculation when it\nmeasures the supersensual by means of the sensible, and when mathematics\napplies its conclusions to the hidden physics of the superhuman. But the\nlast test of its calculations is still wanting, for no traveller has\ncome back from that land to relate his discovery. Human nature has its\nproper bounds, and so also has the individual. We will give each other\nmutual comfort respecting the former: Raphael will concede this to the\nboyish age of his Julius. I am poor in conceptions, a stranger in many\nbranches of knowledge which are thought to be essential in inquiries of\nthis nature. I have not belonged to any philosophical school, nor have I\nread many printed books. It may quite well be that I occasionally\nsubstitute my fancies in the place of stricter logical proofs, that I\nmistake the rush of my blood or the hopes of my heart for sound wisdom;\nyet, my dear friend, you must not grudge me the moments I have thus\nlost. It is a real gain for universal perfection: it was the provision\nof the Wisest Spirit that the erring reason should also people the\nchaotic world of dreams, and make fruitful even the barren ground of\ncontradiction. It is not only the mechanical artist who polishes the\nrough diamond into a brilliant whom we ought to value, but also that one\nwho ennobles mere ordinary stones by giving them the apparent dignity of\nthe diamond. The industry displayed in the forms may sometimes make us\nforget the massive truth of the substance. Is not every exercise of the\nthinking power, every sharpening of the edge of the spirit, a little\nstep towards its perfection; and every perfection has to obtain a being\nand substantial existence in a complete and perfect world. Reality is\nnot confined to the absolutely necessary; it also embraces the\nconditionally necessary: every offspring of the brain, every work\nelaborated by the wit, has an irresistible right of citizenship in this\nwider acceptation of creation. In the measureless plan of nature no\nactivity was to be left out, no degree of enjoyment was to be wanting in\nuniversal happiness. The great Inventive Spirit would not even permit\nerror to be wasted, nor allow this wide world of thought to remain empty\nand chaotic in the mind of man. For the Great Ruler of His world does\nnot even allow a straw to fall without use, leaves no space uninhabited\nwhere life may be enjoyed; for He converts the very poison of man into\nthe food of vipers; He even raises plants from the realm of corruption,\nand hospitably grants the little glimmer of pleasure that can co-exist\nwith madness. He turns crime and folly into excellence, and weaves out\nof the very vices of a Tarquin the great idea of the universal monarchy\nof Rome. Every facility of the reason, even in error, increases its\nreadiness to accept truth.\n\nDear friend of my soul, suffer me to add my contribution to the great\nwoof of human wisdom. The image of the sun is reflected differently in\nthe dewdrop and in the majestic mirror of the wide-stretching ocean.\nShame to the turbid, murky swamp, which never receives and never\nreflects this image! Millions of plants drink from the four elements of\nnature; a magazine of supplies is open for all: but they mix their sap\nin a thousand different ways, and return it in a thousand new forms. The\nmost beautiful variety proclaims a rich Lord of this house. There are\nfour elements from which all spirits draw their supplies: their Ego or\nindividuality, Nature, God, and the Future. All intermingle in millions\nof ways and offer themselves in a million differences of result: but one\ntruth remains which, like a firm axis, goes through all religions and\nsystems\u2014draw nigh to the Godhead of whom you think!\n\n\n                               LETTER V.\n                          _Raphael to Julius._\n\nIt would be very unfortunate, my dear Julius, if there were no other way\nof quieting you than by restoring the first fruits of your belief in\nyou. I found with delight these ideas, which I saw gaining in you,\nwritten down in your papers. They are worthy of a soul like yours, but\nyou could not remain stationary in them. There are joys for every age\nand enjoyments for each degree of spirits. It must have been a difficult\nthing for you to sever yourself from a system that was entirely made to\nmeet the wants of your heart. I would wager that no other system will\nstrike such deep roots in you, and, possibly, if left quite to your own\ndirection, you would sooner or later become reconciled to your favorite\nideas. You would soon remark the weakness of the opposite system, and\nthen, if both systems appeared equally deficient in proof, you would\nprefer the most desirable one, or, perhaps, you would find new arguments\nto preserve at least the essential features of your former theory, even\nif a few more doubtful points had to be given up.\n\nBut all this is remote from my plan. You must arrive at a higher\n_freedom of mind_, where you no longer require support. I grant that\nthis is not the affair of a moment. The first aim of the earliest\nteaching is commonly the subjugation of the mind, and among all the\nartifices of the art of education this generally succeeds the first.\nEven you, though endowed with great elasticity of character, yet appear\ndestined to submit readily to the sway of _opinions_, and even more\ninclined to this than thousands; and this state of infancy might last\nvery long with you, as you do not readily feel the oppression of it.\nYour head and heart are in very close connection. A doctrine is sweet to\nyou on account of the teacher. You soon succeeded in finding an\ninteresting side in this doctrine, you ennobled it according to the\nwants of your heart, and you suffered your mind to be resigned to other\npoints that must needs appear strange to you. You regarded attacks on\nthis doctrine as boyish revenge taken by a slavish soul against the rod\nof its tutor. You played with your chains, which you thought you carried\nby your own free will.\n\nI found you in this situation, and the sight gave me pain\u2014how, in the\nmidst of the enjoyment of your glowing life, and while giving expression\nto your noblest powers, you were hemmed in by narrow considerations. The\nvery logical consistency with which you acted according to your\nconvictions, and the strength of soul that made every sacrifice light to\nyou, were twofold hinderances to your activity and to your joys. I then\nresolved to set aside these clumsy efforts by which it had been\nendeavored to cramp a soul like yours in the measure of ordinary\nnatures. The result of your first exertions favored my intentions. I\nadmit that your imagination was more actively employed upon the work\nthan was your penetration. The loss of your fondest convictions was more\nthan atoned for by your presentiments, which gathered results much more\nrapidly than the tortoise pace of cold scientific inquiry, passing from\nthe known to the unknown. Your kind of inspired system gave you your\nfirst enjoyment in this new field of activity, and I was very careful\nnot to destroy a welcome enthusiasm which was very favorable to the\ndevelopment of your excellent disposition. The scene is now changed. A\nreturn into the restrictions of infancy is closed forever. Your way\nleads onwards, and you require no further precautions.\n\nYou must not be surprised to find that a system such as yours cannot\nresist the searching of a severe criticism. All essays of this kind,\nequal in breadth and boldness to yours, have had no other fate. It was\nalso most natural that your philosophical progress began with you\nindividually, as with the human race in general. The _first object_ on\nwhich man\u2019s spirit of inquiry first attempted its strength was, at all\ntimes, the universe. Hypotheses relating to the origin of the world, and\nthe combination of its parts, had occupied the greatest thinkers for\nages, when Socrates called down the philosophy of his day from heaven to\nearth. But the limits of human wisdom were too narrow for the proud\nintellect of his followers. New systems arose on the ruins of the former\nones. The penetrating mind of subsequent ages explored the immeasurable\nfield of possible answers to those ever-recurring questions, bearing on\nthe mysterious interior of nature, which could not be disclosed by any\nhuman intellect. Some, indeed, succeeded in giving a certain coloring of\ndistinctness, completeness, and evidence to their views. There are many\nconjuring tricks by which the pride of reason seeks to avoid the\ndisgrace of not being able to exceed the bounds of human nature in\nextending the circle of its knowledge. It is a frequent conceit with men\nto believe that they have discovered new truths, when they have\ndissected a conception into the separate elements out of which it was\nfirst compounded by an act of caprice. Not unfrequently an imperceptible\nassumption lies at the basis of a chain of consequences, whose breaks\nand deficiencies are cunningly concealed, while the false conclusions\nare admired as sublime wisdom. In other cases, partial experiences are\naccumulated to found a hypothesis, and all contradictory phenomena are\neither ignored, or the meaning of words is changed according to the\nrequirements of the reasoning. Nor is it only the philosophical quack\nwho employs these conjuring tricks to deceive the public; without being\nconscious of it, the most upright and the least prejudiced thinker uses\nanalogous means to satisfy his thirst for knowledge directly that he\nissues from the only sphere where reason can legitimately enjoy the\nfruit of its activity.\n\nAfter what you have heard me say on former occasions, Julius, these\nexpressions must cause you no little astonishment; yet they are not the\nproduct of a sceptical caprice. I could lay before you the foundations\non which they rest, but this would require, as prelude, a somewhat dry\nexamination into the nature of human knowledge,\u2014and I prefer to reserve\nthis for a time when you will feel the want of it. You have not yet\narrived at that state of mind when humiliating truths on the limits of\nhuman knowledge can have any interest for you. Make a first essay with\nthe system which has supplanted your own in your mind. Examine it with\nthe same impartiality as severity. Proceed in the same manner with other\ntheories with which you have recently become acquainted; and if none of\nthem can fully satisfy your requirements, you will ask yourself if,\nafter all, these requirements are reasonable.\n\nPerhaps you will tell me this is a poor consolation. You will infer that\nresignation is your only refuge after so many brilliant hopes had been\nraised. \u201cWas it worth while,\u201d you will say, \u201cto challenge me to a full\nexercise of my reason in order to set bounds to it at the very moment\nwhen it was beginning to bear the noblest fruit? Was I only to become\nacquainted with a higher enjoyment in order to feel with a double\nkeenness how painful it is to be thus bounded?\u201d\n\nNevertheless, it is this very feeling of discouragement that I expressly\nwish to banish from your soul. My aim is this: to remove all that places\nan obstacle to the free enjoyment of your being, to bring to life in you\nthe germ of all lofty inspiration\u2014the consciousness of the nobility of\nyour soul. You have been awakened from the slumber in which you were\nrocked by the slavery of others\u2019 opinions; but you would never reach the\ndegree of grandeur to which you are called if you dissipated your\nstrength in the pursuit of an unattainable end. This course was all\nproper up to the present time; it was the natural consequence of your\nrecently acquired freedom. It was necessary that the ideas which had\nmost engaged you previously should give the first impulse to the\nactivity of your mind. Among all possible directions that your mind\ncould take, is its present course the most fertile in results? The\nanswer would be given, sooner or later, by your own experience. My part\nwas confined to hastening, if possible, this crisis.