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diff --git a/old/51635-0.txt b/old/51635-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 920d72b..0000000 --- a/old/51635-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16363 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hegel's Lectures on the History of -Philosophy: Volume One (of 3), by Georg Wilhelm Hegel - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Hegel's Lectures on the History of Philosophy: Volume One (of 3) - -Author: Georg Wilhelm Hegel - -Translator: E. S. Haldane - -Release Date: April 2, 2016 [EBook #51635] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEGEL'S LECTURES--HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, Fritz Ohrenschall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - HEGEL’S LECTURES ON THE - HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY - - VOLUME ONE - - Hegel’s Lectures on - - THE HISTORY OF - - PHILOSOPHY - - _Translated from the German by_ - - E. S. HALDANE - - _In three volumes_ - - VOLUME ONE - -[Illustration] - - ROUTLEDGE & KEGAN PAUL LTD - - Broadway House, 68-74 Carter Lane - - London, E.C.4 - - - - - _First published in England 1892 - by Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co. Ltd - Reprinted 1955 - by Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd - Broadway House, 68-74 Carter Lane - London, E.C.4_ - - - _Reprinted by lithography in Great Britain by - Jarrold and Sons Limited, Norwich_ - - - - - TRANSLATOR’S NOTE - - -IT is perhaps unnecessary to say anything respecting the difficulty -of making any adequate translation of Hegel’s writings. In the case -of the History of Philosophy, that difficulty is possibly enhanced -by the fact that the greater part of the book is put together from -the notes of different courses of lectures delivered on the subject -at various times. Hegel, as we learn from Michelet, in his preface -to the first edition of this work, lectured in all nine times on the -History of Philosophy: first in Jena in 1805-1806, then in Heidelberg -in 1816-1817 and 1817-1818, and the other six times in Berlin between -the years 1819 and 1830. He had begun the tenth course on the subject -in 1831 when death cut his labours short. It was only for the first -course of lectures—that delivered in Jena—that Hegel fully wrote out -his lectures; this was evidently done with the intention of future -publication in book form. At Heidelberg he composed a short abstract -of his subject, giving in a few terse words the main points dealt with -in each system of Philosophy. In the later courses of lectures Hegel -trusted to extempore speaking, but at the same time made considerable -use of the above writings, the margins of which he annotated with -subsequent additions. Besides these annotations he left behind him a -large number of miscellaneous notes, which have proved of the greatest -value. The present translation is taken from the second and amended -edition of the “Geschichte der Philosophie,” published in 1840. This -edition is derived from no one set of lectures in particular, but -carefully prepared by Michelet—himself one of Hegel’s pupils—from all -available sources, including the notes of students. The Jena volume -is, however, made the basis, as representing the main elements of the -subject afterwards to be more fully amplified; or, in Michelet’s words, -as the skeleton which was afterwards to be clothed with flesh. - -I have endeavoured to make this translation as literal as possible -consistently with intelligibility, and have attempted, so far as -might be, to give the recognized symbols for the words for which we -have in English no satisfactory equivalents. “Begriff,” when used in -its technical sense, is translated by “Notion,” “Idee” by “Idea,” as -distinguished from the colloquial “idea”; “Vorstellung” is usually -rendered by “popular” or “ordinary conception.” - -Miss Frances H. Simson has rendered very valuable assistance in going -carefully over most of the proofs of the first volume, and she is now -engaged with me in the translation of the volumes following. - - E. S. H. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION 1 - - A. Notion of the History of Philosophy 7 - - 1. Common Ideas regarding the History of Philosophy 10 - - 2. Explanatory remarks upon the Definition of the - History of Philosophy 19 - 3. Results obtained with respect to the Notion of the - History of Philosophy 29 - - B. The Relation of Philosophy to other Departments of - Knowledge 49 - - 1. The Historical side of this Connection 50 - - 2. Separation of Philosophy from other allied departments - of Knowledge 55 - - 3. Commencement of Philosophy and its History 94 - - C. Division, Sources, and Method adopted in treating of the - History of Philosophy 101 - - 1. Division of the History of Philosophy 101 - - 2. Sources of the History of Philosophy 110 - - 3. Method of Treatment adopted 114 - - - ORIENTAL PHILOSOPHY 117 - - A. Chinese Philosophy 119 - - 1. Confucius 120 - - 2. The Philosophy of the Y-king 121 - - 3. The Sect of the Tao-See 124 - - B. Indian Philosophy 125 - - 1. The Sanc’hya Philosophy of Capila 128 - - 2. The Philosophy of Gotama and Canade 141 - - - PART ONE - - GREEK PHILOSOPHY - - Introduction 149 - - The Seven Sages 156 - - Division of the Subject 163 - - - SECTION ONE - - CHAPTER I.—FIRST PERIOD, FIRST DIVISION 166 - - A. The Ionic Philosophy 171 - - 1. Thales 171 - - 2. Anaximander 185 - - 3. Anaximenes 189 - - B. Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans 194 - - 1. The System of Numbers 208 - - 2. Application of the System to the Universe 224 - - 3. Practical Philosophy 235 - - C. The Eleatic School 239 - - 1. Xenophanes 241 - - 2. Parmenides 249 - - 3. Melissus 257 - - 4. Zeno 261 - - D. Heraclitus 278 - - 1. The Logical Principle 282 - - 2. Natural Philosophy 285 - - 3. Relation of the Principle to Consciousness 293 - - E. Empedocles, Leucippus and Democritus 298 - - 1. Leucippus and Democritus 299 - _a._ The Logical Principle 302 - _b._ The Constitution of the World 304 - _c._ The Soul 310 - - 2. Empedocles 310 - - F. Philosophy of Anaxagoras 319 - - 1. The Universal Principle 329 - - 2. The Homœomeriæ 333 - - 3. The Relation of the Two 339 - - - CHAPTER II.—FIRST PERIOD, SECOND DIVISION 350 - - A. The Sophists 352 - - 1. Protagoras 372 - - 2. Gorgias 378 - - B. Socrates 384 - - 1. The Socratic Method 397 - - 2. The Principle of the Good 406 - - 3. The Fate of Socrates 425 - - C. The Philosophy of the Socratics 448 - - 1. The Megarics 454 - _a._ Euclides 455 - _b._ Eubulides 456 - _c._ Stilpo 464 - - 2. The Cyrenaic School 469 - _a._ Aristippus 470 - _b._ Theodoras 475 - _c._ Hegesias 477 - _d._ Anniceris 478 - - 3. The Cynic School 479 - _a._ Antisthenes 481 - _b._ Diogenes 484 - _c._ Later Cynics 486 - - - - -INAUGURAL ADDRESS - -DELIVERED AT HEIDELBERG ON THE 28TH OCTOBER, 1816 - - -GENTLEMEN,—Since the History of Philosophy is to be the subject of -these lectures, and to-day I am making my first appearance in this -University, I hope you will allow me to say what satisfaction it -gives me to take my place once more in an Academy of Learning at this -particular time. For the period seems to have been arrived at when -Philosophy may again hope to receive some attention and love—this -almost dead science may again raise its voice, and hope that the world -which had become deaf to its teaching, may once more lend it an ear. -The necessities of the time have accorded to the petty interests of -every-day life such overwhelming attention: the deep interests of -actuality and the strife respecting these have engrossed all the powers -and the forces of the mind—as also the necessary means—to so great -an extent, that no place has been left to the higher inward life, the -intellectual operations of a purer sort; and the better natures have -thus been stunted in their growth, and in great measure sacrificed. -Because the spirit of the world was thus occupied, it could not look -within and withdraw into itself. But since this stream of actuality -is checked, since the German nation has cut its way out of its most -material conditions, since its nationality, the basis of all higher -life, has been saved, we may hope that, in addition to the State, which -has swallowed up all other interests in its own, the Church may now -resume her high position—that in addition to the kingdom of the world -to which all thoughts and efforts have hitherto been directed; the -Kingdom of God may also be considered. In other words, along with the -business of politics and the other interests of every-day life, we may -trust that Science, the free rational world of mind, may again flourish. - -We shall see in the History of Philosophy that in other European -countries in which the sciences and the cultivation of the -understanding have been prosecuted with zeal and with respect, -Philosophy, excepting in name, has sunk even from memory, and that -it is in the German nation that it has been retained as a peculiar -possession. We have received the higher call of Nature to be the -conservers of this holy flame, just as the Eumolpidæ in Athens had -the conservation of the Eleusinian mysteries, the inhabitants of the -island of Samothrace the preservation and maintenance of a higher -divine service; and as, earlier still, the World-spirit reserved to the -Jewish nation the highest consciousness that it should once more rise -from thence as a new spiritual force. We have already got so far, and -have attained to a seriousness so much greater and a consciousness so -much deeper, that for us ideas and that which our reason justifies, can -alone have weight; to speak more plainly, the Prussian State is a State -constituted on principles of intelligence. But the needs of the time -and the interests of the events in the world already mentioned, have -repressed a real and earnest effort after Philosophy and driven hence -any general attention to it. It has thus happened that because vigorous -natures turned to the practical, insipidity and dulness appropriated -to themselves the preeminence in Philosophy and flourished there. It -may indeed be said that since Philosophy began to take a place in -Germany, it has never looked so badly as at the present time—never -have emptiness and shallowness overlaid it so completely, and never -have they spoken and acted with such arrogance, as though all power -were in their hands! To combat the shallowness, to strive with German -earnestness and honesty, to draw Philosophy out of the solitude into -which it has wandered—to do such work as this we may hope that we are -called by the higher spirit of our time. Let us together greet the dawn -of a better time in which the spirit, hitherto a prey to externalities, -may return within itself, come to itself again, and win space and -room for a kingdom of its own, where true minds will rise above the -interests of the moment, and obtain the power to receive the true, -eternal and divine, the power to consider and to grasp the highest. - -We elders, who in the storms of the age have ripened into men, may -think you happy whose youth falls in the day in which you may devote -the same undisturbed to Science and to Truth. I have dedicated my life -to Science, and it is a true joy to me to find myself again in this -place where I may, in a higher measure and more extensive circle, -work with others in