\n\nIt is a common prejudice to take as a measure of the greatness of man\nthat matter on which he works, and not the manner of his work. But it is\ncertain that a superior Being honors the stamp of perfection even in the\nmost limited sphere, whilst He casts an eye of pity on the vain attempts\nof the insect which seeks to overlook the universe. It follows from this\nthat I am especially unwilling to agree to the proposition in your\npapers, which assumes that the high destiny of man is to detect the\nspirit of the Divine Artist in the work of creation. To express the\nactivity of infinite perfection, I admit that I do not know any sublimer\nimage than art; but you appear to have overlooked an important\ndistinction. The universe is not the pure expression of an ideal, like\nthe accomplished work of a human artist. The latter governs despotically\nthe inanimate matter which he uses to give a body to his ideas. But in\nthe divine work the proper value of each one of its parts is respected,\nand this conservative respect with which the Great Architect honors\nevery germ of activity, even in the lowliest creature, glorifies it as\nmuch as the harmony of the immeasurable whole. Life and liberty to all\npossible extent are the seal of divine creation; nowhere is it more\nsublime than where it seems to have departed most widely from its ideal.\nBut it is precisely this highest perfection that prevents us from\ngrasping the limits in which we are at present confined. We embrace only\ntoo small a part of the universe, and the explanation of most of its\ndiscords is inaccessible to our faculties. Each step we climb in the\nscale of being will make us more susceptible of these enjoyments of art;\nbut even then their only value will be that of means, and to excite us\nto an analogous exercise of our activity. The idle admiration of a\ngreatness foreign to ourselves can never be a great merit. A superior\nman is never wanting in matter for his activity, nor in the forces\nnecessary to become himself a creator in his sphere. This vocation is\nyours also, Julius; when you have recognized this you will never have a\nthought of complaining of the limits that your desire of knowledge\ncannot overstep.\n\nWhen you have arrived at this conviction I expect to find you wholly\nreconciled to me. You must first know fully the extent of your strength\nbefore you can appreciate the value of its freest manifestation. Till\nthen, continue to be dissatisfied with me, but do not despair of\nyourself.\n\n\n ON THE CONNECTION BETWEEN THE ANIMAL AND THE SPIRITUAL NATURE IN MAN.\n\n  \u201cIt behooves us to clearly realize, as the broad facts which have most\n  wide-reaching consequences in mental physiology and pathology, that\n  all parts of the body, the highest and the lowest, have a sympathy\n  with one another more intelligent than conscious intelligence can yet,\n  or perhaps ever will, conceive; that there is not an organic motion,\n  visible or invisible, sensible or insensible, ministrant to the\n  noblest or to the most humble purposes, which does not work its\n  appointed effect in the complex recesses of the mind, _and that the\n  mind, as the crowning achievement of organization, and the\n  consummation and outcome of all its energies, really comprehends the\n  bodily life_.\u201d\u2014MAWDESLEY, _Body and Mind_.\n\n  \u201cIt is an indisputable truth that what we call the material world is\n  only known to us under the forms of the ideal world, and, as Descartes\n  tells us, our knowledge of the soul is more intimate and certain than\n  our knowledge of the body.\u201d\u2014HUXLEY.\n\n\n                             INTRODUCTION.\n\n\n                                  \u00a7 1.\n\nMany philosophers have asserted that the body is, as it were, the\nprison-house of the spirit, holding it only too firmly to what is\nearthly, and checking its so-called flight towards perfection. On the\nother hand, it has been held by another philosophic school that\nknowledge and virtue are not so much an end as a means towards\nhappiness, and that the whole perfection of man culminates in the\namelioration of his body.\n\nBoth opinions,[18] methinks, are one-sided. The latter system has almost\nentirely disappeared from our schemes of ethics and philosophy, and is,\nI am inclined to think, not seldom cast out with over-fanatical\nzeal\u2014(nothing assuredly is so dangerous to truth as when one-sided\nopinions meet with one-sided opponents). The former system has on the\nwhole been more patiently endured, since it has the greatest capacity\nfor warming the heart towards virtue, and has already justified its\nvalue in the case of truly great souls. Who is there that does not\nadmire the strength of mind of a Cato, the lofty virtue of a Brutus and\nAurelius, the equanimity of an Epictetus and a Seneca? But, in spite of\nall this, the system in question is nothing more than a beautiful\naberration of the understanding, a real extreme, which in its wild\nenthusiasm underrates one part of our human nature, and desires to raise\nus into the order of ideal beings without at the same time relieving us\nof our humanity,\u2014a system which runs directly contrary to all that we\nhistorically know or philosophically can explain either of the evolution\nof the single man or of that of the entire race, and can in no way be\nreconciled with the limitations of our human soul. It is therefore here,\nas ever, the wisest plan to hold the balance between the two opinions,\nand thus reach with greater certainty the middle line of truth. But,\ninasmuch as a mistake has very often been committed by treating the\nmental powers in an exclusive way, that is, in so far as they can be\nconsidered in independence of the body, and through an intentional\nsubordination of this same body, the aim of this present essay will be\nto bring into a clearer light the remarkable contributions made by the\nbody to the workings of the soul, and the great and real influence of\nthe animal system of sensations upon the spiritual. But this is as like\nthe philosophy of Epicurus as the holding of virtue to be the _summum\nbonum_ is stoicism.\n\n\nBefore we seek to discover those higher moral ends which the animal\nnature assists us in attaining to, we must establish their physical\nnecessity, and come to an agreement as to some fundamental conceptions.\n\n\n                          PHYSICAL CONNECTION.\n        THE ANIMAL NATURE STRENGTHENS THE ACTION OF THE SPIRIT.\n\n\n  \u00a7 2.\u2014_Organism of the Operations of the Soul\u2014of its Maintenance and\n                        Support\u2014of Generation._\n\nAll those conditions which we accept as requisite to the perfection of\nman in the moral and material world may be included in one fundamental\nsentence: The perfection of man consists in his ability to exercise his\npowers in the observation of the plan of the world; and since between\nthe measure of the power and the end towards which it works there must\nexist the completest harmony, perfection will consist in the highest\npossible activity of his powers, and, at the same time, in their mutual\nsubordination. But the action of the human soul is\u2014from a necessity\nwhich I do not understand\u2014bound fast to the action of matter. The\nchanges in the world of matter must be modified and, so to speak,\nrefined by a peculiar class of secondary powers\u2014I mean the senses\u2014before\nthey can produce in me any corresponding ideas; while, on the other\nhand, a fresh set of organic powers, the agents of voluntary movements,\nmust come into play between the inner spirit and the outward world in\norder to make the changes of the former tell upon the latter; thus must\nthe operations of thinking and sensation alike correspond to certain\nmovements of the internal sensorium. All this goes to make up the\norganism of the soul\u2019s activities.\n\nBut matter is spoil stolen from the eternal change, and wears itself\naway, even as it works; in its movement its very element is driven from\nits grooves, chased away and lost. Because now, on the contrary, that\nsimple essence, the soul, possesses in itself permanence and stability,\nand in its essence neither gains nor loses aught,\u2014matter cannot keep\nstep with the activity of the spirit, and there would thus soon be an\nend of the organism of spiritual life, and therewith of all action of\nthe soul. To prevent which there must be added to the first system of\norganic powers a second one, which shall make good the losses sustained,\nand sustain the decay by a chain of new creations ready to take the\nplace of those that have gone. This is the organism of maintenance.\n\nStill further. After a short period of activity, when the equal balance\nof loss and reparation is once removed, man quits the stage of life, and\nthe law of mortality depopulates the earth. There is not room enough for\nthe multitude of sentient beings, whom eternal love and wisdom seemed to\nhave called to a happy existence, to live side by side within the narrow\nboundaries of our world, and the life of one generation shuts out the\nlife of another. Therefore was it necessary that new men should appear,\nto take the place of those who had departed, and that life should be\nkept up in unbroken succession. But of _creation_ there is no longer any\ntrace; what now becomes new becomes so only by development. The\ndevelopment of man must come to pass through man, if it is to bear a\nproportion to the original number, if man is to be cultivated into man.\nOn this account a new system of organic powers was added to the two that\nhad preceded it, which had for its object to quicken and to develop the\nseed of humanity. This is the organism of generation.\n\nThese three organisms, brought into the most thorough connection, local\nand real, go to form the human body.\n\n\n                            \u00a7 3.\u2014_The Body._\n\nThe organic powers of the human body naturally divide themselves into\ntwo principal classes. The first class embraces those which no known\nlaws and phenomena of the physical world enable us to comprehend; and to\nthese belong the sensibility of the nerves and the irritability of the\nmuscles. Inasmuch as it has hitherto been impossible to penetrate the\neconomy of the invisible, men have sought to interpret this unknown\nmechanism through that with which they were already familiar, and have\nconsidered the nerves as a canal conducting an excessively fine,\nvolatile, and active fluid, which in rapidity of motion and fineness was\nheld to excel ether and the electric spark. This fluid was held to be\nthe principle and author of our sensibility and power of motion, and\nhence received the name of the spirit of life. Further, the irritability\nof the muscles was held to consist in a certain effort to contract\nthemselves on the touch of some external provocation. These two\nprinciples go to form the specific character of animal organism.\n\nThe second class of powers embraces those which we can account for by\nthe universally-known laws of physics. Among these I reckon the\nmechanism of motion, and the chemistry of the human body, the source of\nvegetable life. Vegetation, then, and animal mechanism, thoroughly\nmingled, form the proper physical life of the human body.\n\n\n                          \u00a7 4.\u2014_Animal Life._\n\nThis is not yet all. Since loss or misfortune, when it occurs, falls\nmore or less within the will-power of the spirit, the spirit must be\nable to make some compensation for it. Further, since the body is\nsubjected to all the consequences of this connection, and in the circle\nof circumstances is exposed to countless hostile forces, it must be\nwithin the power of the soul to protect the body against these harmful\ninfluences, and to bring it into such relations with the physical world\nas shall tend most to its preservation. The soul must therefore be\nconscious of the present evil or good state of its organs; from a bad\nstate it must draw dissatisfaction, from a good state satisfaction, so\nthat it may either retain or remove the condition, seek it or fly from\nit. Here then we have the organism at once and closely linked to the\nsensational capacity, and the soul drawn into the service of the body.\nWe have now something more than vegetation, something more than a dead\nmodel and the mechanism of nerves and muscles. Now we have animal\nlife.[19]\n\nA healthy condition of our animal life is, as we know, most important\nfor the healthy condition of our spiritual life; and we dare never\nignore the animal life so long as we are not quit of it. It must\ntherefore possess a firm foundation, not easily moved; that is, the soul\nmust be fitted and prepared for the actions of our bodily life by an\nirresistible power. Were then the sensations of our animal loss or\nwell-being to become spiritual perceptions, and had they to be created\nby thought, how often would the soul be obscured by the overwhelming\nblaze of passion; how often stifled by laziness and stupidity; how often\noverlooked in the absorptions and distractions of business! Further,\nwould not, in this case, the most perfect knowledge of his economy be\ndemanded of the animal man\u2014would not the child need to be a master in a\nbranch of knowledge in which, after fifty years of investigation,\nHarvey, Boerhaave, and Haller were only beginners? The soul could thus\nhave positively no _idea_ of the condition she was called upon to alter.\nHow shall she become acquainted with it? how shall she begin to act at\nall?\n\n\n                       \u00a7 5.\u2014_Animal Sensations._\n\nSo far we have met with such sensations only as they take their rise in\nan antecedent operation of the understanding; but we have now to deal\nwith sensations in which the understanding bears no part. These\nsensations, if they are not exactly the expression of the present state\nof our organs, mark it out specifically, or, better, accompany it. These\nsensations have quickly and forcibly to determine the will to aversion\nor desire; but, on the other hand, they are ever to float on the surface\nof the soul, and never to extend to the province of the reason. The\npart, accordingly, played by thought, in the case of a mental\nperception, is here taken up by that modification in the animal parts of\nus which either threatens the destruction of the sensation or insures\nits duration: that is, an eternal law of wisdom has combined with that\ncondition of the machine which confirms its welfare, a pleasant emotion\nof the soul; and, on the other hand, with that condition which\nundermines it and threatens ruin, an unpleasant emotion is connected;\nand this in such a manner that the sensation itself has not the faintest\nresemblance to the state of the organs of which it is the mark. Animal\nsensations have, on this showing, a double origin: (1) in the present\nstate of the machine; (2) in the capacity or faculty (of sensation).\n\nWe are now able to understand how it is that the animal sensations have\nthe power to drive the soul with an irresistible tyranny in the\ndirection of passionate action, and not seldom gain the upper hand in a\nstruggle with those sensations which are most purely intellectual. For\nthese last the soul has produced by means of thought, and therefore they\ncan by thought be solved or even destroyed. Abstraction and philosophy\nhave this power over the passions, over opinions\u2014in short, over all the\nsituations of life; but the animal sensations are forced upon the soul\nby a blind necessity, by a stern mechanical law. The understanding,\nwhich did not create them, likewise cannot dissolve them and make them\nas if they were not, though by giving an opposite direction to our\nattention it can do much to weaken their power and obscure their\npretensions. The most stubborn stoic, lying in the agony of the stone,\nwill never be able to boast that he did not feel its pain; but, lost in\nthe consideration of the end of his existence, he will be able to divide\nhis whole power of sensation and perception, and the preponderating\npleasure of a great achievement, which can subordinate even pain to the\ngeneral welfare, will be victorious over the present discomfort. It was\nneither absence of nor annihilation of sensation that enabled Mucius,\nwhile he was roasting his hand in the fire, to gaze upon the foe with\nthe Roman look of proud repose, but the thought of great Rome in\nadmiration of his deed. This it was that ruled in his soul, and kept it\ngrandly self-possessed, so that the terrible provocation of the animal\npain was too slight to disturb the equal balance of his nature. But not\non this account was the pain the Roman suffered less than it would have\nbeen in the case of the most effeminate voluptuary. True enough, the man\nwho is accustomed to pass his days in a state of confused ideas will be\nless capable of manly action, in the critical moment of sensuous pain,\nthan he who lives persistently among ideas distinct and clear; but, for\nall that, neither the loftiest virtue, nor the profoundest philosophy,\nnor even divine religion, can save a man from the result of a necessary\nlaw, though religion can bless her servants even at the stake, and make\nthem happy as the pile gives way.\n\nThe wisest purpose is served by the power which the animal sensations\npossess over the perceptive faculty of the soul. The spirit once\ninitiated in the mysteries of a higher pleasure would look with disdain\nupon the motions of its companion, and would pay no heed to the poor\nnecessities of physical life, were it not that the animal feeling\ncompelled it to do so. The mathematician, soaring in the region of the\ninfinite, and dreaming away reality in a world of abstractions, is\nroused by the pang of hunger from his intellectual slumber; the natural\nphilosopher, dismembering the solar system, accompanying through\nimmeasurable space the wanderings of the planets, is restored by the\nprick of a needle to his mother earth; the philosopher who unfolds the\nnature of the Deity, and fancies himself to have broken through the\nfetters of mortality, returns to himself and everyday life when the\nbleak north wind whistles through his crazy hut, and teaches him that he\nstands midway between the beast and the angel.\n\nAgainst an excess of the animal sensations the severest mental exertion\nin the end possesses no influence; as they continue to grow stronger,\nreason closes her ears, and the fettered soul moves but to subserve the\npurposes of the bodily organization. To satisfy hunger or to quench\nthirst man will do deeds at which humanity will shudder: against his\nwill he turns traitor or murderer\u2014even cannibal:\u2014\n\n       Tiger! in the bosom of thy mother wilt thou set thy teeth?\n\n\u2014so violent is the influence of the animal sensation over the mind. Such\nwatchful care has the Creator shown for the preservation of the machine\nthat the pillars on which it rests are the firmest, and experience has\ntaught us that it is rather the over-abundance than the want of animal\nsensations that has carried destruction with it.\n\nThe animal sensations therefore may be said to further the welfare of\nthe animal nature, just as the moral and intellectual perceptions\npromote spiritual progress or perfection. The system of animal\nsensations and motions, then, comprises the conception of the animal\nnature. This is the ground on which all the activities of the soul\ndepend, and the conformation of this fabric determines the duration of\nthe spiritual activity itself, and the degree of ease with which it\nworks. Here, then, we find ourselves in possession of the first member\nof the connection between the two natures.\n\n\n \u00a7 6.\u2014_Objections against the Connection of the Two Natures, drawn from\n                          Ideas of Morality._\n\nThere is no doubt that thus much will be conceded; but the next remark\nwill be: \u201cHere ends, too, any determining influence the body may\npossess; beyond this point the body is but the soul\u2019s inert companion,\nwith whom she must sustain a constant battle, attendance on whose\nnecessities robs her of all leisure, whose attacks and interruptions\nbreak the thread of the most intricate speculation, and drive the spirit\nfrom the clearest and plainest conceptions into a chaotic complexity of\nthe senses, whose pleasures remove the greatest part of our\nfellow-creatures far from their high original, and reduce them to the\nlevel of the beasts, which, in a word, entangles them in a slavery from\nwhich death only can deliver them. Is it not senseless and injust,\u201d our\ncomplainer might go on to say, \u201cto mix up a being, simple, necessary,\nthat has its subsistence in itself, with another being that moves in an\neternal whirl, exposed to every chance and change, and becomes the\nvictim of even external necessity?\u201d On cooler afterthought we shall\nperhaps see a great beauty take its rise out of this apparent confusion\nand want of plan.\n\n\n                       PHILOSOPHICAL CONNECTION.\n      ANIMAL IMPULSES AWAKEN AND DEVELOP THE IMPULSES OF THE SOUL.\n\n\n                           \u00a7 7.\u2014_The Method_\n\nThe surest way, perhaps, to throw some light upon this matter is the\nfollowing: Let us detach from man all idea of what can be called\norganization,\u2014that is, let the body be separated from the spirit,\nwithout, however, depriving the latter of the power to attain to\nrepresentations of, and to produce actions in, the corporeal world; and\nlet us then inquire how the spirit would set to work, would develop its\npowers, what steps it would take towards its perfection: the result of\nthis investigation must be founded upon facts. The actual culture of the\nindividual man is thus surveyed, while we at the same time obtain a view\nof the development of the whole race. In the first place, then, we have\nthis abstract case: the power of representation and will are present, a\nsphere of action is present, and a free way opened from the soul to the\nworld, from the world to the soul. The question then is, How will the\nspirit act?\n\n\n       \u00a7 8.\u2014_The Soul viewed as out of connection with the Body._\n\nWe can form no conception without the antecedent will to form it; no\nwill, unless by experience of a better condition thereby induced,\nwithout [some] sensation; no sensation without an antecedent idea (for\nalong with the body we excluded bodily sensations), therefore no idea\nwithout an idea.\n\nLet us consider now the case of a child; that is, according to our\nhypothesis, a spirit conscious in itself of the power to form ideas, but\nwhich for the first time is about to exercise this power. What will\ndetermine him to think, unless it be the pleasant sensation thereby\narising, and what can have procured for him the experience of this\npleasurable sensation? We have just seen that this, again, could be\nnothing but thinking, and he is now for the first time to think.\nFurther, what shall invite him to a consideration of the [external]\nworld? Nothing but the experience of its perfection in so far as it\nsatisfies his instinct of activity, and as this satisfaction affords him\npleasure. What, then, can determine him to an exercise of his powers?\nNothing but the experience of their existence; and all these experiences\nare now to be made for the first time. He must therefore have been\nactive from all eternity\u2014which is contrary to the case as stated\u2014or he\nwill to all eternity be inactive, just as the machine without a touch\nfrom without remains idle and motionless.\n\n\n          \u00a7 9.\u2014_The Soul viewed in connection with the Body._\n\nNow let the animal be added to the spirit. Weave these two natures so\nclosely together as they really are closely woven, and cause an unknown\nsomething, born of the economy of the animal body, to be assailed by the\npower of sensation,\u2014let the soul be placed in the condition of physical\npain. _That_ was the first touch, the first ray to light up the night of\nslumbering powers, a touch as from a golden finger upon nature\u2019s lute.\nNow is _sensation_ there, and _sensation_ only was it that before we\nmissed. This kind of sensation seems to have been made on purpose to\nremove all these difficulties. In the first case none could be produced\nbecause we were not allowed to presuppose an idea; here a modification\nof the bodily organs becomes a substitute for the ideas that were\nlacking, and thus does animal sensation come to the help of the spirits\ninward mechanism, if I may so call it, and puts the same in motion. The\nwill is active, and the action of a single power is sufficient to set\nall the rest to work. The following operations are self-developed and do\nnot belong to this chapter.\n\n\n             \u00a7 10.\u2014_Out of the History of the Individual._\n\nLet us follow now the growth of the soul in the individual man in\nrelation to what I am trying to demonstrate, and let us observe how all\nhis spiritual capacities grow out of motive powers of sense.\n\n_a._ The _child_. Still quite animal; or, rather more and at the same\ntime less than animal\u2014human animal (for that being which at some time\nshall be called man can at no time have been only animal). More wretched\nthan an animal, because he has not even instinct\u2014the animal-mother may\nwith less danger leave her young than the mother abandon her child. Pain\nmay force from him a cry, but will never direct him to the source from\nwhich it comes. The milk may give him pleasure, but he does not seek it.\nHe is altogether passive.\n\n    His thinking rises only to sensation.\n    His knowledge is but pain, hunger\u2014and what binds these together.\n\n_b._ The _boy_. Here we have already reflection, but only in so far as\nit bears upon the satisfaction of the animal impulse. \u201cHe learns to\nvalue,\u201d says Garve,[20] \u201cthe things of others, and his actions in\nrespect of others, first of all through the fact of their affording him\n[sensuous] pleasure.\u201d\n\nA love of work, the love to his parents, to friends, yea even love to\nGod, must go along the pathway of physical sense [Sinnlichkeit] to reach\nhis soul. \u201cThat only is the sun,\u201d as Garve elsewhere observes, \u201cwhich in\nitself enlightens and warms: all other objects are dark and cold; but\nthey too can be warmed and illumined when they enter into such a\nconnection with the same as to become partakers of its rays.\u201d[21] The\ngood things of the spirit possess a value with the boy only by\ntransference\u2014they are the spiritual means to an animal end.\n\n_c._ _Youth and man._ The frequent repetition of this process of\ninduction at last brings about a readiness, and the transference begins\nto discover a beauty in what at first was regarded simply as a means.\nThe youth begins to linger in the process without knowing why. Without\nobserving it, he is often attracted to think about this means. Now is\nthe time when the beams of spiritual beauty in itself begin to fall upon\nhis open soul; the feeling of exercising his powers delights him, and\ninfuses an inclination to the object which, up to this time, was a means\nonly: the first end is forgotten. His enlightened mind and the richer\nstore of his ideas at last reveal to him the whole worth of spiritual\npleasures\u2014the means has become the highest end.\n\nSuch is the teaching more or less of the history of each individual\nman\u2014whose means of education have been fairly good; and wisdom could\nhardly choose a better road along which to lead mankind. Is not the mass\nof the people even to this day in leading-strings?\u2014much like our boy.\nAnd has not the prophet from Medina left us an example of striking\nplainness how to bridle the rude nature of the Saracens?\n\nOn this subject nothing more excellent can be said than what Garve\nremarked in his translation of Ferguson\u2019s \u201cMoral Philosophy,\u201d in the\nchapter upon the Natural Impulses, and has developed as follows: \u201cThe\nimpulse of self-preservation and the attraction of sensual pleasure\nfirst bring both man and beast to the point of action: he first comes to\nvalue the things of others and his own actions in reference to them\naccording as they procure him pleasure. In proportion as the number of\nthings under whose influence he comes increases do his desires cover a\nwider circle; as the road by which he reaches the objects of his wishes\nlengthens, so do his desires become more artificial. Here we come to the\nfirst line of separation between man and the mere animal, and herein we\nmay even discover a difference between one species of animal and\nanother. With few animals does the act of feeding follow immediately\nupon the sensation of hunger; the heat of the chase, or the industry of\ncollection must come first. But in the case of no animal does the\nsatisfaction of this want follow so late upon the preparations made in\nreference thereto as in the case of man; with no animal does the\nendeavor wind through so long a chain of means and intentions before it\narrives at the last link. How far removed from this end, though in\nreality they have no other, are the labors of the artisan or the\nploughman. But even this is not all. When the means of human subsistence\nhave become richer and more various through the institutions of society;\nwhen man begins to discover that without a full expenditure of time and\nlabor a surplus remains to him; when at the same time by the\ncommunication of ideas he becomes more enlightened; then he begins to\nfind a last end for all his actions in himself; he then remarks that,\neven when his hunger is thoroughly satisfied, a good supply of raiment,\na roof above him, and a sufficiency of furniture within doors, there\nstill remains something over and above for him to do. He goes a step\nfurther, he becomes conscious that in those very actions by which he has\nprocured for himself food and comfort\u2014in so far as they have their\norigin in certain powers of a spirit, and in so far as they exercise\nthese powers\u2014there lies a higher good than in the external ends which\nthereby are attained. From this moment on he works, indeed\u2014in company\nwith the rest of the human race, and along with the whole animal\nkingdom\u2014to keep himself alive, and to provide for himself and his\nfriends the necessaries of physical existence;\u2014for what else could he\ndo? What other sphere of action could he create for himself, if he were\nto leave this? But he knows now that nature has not so much awakened in\nhim these various impulses and desires for the purpose of affording so\nmany particular pleasures,\u2014but, and far more, places before him the\nattraction of those pleasures and advantages, in order that these\nimpulses may be put in motion\u2014and with this end, that to a thinking\nbeing there may be given matter for thought, to a sensitive spirit\nmatter for sensations, to the benevolent means of beneficence, and to\nthe active opportunity for work. Thus does everything, living or\nlifeless, assume to him a new form. All the facts and changes of life\nwere formerly estimated by him only in so far as they caused him\npleasure or pain: _now_, in so far as they offer occasion for expression\nof his desire of perfection. In the first case, events are now good, now\nbad; in the latter, all are equally good. For there is no chance or\naccident which does not give scope for the exercise of some virtue, or\nfor the employment of a special faculty. At first he loved his fellows\nbecause he believed that they could be of use to him; he loves them now\nfar more\u2014because he looks upon benevolence as the condition of the\nperfect mind.\u201d\n\n\n                 \u00a7 11.\u2014_From the History of Humanity._\n\nYet once more, a glance at the universal history of the whole human\nrace\u2014from its cradle to the maturity of full-grown man\u2014and the truth of\nwhat has been said up to this point will stand forth in clearest relief.\n\nHunger and nakedness first made of man a hunter, a fisher, a cowherd, a\nhusbandman, and a builder. Sensual pleasure founded families, and the\ndefencelessness of single men was the origin of the tribe. Here already\nmay the first roots of the social duties be discovered. The soil would\nsoon become too poor for the increasing multitude of men; hunger would\ndrive them to other climates and countries that would discover their\nwealth to the necessity that forced men to seek it; in the process they\nwould learn many improvements in the cultivation of the soil, and\nperhaps some means to escape the hurtful influence of many things they\nwould necessarily encounter. These separate experiences passed from\ngrandfather to grandson, and their number was always on the increase.\nMan learned to use the powers of nature against herself; these powers\nwere brought into new relations and the first invention was made. Here\nwe have the first roots of the simple and healing arts\u2014always, we admit,\nart and invention for the behoof of the _animal_, but still an exercise\nof power, an addition to knowledge; and at the very fire in whose embers\nthe savage roasted his fish, Boerhaave afterwards made his inquiries\ninto the composition of bodies; through the very knife which this wild\nman used to cut up his game, Lionet invented what led to his discovery\nof the nerves of insects; with the very circle wherewith at first hoofs\nwere measured, Newton measures heaven and earth. Thus did the body force\nthe mind to pay attention to the phenomena around it; thus was the world\nmade interesting and important, through being made indispensable. The\ninward activity of their nature, and the barrenness of their native\nsoil, combined in teaching our forefathers to form bolder plans, and\ninvented for them a house wherein, under conduct of the stars, they\ncould safely move upon rivers and seas, and sail toward regions new:\u2014\n\n                Fluctibus ignotis insultavere carin\u00e6.\n                (Their keels danced upon waves unknown.)\n\nHere again they met with new productions of nature, new dangers, new\nneeds that called for new exertions. The collision of animal instincts\ndrives hordes against hordes, forges a sword out of the raw metal,\nbegets adventurers, heroes, and despots. Towns are fortified, states are\nfounded: with the states arise civic duties and rights, arts, figures,\ncodes of law, subtle priests\u2014and gods.\n\nAnd now, when necessities have degenerated into luxury, what a boundless\nfield is opened to our eyes! Now are the veins of the earth burrowed\nthrough, the foot of man is planted on the bottom of the sea, commerce\nand travel flourish:\u2014\n\n                  Latet sub classibus \u00e6quor.\n                  (The sea is hid beneath the fleets.)\n\nThe West wonders at the East, the East at the West; the productions of\nforeign countries accustom themselves to grow under other skies, and the\nart of gardening shows the products of three-quarters of the world in\none garden. Artists learn her works from nature, music soothes the\nsavage breast, beauty and harmony ennoble taste and manners, and art\nleads the way to science and virtue \u201cMan,\u201d says Schl\u00f6zer,[22] \u201cthis\nmighty demigod, clears rocks from his path, digs out lakes, and drives\nhis plough where once the sail was seen. By canals he separates quarters\nof the globe and provinces from one another; leads one stream to another\nand discharges them upon a sandy desert, changed thereby into smiling\nmeadow; three-quarters of the globe he plunders and transplants them\ninto a fourth. Even climate, air, and weather acknowledge his sway.\nWhile he roots out forests and drains the swamp, the heaven grows clear\nabove his head, moisture and mist are lost, winter becomes milder and\nshorter, because rivers are no longer frozen over.\u201d And the mind of man\nis refined with the refining of his clime.\n\nThe state occupies the citizen in the necessities and comforts of life.\nIndustry gives the state security and rest from without; from within,\ngranting to thinker and artist that fruitful leisure through which the\nage of Augustus came to be called the Golden Age. The arts now take a\nmore daring and untrammelled flight, science wins a light pure and dry,\nnatural history and physical science shatter superstition, history\nextends a mirror of the times that were, and philosophy laughs at the\nfollies of mankind. But when luxury grows into effeminacy and excess,\nwhen the bones begin to ache, and the pestilence to spread and the air\nbecomes infected, man hastens in his distress from one realm of nature\nto another, that he may at least find means for lessening his pains.\nThen he finds the divine plant of China; from the bowels of the earth he\ndigs out the mightily-working mercury, and from the poppy of the East\nlearns to distil its precious juice. The most hidden corners of nature\nare investigated; chemistry separates material objects into their\nultimate elements, and creates worlds of her own; alchemists enrich the\nprovince of physical science; the microscopic glance of a Schwammerdam\nsurprises nature in her most secret operations. Man goes still further;\nnecessity or curiosity transcends the boundaries set by superstition: he\nseizes the knife, takes courage, and the masterpiece of nature is\ndiscovered, even man. Thus did it behoove the least, the poorest, to\nhelp us to reach the highest; disease and death must lend their aid to\nman in teaching him \u0393\u03bd\u1ff6\u03b8\u03b9 \u03c3\u03b5\u03b1\u03cd\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd (\u201cKnow thyself!\u201d). The plague produced\nand formed our Hippocrates, our Sydenhams, as war is the mother of\ngenerals; and we owe to the most devastating disease that ever visited\nhumanity an entire reformation of our medical system.\n\nOur intention was to show the influence upon the perfecting of the soul\nthrough the temperate enjoyment of the pleasures held out by the senses;\nand how marvellously has the matter changed, even while under our hands!\nWe found that even excess and abuse in this direction have furthered the\nreal demands of humanity; the deflections from the primitive end of\nnature\u2014merchants, conquerors, and luxury\u2014have, undoubtedly, tended to\nhasten a progress which had otherwise been more regular, but very slow.\nLet us compare the old world with the new! In the first, desire was\nsimple, its satisfaction easy; but how mistaken, how painful was the\njudgment passed on nature and her laws! Now, the road is made more\ndifficult by a thousand windings, but how full the light that has been\nshed upon all our conceptions!\n\nWe may, then, repeat: Man needed to be an animal before he knew that he\nwas a spirit; he needed to crawl in the dust before he ventured on a\nNewtonian flight through the universe. The body, therefore, is the first\nspur to action; sense the first step on the ladder to perfection.\n\n\n             ANIMAL SENSATIONS ACCOMPANY MENTAL SENSATIONS.\n\n\n                              \u00a7 12.\u2014_Law._\n\nThe understanding of man is extremely limited, and, therefore, all\nsensations resulting from its action must of necessity be also limited.\nIn order, therefore, to give these sensations greater impulse, and with\nredoubled force to attract the will to good and restrain it from evil,\nboth natures, the spiritual and the animal, are so intimately connected\nwith each other that their modifications, being mutually interchanged,\nimpart strength to one another. Hence arises a fundamental law of mixed\nnatures, which, being reduced to its primary divisions, runs thus: the\nactivities of the body correspond to the activities of the mind; that\nis, any overstraining of a mental activity is necessarily followed by an\noverstraining of certain bodily actions,\u2014just as the equilibrium, or\nharmonious action, of the mental powers is associated with that of the\nbodily powers in perfect accord. Further: mental indolence induces\nindolence in the bodily actions; mental inaction causes them to cease\naltogether. Thus, as perfection is ever accompanied by pleasure,\nimperfection by the absence of pleasure, this law may be thus expressed:\nMental pleasure is invariably attended by animal pleasure, mental pain\nby animal pain.[23]\n\n\n    \u00a7 13.\u2014_Mental Pleasure furthers the Welfare of the Human Frame._\n\nThus, a sensation which embraces within its range the whole spiritual\nbeing agitates in the same measure the whole framework of the organic\nbody,\u2014heart, veins and blood, muscles and nerves, all, from those mighty\nnerves that give to the heart its living impulse of motion down to the\ntiny and unimportant nerves by which hairs are attached to the skin,\nshare equally its influence. Everything tends to a more violent motion.\nIf the sensation be an agreeable one, all these parts will acquire a\nhigher degree of harmonious activity; the heart\u2019s beat will be free,\nlively, uniform, the blood will flow unchecked, gently or with fiery\nspeed, according as the affection is of a gentle or violent description;\ndigestion, secretion, and excretion will follow their natural course;\nthe excitable membranes will pliantly play in a gentle vapor-bath, and\nexcitability as well as sensitiveness will increase. Therefore the\ncondition of the greatest momentary mental pleasure is at the same time\nthe condition of the greatest bodily well-being.\n\nAs many as there may be of these partial activities (and is not every\nbeat of the pulse the result perhaps of thousands?) so many will be the\nobscure sensations crowding upon the soul, each one of which indicates\nperfection. Out of this confused complexity arises entire sensation of\nthe animal harmonies, that is, the highest possible combined sensation\nof animal pleasure, which ranges itself, as it were, alongside of the\noriginal intellectual or moral sensation, which this addition infinitely\nincreases. Thus is every agreeable affection the source of countless\nbodily pleasures.\n\nThis is most evidently confirmed by the examples of sick persons who\nhave been cured by joy. Let one whom a terrible home-sickness has wasted\nto a skeleton be brought back to his native land, and the bloom of\nhealth will soon be his again; or let us enter a prison in which\nmiserable men have for ten or twenty years inhabited filthy dungeons and\npossess at last barely strength to move,\u2014and let us tell them suddenly\nthey are free; the single word of freedom will endow their limbs with\nthe strength of youth, and cause dead eyes to sparkle with life.\nSailors, whom thirst and famine have made their prey during a long\nvoyage, are half cured by the steersman\u2019s cry of \u201cLand!\u201d and he would\ncertainly greatly err who ascribed the whole result to a prospect of\nfresh food. The sight of a dear one, whom the sufferer has long desired\nto see, sustains the life that was about to go, and imparts strength and\nhealth. It is a fact, that joy can quicken the nervous system more\neffectually than all the cordials of the apothecary, and can do wonders\nin the case of inveterate internal disorders denied to the action of\nrhubarb and even mercury. Who then does not perceive that the\nconstitution of the soul which knows how to derive pleasure from every\nevent and can dissipate every ache in the perfection of the universe,\nmust be the most beneficial to the whole organism? and this constitution\nof the soul is\u2014virtue.\n\n\n   \u00a7 14.\u2014_Mental pain undermines the Welfare of the Whole Organisms._\n\nIn the very same way, the opposite result is brought about by a\ndisagreeable affection of the mind. The ideas which rule so intensely\nthe angry or terrified man may, as rightly as Plato called the passions\na fever of the soul, be regarded as convulsions of the organ of thought.\nThese convulsions quickly extend through the nervous system, and so\ndisturb the vital powers that they lose their perfection, and all\norganic actions lose their equilibrium. The heart beats violently and\nirregularly; the blood is so confined to the lungs that the failing\npulse has barely enough to sustain it. The internal chemical processes\nare at cross-purposes; beneficent juices lose their way and work harm in\nother provinces, while what is malignant may attack the very core of our\norganism. In a word, the condition of the greatest mental distress\nbecomes the condition of the greatest bodily sickness.\n\nThe soul is informed of the threatened ruin of the organs that should\nhave been her good and willing servants by a thousand obscure\nsensations, and is filled with an entire sensation of pain, associating\nitself to the primary mental suffering, and giving to this a sharper\nsting.\n\n\n                           \u00a7 15.\u2014_Examples._\n\nDeep, chronic pains of the soul, especially if accompanied by a strong\nexertion of thought\u2014among which I would give a prominent place to that\nlingering anger which men call indignation\u2014gnaw the very foundations of\nphysical life, and dry up the sap that nourish it. Sufferers of this\nkind have a worn and pale appearance, and the inward grief betrays\nitself by the hollow, sunken eyes. \u201cLet me,\u201d says C\u00e6sar, \u201chave men about\nme that are fat\u201d:\u2014\n\n             Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o\u2019 nights;\n             Yond\u2019 Cassius has a lean and hungry look;\n             He thinks too much\u2014such men are dangerous.\n\nFear, trouble, distress of conscience, despair, are little less powerful\nin their effects than the most violent fevers. Richard, when in deepest\nanxiety, finds his former cheerfulness is gone, and thinks to bring it\nback with a glass of wine. But it is not mental sorrow only that has\nbanished comfort, it is a sensation of discomfort proceeding from the\nvery root of his physical organism, the very same sensation that\nannounces a malignant fever. The Moor, heavily burdened with crimes, and\nonce crafty enough in absolving all the sensations of humanity\u2014by his\nskeleton-process\u2014into nothing, now rises from a dreadful dream, pale and\nbreathless, with a cold sweat upon his brow. All the images of a future\njudgment which he had perhaps believed in as a boy, and blotted out from\nhis remembrance as a man, assail his dream-bewildered brain. The\nsensations are far too confused for the slower march of reason to\novertake and unravel them. Reason is still struggling with fancy, the\nspirit with the horrors of the corporeal frame.[24]\n\n  _Moor._\u2014No! I am not shaking. It was but a dream. The dead are not\n  beginning to rise. Who says I tremble and turn pale? I am quite well,\n  quite well.\n\n  _Bed._\u2014You are pale as death; your voice is frightened and hesitating.\n\n  _Moor._\u2014I am feverish. I will be bled to-morrow. Say only, when the\n  priest comes, that I have fever.\n\n  _Bed._\u2014But you are very ill.\n\n  _Moor._\u2014Yes truly; that is all. And sickness disturbs the brain and\n  breeds strange mad dreams. Dreams mean nothing. Fie on womanish\n  cowardice! Dreams mean nothing. I have just had a pleasant dream.\n\n                                            [_He falls down in a faint._\n\nHere we have the whole image of the dream suddenly forcing itself upon a\nman, and setting in motion the entire system of obscure ideas, stirring\nup from the foundation the organ of thought. From all these causes\narises an intense sensation of pain in its utmost concentration, which\nshatters the soul from its depth, and lames _per consensum_ the whole\nstructure of the nerves.\n\nThe cold horror that seizes on the man who is about to commit some\ncrime, or who has just committed one, is nothing else than the horror\nwhich agitates the feverish man, and which is felt on taking nauseous\nmedicines. The nightly tossings of those who are troubled by remorse,\nalways accompanied by a high pulse, are veritable fevers, induced by the\nconnection between the physical organism with the soul; and Lady\nMacbeth, walking in her sleep, is an instance of brain delirium. Even\nthe imitation of a passion makes the actor for the moment ill; and after\nGarrick had played Lear or Othello he spent some hours in convulsions on\nhis bed. Even the illusion of the spectator, through sympathy with acted\npassion, has brought on shivering, gout, and fits of fainting.\n\nIs not he, then, who is plagued with an evil temper, and draws gall and\nbitterness from every situation in life: is not the vicious man, who\nlives in a chronic state of hatred and malevolence; is not the envious\nman, who finds torture in every excellence of his neighbor,\u2014are not\nthese, all of them, the greatest foes to their own health? Has vice not\nenough of the horrible in it, when it destroys not only happiness but\nhealth.\n\n\n                          \u00a7 16.\u2014_Exceptions._\n\nBut a pleasant affection has sometimes been a fatal one, and an\nunpleasant one has sometimes worked a marvellous cure. Both facts rest\nupon experience: should they remove the limits of the law we have\nexpounded?\n\nJoy is fatal when it rises into ecstacy: nature cannot support the\nstrain which in one moment is thrown upon the whole nervous system. The\nmotion of the brain is no longer harmony, but convulsion, an extremely\nsudden and momentary force which soon changes into the ruin of the\norganism, since it has transgressed the boundary line of health (for\ninto the very idea of health there enters and is essentially interwoven\nthe idea of a certain moderation of all natural motions). The joy as\nwell as the grief of finite beings is limited, and dare not pass beyond\na certain point without ruin.\n\nAs far as the second part is concerned, we have many examples of cure,\nthrough a moderate fit of anger, of inveterate dyspepsia; and through\nfright\u2014as in the case of a fire\u2014of rheumatic pains and lameness\napparently incurable. But even dysentery has sometimes resolved an\ninternal stoppage, and the itch has been a cure for melancholy madness\nand insanity: is the itch, for this, less a disease?\u2014is dysentery\ntherefore health.\n\n\n \u00a7 17.\u2014_Indolence of Mind brings about greater Indolence in the Organic\n                              Movements._\n\nAs, according to the testimony of Herr von Haller, activity of mind\nduring the day tends to quicken the pulse towards evening, will not\nindolence of mind make it more sluggish, and absolute inactivity\ncompletely stop it? For, although the circulation of the blood does not\nseem to be so very dependent on the mind, is it altogether unreasonable\nto suppose that the heart, which, in any case, borrows from the brain\nthe larger portion of its strength, must necessarily, _when the soul\nceases to maintain the action of the brain_, suffer thereby a great loss\nof power? A condition of phlegm is accompanied by a sluggish pulse, the\nblood is thin and watery, and the circulation defective in the abdomen.\nThe idiots, whom Muzell has described for us,[25] breathed slowly and\nwith difficulty, had no inclination to eat and drink, nor to the natural\nfunctions; the pulse was slow, all bodily movements slumberous and\nindicative of weariness. The mental numbness which is the result of\nterror or wonder is sometimes accompanied by a general suspension of all\nnatural physical activity. Was the mind the origin of this condition, or\nwas it the body which brought about this torpid state of mind? But these\nconsiderations lead to subtleties and intricate questions, and, besides,\nmust not be discussed in this place.\n\n\n                          \u00a7 18.\u2014_Second Law._\n\nAll that has been said of the transferrence of the mental sensations to\nthe animal holds true of the transferrence of animal affections to the\nmental. Bodily sickness\u2014for the most part the natural result of\nintemperance\u2014brings its punishment in the form of bodily pain; but the\nmind also cannot escape a radical attack, in order that a twofold pain\nmay more powerfully impress upon it the necessity of restraint in the\ndesires. In like manner the feeling of bodily health is accompanied by a\nmore lively consciousness of mental improvement, and man is thus the\nmore spurred on to maintain his body in good condition. We arrive thus\nat a second law of mixed natures\u2014that, with the free action of the\nbodily organism, the sensations and ideas gain a freer flow; and learn\nthat, with a corrupted organism, corruption of the thinking faculty and\nof the sensations inevitably follows. Or, more shortly, that the general\nsensation of a harmonious animal life is the fountain of mental\npleasure, and that animal pain and sickness is the fountain of mental\npain.\n\nIn these different respects, or from their consideration, soul and body\nmay not unaptly be compared with two stringed instruments tuned by the\nsame hand, and placed alongside of one another. When a string of one of\nthem is touched and a certain tone goes forth, the corresponding string\nof the other will sound of itself and give the same tone, only somewhat\nweaker. And, using this comparison, we may say that the string of\ngladness in the body wakes the glad string in the soul, and the sad\nstring the string of sadness. This is that wonderful and noteworthy\nsympathy which unites the heterogeneous principles in man so as to form\none being. Man is not soul and body\u2014but the most inward and essential\nblending of the two.\n\n\n            \u00a7 19.\u2014_Moods of Mind result from Moods of Body._\n\nHence the heaviness, the incapacity of thought, the discontented temper,\nwhich are the consequence of excess in physical indulgence; hence the\nwonderful effects of wine upon those who always drink in moderation.\n\u201cWhen you have drunk wine,\u201d says Brother Martin, \u201cyou see everything\ndouble, you think doubly easily, you are doubly ready for any\nundertaking, and twice as quickly bring it to a conclusion.\u201d Hence the\ncomfort and good humor experienced in fine weather, proceeding partly\nfrom association of ideas, but mostly from the increased feeling of\nbodily health that goes along with it, extending over all the functions\nof our organism. Then it is that people use such expressions as, \u201cI\n_feel_ that I am well,\u201d and at such a season they are more disposed\ntowards all manner of mental labor, and have a heart more open to the\nhumaner feelings, and more prompt to the practice of moral duties. The\nsame may be seen in the national character of different peoples. Those\nwho dwell in gloomy regions mourn along with the dismal scenery: in wild\nand stormy zones man grows wild: where his lot is cast in friendly\nclimates he laughs with the sky that is bright above him. Only under the\nclear heaven of Greece lived a Homer, a Plato, a Phidias; there were\nborn the Muses and the Graces, while the Lapland mists can hardly bring\nforth men, and never a genius. While our Germany was yet a wild forest\nor morass, the German was a hunter as wild as the beast whose skin he\nslung about his shoulders. As soon as industry had changed the aspect of\nhis country began the epoch of moral progress. I will not maintain that\ncharacter takes its rise in climate only, but it is certain that towards\nthe civilization of a people one main means is the improvement of their\nskies.\n\nThe disorders of the body may disorder the whole range of our moral\nperceptions, and prepare the way for an outburst of the most evil\npassions. A man whose constitution is ruined by a course of dissipation\nis more easily led to extremes than one who has kept his body as it\nshould be kept. This is, indeed, the horrible plan of those who destroy\nour youths, and that father of robbers must have known man well, who\nsaid, \u201cWe must destroy both body and soul.\u201d Catiline was a profligate\nbefore he became a conspirator, and Doria greatly erred when he thought\nhe had no cause to fear a voluptuary like Fiesco. On the whole, it is\nvery often remarked that an evil spirit dwells in a sick body.\n\nIn diseases this sympathy is still more striking. All severe illnesses,\nespecially those of malignant nature and arising from the economy of the\nabdominal regions, announce themselves, more or less, by a strange\nrevolution in the character. Even while the disease is still silently\nstealing through the hidden corners of our mechanism, and undermining\nthe strength of nerve, the mind begins to anticipate by dark forebodings\nthe fall of her companion. This is a main element in that condition\nwhich a great physician described in a masterly manner under the name of\n\u201cHorrores.\u201d Hence their moroseness of disposition, which none can\naccount for, their wavering fancies and inclinations, their disgust at\nwhat used to give them pleasure. The amiable man grows quarrelsome, the\nmerry man cross, and he who used to lose himself, and gladly, in the\nbustle of the world, flies the face of man and retires into a gloomy\nmelancholy. But underneath this treacherous repose the enemy is making\nready for a deadly onslaught. The universal disturbance of the entire\nmechanism, when the disease once breaks forth, is the most speaking\nproof of the wonderful dependence of the soul on the body. The feeling,\nspringing from a thousand painful sensations, of the utter ruin of the\norganism, brings about a frightful mental confusion. The most horrible\nideas and fancies rise from their graves. The villain whom nothing could\nmove yields under the dominant power of mere animal terror. Winchester,\nin dying, yells in the anguish of despair. The soul is under a terrible\nnecessity, it would seem, of snatching at whatever will drag it deeper\ninto darkness, and rejects with obstinate madness every ray of comfort.\nThe string, the tone of pain is in the ascendant, and just as the\nspiritual misery rose in the bodily disorder, so now it turns and\nrenders the disorder more universal and more intense.\n\n\n                 \u00a7 20.\u2014_Limitations of the foregoing._\n\nBut there are daily examples of sufferers who courageously lift\nthemselves above bodily ills: of dying men who, amidst the distressful\nstruggles of the frame, ask, \u201cWhere is thy sting, O death?\u201d Should not\nwisdom, one might urge, avail to combat the blind terrors of the organic\nnature? Nay, much more than wisdom, should religion have so little power\nto protect her friends against the assaults springing from the dust? Or,\nwhat is the same thing, does it not depend upon the preceding condition\nof the soul, as to how she accepts the alterations of the processes of\nlife?\n\nNow, this is an irrefragable truth. Philosophy, and still more a mind\ncourageous and elevated by religion, are capable of completely weakening\nthe influence of the animal sensations which assault the soul of one in\npain, and able, as it were, to withdraw it from all coherence with the\nmaterial. The thought of God, which is interwoven with death, as with\nall the universe, the harmony of past life, the anticipation of an\never-happy future, spread a bright light over all its ideas; while night\nis drawn round the soul of him who departs in folly and in unbelief. If\neven involuntary pangs force themselves upon the Christian and wise man\n(for is he less a human being?), yet will he resolve the sensations of\nhis dissolving frame into happiness:\u2014\n\n             The soul, secured in her existence, smiles\n             At the drawn dagger and defies its point.\n             The stars shall fade away, the sun himself\n             Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;\n             But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,\n             Unhurt amidst the war of elements,\n             The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.\n\nIt is precisely this unwonted cheerfulness on the part of those who are\nmortally sick which has often a physical reason at the basis, and which\nhas the most express significance for the practical physician. It is\noften found in conjunction with the most fatal symptoms of Hippocrates,\nand without being attributable to any bygone crisis. Such a cheerfulness\nis of bad import. The nerves, which during the height of the fever have\nbeen most sharply assailed, have now lost sensation; the inflamed\nmembers, it is well known, cease to smart as soon as they are destroyed;\nbut it would be a hapless thought to rejoice that the time of burning\npain were passed and gone. Stimulus fails before the dead nerves, and a\ndeathly indolence belies future healing. The soul finds herself under\nthe illusion of a pleasant sensation, because she is free from a\nlong-enduring painful one. She is free from pain, not because the tone\nof her instrument is restored, but because she no more experiences the\ndiscord. Sympathy ceases as soon as the connection is lost.\n\n\n               \u00a7 21.\u2014_Further Aspects of the Connection._\n\nIf I might now begin to go deeper\u2014if I might speak of delirium, of\nslumber, of stupor, of epilepsy and catalepsy, and such like, wherein\nthe free and rational spirit is subjected to the despotism of the\nbody\u2014if I might enlarge especially on the wide field of hysteria and\nhypochondria\u2014if it were allowed me to speak of temperaments,\nidiosyncrasies, and constitutions, which for physicians and philosophers\nare an abyss\u2014in one word, should I attempt to demonstrate truth of the\nforegoing from the bed of sickness, which is ever a chief school of\npsychology\u2014my matter would be extended to an endless length. We have, it\nseems to me, enough to prove that the animal nature is throughout\nmingled with the spiritual, and that this combination is perfection.\n\n\n          PHYSICAL PHENOMENA EXPRESS THE EMOTIONS OF THE MIND.\n\n\n                   \u00a7 22.\u2014_Physiognomy of Sensations._\n\nIt is just this close correspondence between the two natures which is\nthe basis of the whole science of physiognomy. By means of this nervous\nconnection (which, as we have seen, lies at the bottom of the\ncommunication of feelings) the most secret movements of the soul are\nrevealed on the exterior of the body, and passion penetrates even\nthrough the veil of the hypocrite. Each passion has its specific\nexpressions, its peculiar dialect, so to speak, by which one knows it.\nAnd, indeed, it is an admirable law of Supreme Wisdom, that every\npassion which is noble and generous beautifies the body, while those\nthat are mean and hateful distort it into animal forms. The more the\nmind departs from the likeness of the Deity, the nearer does the outward\nform seem to approach the animal, and always that animal which has a\nkindred proclivity. Thus, the mild expression of the philanthropist\nattracts the needy, whom the insolent look of the angry man repels. This\nis an indispensable guide in social life. It is astonishing what an\naccordance bodily appearance has with the passions; heroism and\nfearlessness pour life and strength through the veins and muscles, the\neyes sparkle, the breast heaves, all the limbs arm themselves alike for\ncombat\u2014the man has the appearance of a war-horse. Fright and fear\nextinguish the fire in the eyes, the limbs sink powerless and heavy, the\nmarrow in the bones seems frozen, the blood falls back on the heart like\na stone, a general weakness cripples the powers of life.\n\nA great, bold, lofty thought compels us to stand on tiptoe, to hold up\nthe head, to expand the mouth and nose. The feeling of eternity, the\noutlook on a wide open horizon, the sea, etc., make us stretch out our\narms\u2014_we_ would merge ourselves into the eternal: with the mountains, we\nwould grow towards the heavens, rush thither on storms and waves:\nyawning abysses throw us down in giddiness. In like manner, hate is\nexpressed in the body by a repelling force; while, on the contrary, in\nevery pressure of the hand, in every embrace, our body will merge into\nthat of our friend, in the same manner as the souls are in harmonious\ncombination. Pride makes the body erect as the soul rises; pettiness\nbends the head, the limbs hang down; servile fear is expressed in the\ncringing walk; the thought of pain distorts our face, if pleasurable\naspects spread a grace over the whole body; anger, on the other hand,\nwill break through every strong opposing cord, and need will almost\novercome the impossible. I would now ask through what mechanism it\nhappens that exactly these movements result from these feelings, that\njust these organs are affected by these passions? Might I not just as\nwell want to know why a certain wounding of the ligament should stiffen\nthe lower jaw?\n\nIf the passion which sympathetically awakened these movements of the\nframe be often renewed, if this sensation of soul become habitual, then\nthese movements of the body will become so also. If this matured passion\nbe of a lasting character, then these constitutional features of the\nframe become deeply engraved: they become, if I may borrow the\npathologist\u2019s word, \u201cdeuteropathetic,\u201d and are at last organic. Thus, at\nlast, the firm perennial physiognomy of man is formed, so that it is\nalmost easier afterwards to change the soul than the form. In this\nsense, one may also say, without being a \u201cStahlian,\u201d that the soul forms\nthe body; and perhaps the earliest years of youth decide the features of\na man for life, as they certainly are the foundation of his moral\ncharacter. An inert and weak soul, which never overflows in passions,\nhas no physiognomy at all; and want of expression is the leading\ncharacteristic of the countenance of the imbecile. The original features\nwhich nature gave him continue unaltered; the face is smooth, for no\nsoul has played upon it; the eyebrows retain a perfect arch, for no wild\npassion has distorted them; the whole form retains its roundness, for\nthe fat reposes in its cells; the face is regular, perhaps even\nbeautiful, but I pity the soul of it!\n\nA physiognomy of (perfect) organic parts, _e.g._, as to the form and\nsize of the nose, eyes, mouth, ears, etc., the color of the hair, the\nheight of the neck, and such like, may perhaps possibly be found, but\ncertainly not very easily, however much Lavater should continue to rave\nabout it through ten quarto volumes. He who would reduce to order the\ncapricious play of nature, and classify the forms which she has punished\nlike a stepmother, or endowed as a mother, would venture more than\nLinn\u00e6us, and should be very careful lest he become one with the original\npresented to him, through its monstrous sportive variety.\n\nYet one more kind of sympathy deserves to be noticed, since it is of\ngreat importance in physiology. I mean the sympathy of certain\nsensations for the organs from which they sprang. A certain cramp in the\nstomach causes a feeling of disgust; the reproduction of this sensation\nbrings back the cramp. How is this?\n\n\n\u00a7 23.\u2014_The Remains of the Animal Nature is also a Source of Perfection._\n\nAlthough the animal part of man preserves for him the many great\nadvantages of which we have already spoken, still, one may say that, in\nanother aspect, it remains always despicable; viz., the soul thus\ndepends, slave-like, on the activity of its tools; the periodical\nrelaxation of these prescribes to the soul an inactive pause and\nannihilation at periods. I mean sleep, which, one cannot deny, robs us\nat least of the third part of our life. Further, our mind is completely\ndependent on the laws of the body, so that the cessation of the latter\nputs a sudden stop to the continuance of thoughts, even though we be on\nthe straight, open path towards truth. If the reason have ever so little\nfixed upon an idea, when the lazy matter refuses to carry it out, the\nstrings of the thinking organs grow weary, if they have been but\nslightly strained; the body fails us where we need it most. What\nastonishing steps, one may infer, would man make in the use of his\npowers if he could continue to think in a state of unbroken intensity!\nHow he would unravel every idea to its final elements; how he would\ntrace every appearance to its most hidden sources, if he could keep them\nuninterruptedly before his mind! But, alas! it is not thus. Why is it\nnot so?\n\n\n                   \u00a7 24.\u2014_Necessity for Relaxation._\n\nThe following will lead us on the track of truth:\u2014\n\n1. Pleasant sensation was necessary to lead man to perfection, and he\ncan only be perfect when he feels comfortable.\n\n2. The nature of a mortal being makes unpleasant feeling unavoidable.\nEvil does not shut man out from the best world, and the worldly-wise\nfind their perfection therein.\n\n3. Thus pain and pleasure are necessary. It seems harder, but it is no\nless true.\n\n4. Every pain, as every pleasure, grows according to its nature, and\nwould continue to do so.\n\n5. Every pain and every pleasure of a mixed being tend to their own\ndissolution.\n\n\n                          \u00a7 25.\u2014_Explanation._\n\nIt is a well-known law of the connection between ideas that every\nsensation, of whatever kind, immediately seizes another of its kind, and\nenlarges itself through this addition. The larger and more manifold it\nbecomes, so much the more does it awaken similar sensations in all\ndirections through the organs of thought, until, by degrees, it becomes\nuniversally predominant, and occupies the whole soul. Consequently,\nevery sensation grows through itself; every present condition of the\nfeeling power contains the root of a feeling to follow, similar, but\nmore intense. This is evident. Now, every mental sensation is, as we\nknow, allied to a similar animal one; in other words, each one is\nconnected with more or less movement of the nerves, which take a\ndirection according to the measure of their strength and extension.\nThus, as mental sensations grow, must the movements in the nervous\nsystem increase also. This is no less clear. Now, pathology teaches us\nthat a nerve never suffers alone: and to say, \u201cHere is a superfluity of\nstrength,\u201d is as much as to say, \u201cThere is want of strength.\u201d Thus,\nevery nervous movement grows through itself. Now, we have remarked that\nthe movements of the nervous system react upon the mind, and strengthen\nthe mental sensations;[26] _vice versa_, the strengthened sensation of\nthe mind increase and strengthen the motions of the nerves. Thus we have\na circle, in which sensation must always increase, and nervous movements\nevery moment become more powerful and universal.\n\nNow, we know that the movements of the bodily frame which cause the\nfeeling of pain run counter to the harmony by which it would exist in\nwell-being; that is, that they are diseased. But disease cannot grow\nunceasingly, therefore they end in the total destruction of the frame.\nIn relation to pain, it is thus proved that it aims at the death of the\nsubject.\n\nBut, the motions of the nerves under pleasant sensations being so\nharmonious to the continuance of the machinery that the condition of\nmind which constitutes pleasure is that of the greatest bodily\nwell-being, should not rather, then, pleasant sensation prolong the\nbloom of the body eternally? This inference is too hasty. In a certain\nstage of moderation, these nervous motions are wholesome, and really a\nsign of health. But if they outgrow this stage, they may be the highest\nactivity, the highest momentary perfection; but, thus, they are excess\nof health, no longer health itself.\n\nWe only call that condition of the natural motions health in which the\nroot of similar ones for the future lies, viz., those which confirm the\nperfection of succeeding motions; thus, the destiny of continuance is\nessentially contained in the idea of health. Thus, for example, the body\nof the most debilitated profligate attains to its greatest harmony at\nthe moment of excess; but it is only momentarily, and a so much deeper\nabatement shows sufficiently that overstraining was not health.\nTherefore one may justly accept that an overstrained vigor of physical\naction hastens death as much as the greatest disorder or the worst\nillness. Both pain and pleasure draw us towards an unavoidable death,\nunless something be present which limits their advance.\n\n\n                 \u00a7 26.\u2014_Excellence of this Abatement._\n\nIt is just this (the limit to their growth) which the abatement of the\nanimal nature causes. It must be no other than this limitation of our\nfragile frame (that appeared to have lent to our opponents so strong a\nproof against its perfection) which ameliorates all the evil\nconsequences that the mechanism otherwise makes unavoidable. It is\nexactly this sinking, this lassitude of the organs, over which tinkers\ncomplain so much, that prevents our own strength destroying us in a\nshort time; that does not permit our positions to be always increasing\ntowards our destruction. This limitation shows each passion the period\nof its growth, its height and decline (if indeed the passion does not\ndie out in a total relaxation of the body), which leaves the excited\nspirits time to resume their harmony, and the organs to recover. Hence,\nthe highest pitch of rapture, of fear, and of anger, are the same as\nweariness, weakness, or fainting. But sleep vouchsafes more, for as\nShakspeare says:\u2014\n\n         Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,\n         The death of each day\u2019s life, sore labor\u2019s bath,\n         Balm of hurt minds, great Nature\u2019s sweet restorer.\n                                                   \u2014_Macbeth._\n\nDuring sleep, the vital forces restore themselves to that healthy\nbalance which the continuance of our being so much requires; all the\ncramped ideas and feelings, the overstrained actions which have troubled\nus through the day, are solved in the entire relaxation of the\nsensorium; the harmony of the motions of the mind are resumed, and the\nnewly-awakened man greets the coming day more calmly.\n\nIn relation to the arrangement of the whole, also, we cannot\nsufficiently admire the worth and importance of this limitation. The\narrangement necessarily causes many, who should be no less happy, to be\nsacrificed to the general order and to bear the lot of oppression.\nLikewise, many, whom we perhaps unjustly envy, must expend their mental\nand bodily strength in restless exertion, so that the repose of the\nwhole be preserved. The same with sick persons, the same with\nunreasoning animals. Sleep seals the eye of care, takes from the prince\nand statesman the heavy weight of governing; pours new force into the\nveins of the sick man, and rest into his harassed soul; the day-laborer\nno longer hears the voice of the oppressor, and the ill-used beast\nescapes from the tyranny of man. Sleep buries all cares and troubles,\nbalances everything, equips every one with new-born powers to bear the\njoys and sorrows of the next day.\n\n\n                  \u00a7 27.\u2014_Severing of the Connection._\n\nAt length arrived at the point in the circle where the mind has\nfulfilled the aim of its being, an internal, unaccountable mechanism\nhas, at the same time, made the body incapable of being any longer its\ninstrument. All care for the well-being of the bodily state seems to\nreach but to this epoch. It appears to me that, in the formation of our\nphysical nature, wisdom has shown such parsimony, that notwithstanding\nconstant compensations, decline must always keep in the ascendancy, so\nthat freedom misuses the mechanism, and death is germinated in life as\nout of its seed. Matter dissolves again into its last elements, which\ntravel through the kingdom of nature in other forms and relations, to\nserve other purposes. The mind continues to practise its thinking powers\nin other circles, and to observe the universe from other sides.\n\nWe may truly say that it has not by any means exhausted this actual\nsphere, that it might have left this sphere itself more perfect; but do\nwe know that this sphere is lost to it? We lay many a book aside which\nwe do not understand, but perhaps in a few years we shall understand it\nbetter.\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  Dare to be wise.\n\nFootnote 2:\n\n  The Greek word means, as is known, love of wisdom.\n\nFootnote 3:\n\n  Bestimmbarkeit.\n\nFootnote 4:\n\n  Bestimmung.\n\nFootnote 5:\n\n  Lessing\u2019s play, \u201cNathan the Wise,\u201d act i. scene 3.\n\nFootnote 6:\n\n  See \u201c\u00c6neid,\u201d ii. 213\u2013215.\n\nFootnote 7:\n\n  Ibid, 216\u2013217.\n\nFootnote 8:\n\n  Pope\u2019s \u201cIliad,\u201d Book XIV. v. 225.\n\nFootnote 9:\n\n  Art can make use of a proper solemnity. Its object is only to prepare\n  the mind for something important. When the poet is anxious to produce\n  a great impression he tunes the mind to receive it.\n\nFootnote 10:\n\n  A play of Iffland.\n\nFootnote 11:\n\n  \u201cOdyssey,\u201d book xiii. v. 397.\n\nFootnote 12:\n\n  \u0394\u1fd6\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f51\u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03b2\u1f78\u03c2, \u201cOdyssey,\u201d xiv. 413, etc.\n\nFootnote 13:\n\n  Werther, May 26, June 21, August 28, May 9, etc.\n\nFootnote 14:\n\n  \u201cOrlando Furioso,\u201d canto i., stanza 32.\n\nFootnote 15:\n\n  Pope\u2019s \u201cIliad,\u201d vi. 264\u2013287.\n\nFootnote 16:\n\n  \u201cIliad,\u201d vi. 234\u2013236.\n\nFootnote 17:\n\n  \u201cSiegwart,\u201d a novel by J. M\u00fcller, published at Ulm, 1776.\n\nFootnote 18:\n\n  Huxley, speaking of psychology and physiology (idealism and\n  materialism), says: \u201cOur stem divides into two main branches, which\n  grow in opposite ways, and bear flowers which look as different as\n  they can well be. But each branch is sound and healthy, and has as\n  much life and vigor as the other. If a botanist found this state of\n  things in a new plant, I imagine he might be inclined to think that\n  his tree was mon\u0153cious, that the flowers were of different sexes, and\n  that, so far from setting up a barrier between the branches of the\n  tree, the only hope of fertility lay in bringing them together. This\n  is my notion of what is to be done with physics and metaphysics. Their\n  differences are complementary, not antagonistic, and thought will\n  never be completely fruitful until the one unites with the\n  other.\u201d\u2014HUXLEY, _Macmillan\u2019s Mag._, May 1870.\n\n  Descartes\u2019 method (according to Huxley) leads straight up to the\n  critical idealism of his great successor, Kant, in declaring that the\n  ultimate fact of all knowledge is a consciousness\u2014_and therefore\n  affirming that the highest of all certainties, and indeed the only\n  absolute certainty, is the existence of mind_. But it stops short of\n  Berkeley in declaring that matter does not exist: his arguments\n  against its existence would equally tend to prove the non-existence of\n  soul. In Descartes\u2019 system, the body is simply a machine, in the midst\n  of which the rational soul (peculiar to man) is lodged, and which it\n  directs at its will, as a skilful engineer familiar with its working\n  might do\u2014through will and through affection he can \u201cincrease, slacken,\n  and alter their movements at his pleasure.\u201d At the same time, he\n  admits, in all that regards its mere animal life\u2014in active functions,\n  such as those connected with hunger, respiration, sleep, digestion; in\n  many passive ones, such as we are accustomed to call mental, as in\n  memory, the perception of color, sound\u2014a purely automatic action of\n  the body, which it pursues simply by following out its own laws,\n  independent of the soul\u2019s direction or interference.\n\nFootnote 19:\n\n  But we have something more than the animal life of the animal (beast).\n  A beast lives an animal life in order that it may experience pleasant\n  sensations. It experiences pleasant sensations that it may preserve\n  the animal life. It lives now, therefore, in order that it may live\n  again to-morrow. It is happy now that it may be happy to-morrow. But\n  it is a simple, an uncertain happiness, which depends upon the action\n  of the organism, it is a slave to luck and blind chance; because it\n  consists in sensation only. Man, too, lives an animal life,\u2014is\n  sensible of its pleasures and suffers its pains. But why? He feels and\n  suffers that he may preserve his animal life. He preserves his animal\n  life that he may longer have the power to live a spiritual one. Here,\n  then, the means differ from the end; there, end and means seem to\n  coincide. This is one of the lines of separation between man and the\n  animal.\n\nFootnote 20:\n\n  Observations on Ferguson\u2019s \u201cMoral Philosophy,\u201d p. 319.\n\nFootnote 21:\n\n  Observations on Ferguson\u2019s \u201cMoral Philosophy,\u201d p. 393.\n\nFootnote 22:\n\n  See Schl\u00f6zer\u2019s Plan of his Universal History, \u00a7 6.\n\nFootnote 23:\n\n  _Complacency_ and _Displacency_ perhaps more aptly express the meaning\n  of _Lust_ and _Unlust_, which we translate by _pleasure_ and _pain_.\n\nFootnote 24:\n\n  \u201cLife of Moor,\u201d tragedy of Krake. Act. v. sc. 1.\n\nFootnote 25:\n\n  Muzell\u2019s \u201cMedical and Surgical Considerations.\u201d\n\nFootnote 26:\n\n          Why, how one weeps\n          When one\u2019s too weary!\n                          Tears, tears! _why_ we weep,\n          \u2019Tis worth inquiry:\u2014that we\u2019ve shamed a life,\n          Or lost a love, or missed a world, perhaps?\n          By no means. Simply, that we\u2019ve walked too far,\n          Or talked too much, or felt the wind in the east, etc.\n                                                \u2014_Aurora Leigh._\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES\n\n\n 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in\n      spelling.\n 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.\n 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.","title":"Aesthetical and philosophical essays : $b introducing the dissertation on the \"connection between the animal and spiritual man\"","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":168050}