the interests of the higher sciences, and help to -direct your way therein. I hope that I may succeed in deserving and -obtaining your confidence. But in the first place, I can ask nothing of -you but to bring with you, above all, a trust in science and a trust -in yourselves. The love of truth, faith in the power of mind, is the -first condition in Philosophy. Man, because he is Mind, should and must -deem himself worthy of the highest; he cannot think too highly of the -greatness and the power of his mind, and, with this belief, nothing -will be so difficult and hard that it will not reveal itself to him. -The Being of the universe, at first hidden and concealed, has no power -which can offer resistance to the search for knowledge; it has to lay -itself open before the seeker—to set before his eyes and give for his -enjoyment, its riches and its depths. - - - - -PREFATORY NOTE - - -IN the History of Philosophy the observation is immediately forced -upon us that it certainly presents great interest if its subject is -regarded from a favourable point of view, but that it would still -possess interest even if its end were regarded as opposite to what it -is. Indeed, this interest may seem to increase in the degree in which -the ordinary conception of Philosophy, and of the end which its history -serves, is reversed; for from the History of Philosophy a proof of the -futility of the science is mainly derived. - -The demand that a history, whatever the subject may be, should state -the facts without prejudice and without any particular object or end -to be gained by its means, must be regarded as a fair one. But with a -commonplace demand like this, we do not get far; for the history of a -subject is necessarily intimately connected with the conception which -is formed of it. In accordance with this what is important in it is -determined, and the relation of the events to the end regulates the -selection of facts to be recorded, the mode of comprehending them, and -the point of view under which they are regarded. It may happen from the -ideas formed of what a State really is, that a reader of the political -history of a country may find therein nothing of what he looks for. -Still more may this be the case in the history of Philosophy, and -representations of this history may be instanced in which everything, -excepting what was supposed to be Philosophy, appears to be found. - -In other histories we have a clear conception of their subjects, at -least so far as their principal points are concerned; we know whether -they concern a particular land, people or race, or whether their -subject is the science of mathematics, physics, &c., or an art, such as -painting. The science of Philosophy has, however, this distinguishing -feature, and, if you will, this disadvantage as compared with other -sciences, that we find the most varied points of view as regards its -Notion, and regarding that which it ought to and can accomplish. If -this first assumption, the conception of the subject of the history, is -not established, the history itself is necessarily made vacillating, -and it only obtains consistency when it sets forth a definite -conception: but then in view of the various ways of regarding its -subject, it easily draws upon itself the reproach of one-sidedness. - -That drawback relates, however, only to an external consideration of -this narrative; there is another and greater disadvantage allied to -it. If there are different Notions of the science of Philosophy, it -is the true Notion alone that puts us in a position to understand the -writings of philosophers who have worked in the knowledge of it. For in -thought, and particularly in speculative thought, comprehension means -something quite different from understanding the grammatical sense -of the words alone, and also from understanding them in the region -of ordinary conception only. Hence we may possess a knowledge of the -assertions, propositions, or of the opinions of philosophers; we may -have occupied ourselves largely with the grounds of and deductions from -these opinions, and the main point in all that we have done may be -wanting—the comprehension of the propositions. There is hence no lack -of voluminous and even learned histories of Philosophy in which the -knowledge of the matter itself about which so much ado has been made, -is absent. The authors of such histories may be compared to animals -which have listened to all the tones in some music, but to whose senses -the unison, the harmony of their tones, has not penetrated. - -The circumstance mentioned makes it in no science so necessary as in -the history of Philosophy to commence with an Introduction, and in it -correctly to define, in the first place, the subject of the history -about to be related. For it may be said, How should we begin to treat -a subject, the name of which is certainly mentioned often enough, but -of whose nature we as yet know nothing? In treating the history of -Philosophy thus, we could have no other guidance than that of seeking -out and taking up whatever has received the name of Philosophy, -anywhere or any time. But in fact, when the Notion of Philosophy is -established, not arbitrarily but in a scientific way, such treatment -becomes the science of Philosophy itself. For in this science the -peculiar characteristic is that its Notion forms the beginning in -appearance merely, and it is only the whole treatment of the science -that is the proof, and indeed we may say the finding of its Notion; and -this is really a result of that treatment. - -In this Introduction the Notion of the science of Philosophy, of the -subject of its history, has thus likewise to be set forth. At the same -time, though this Introduction professes to relate to the history of -Philosophy only, what has just been said of Philosophy on the whole, -also holds good. What can be said in this Introduction is not so much -something which may be stated beforehand, as what can be justified or -proved in the treatment of the history. These preparatory explanations -are for this reason only, not to be placed in the category of arbitrary -assumptions. But to begin with stating what in their justification are -really results, can only have the interest which may be possessed by a -summary, given in advance, of the most general contents of a science. -It must serve to set aside many questions and demands which might, from -our ordinary prejudices, arise in such a history. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -THERE are various aspects under which the History of Philosophy may -possess interest. We shall find the central point of this interest in -the essential connection existing between what is apparently past and -the present stage reached by Philosophy. That this connection is not -one of the external considerations which may be taken into account in -the history of Philosophy, but really expresses its inner character: -that the events of this history, while they perpetuate themselves in -their effects like all other events, yet produce their results in a -special way—this it is which is here to be more clearly expounded. - -What the history of Philosophy shows us is a succession of noble minds, -a gallery of heroes of thought, who, by the power of Reason, have -penetrated into the being of things, of nature and of spirit, into -the Being of God, and have won for us by their labours the highest -treasure, the treasure of reasoned knowledge. - -The events and actions of this history are therefore such that -personality and individual character do not enter to any large degree -into its content and matter. In this respect the history of Philosophy -contrasts with political history, in which the individual, according to -the peculiarity of his disposition, talents, affections, the strength -or weakness of his character, and in general, according to that through -which he is this individual, is the subject of actions and events. In -Philosophy, the less deserts and merits are accorded to the particular -individual, the better is the history; and the more it deals with -thought as free, with the universal character of man as man, the more -this thought, which is devoid of special characteristic, is itself -shown to be the producing subject. - -The acts of thought appear at first to be a matter of history, and, -therefore, things of the past, and outside our real existence. But in -reality we are what we are through history: or, more accurately, as -in the history of Thought, what has passed away is only one side, so -in the present, what we have as a permanent possession is essentially -bound up with our place in history. The possession of self-conscious -reason, which belongs to us of the present world, did not arise -suddenly, nor did it grow only from the soil of the present. This -possession must be regarded as previously present, as an inheritance, -and as the result of labour—the labour of all past generations of men. -Just as the arts of outward life, the accumulated skill and invention, -the customs and arrangements of social and political life, are the -result of the thought, care, and needs, of the want and the misery, of -the ingenuity, the plans and achievements of those who preceded us in -history, so, likewise, in science, and specially in Philosophy, do we -owe what we are to the tradition which, as Herder has put it,[1] like -a holy chain, runs through all that was transient, and has therefore -passed away. Thus has been preserved and transmitted to us what -antiquity produced. - -But this tradition is not only a stewardess who simply guards -faithfully that which she has received, and thus delivers it unchanged -to posterity, just as the course of nature in the infinite change and -activity of its forms ever remains constant to its original laws and -makes no step in advance. Such tradition is no motionless statue, but -is alive, and swells like a mighty river, which increases in size the -further it advances from its source. The content of this tradition is -that which the intellectual world has brought forth, and the universal -Mind does not remain stationary. But it is just the universal Mind -with which we have to do. It may certainly be the case with a single -nation that its culture, art, science—its intellectual activities as a -whole—are at a standstill. This appears, perhaps, to be the case with -the Chinese, for example, who may have been as far advanced in every -respect two thousand years ago as now. But the world-spirit does not -sink into this rest of indifference; this follows from its very nature, -for its activity is its life. This activity presupposes a material -already present, on which it acts, and which it does not merely augment -by the addition, of new matter, but completely fashions and transforms. -Thus that which each generation has produced in science and in -intellectual activity, is an heirloom to which all the past generations -have added their savings, a temple in which all races of men thankfully -and cheerfully deposit that which rendered aid to them through life, -and which they had won from the depths of Nature and of Mind. To -receive this inheritance is also to enter upon its use. It constitutes -the soul of each successive generation, the intellectual substance of -the time; its principles, prejudices, and possessions; and this legacy -is degraded to a material which becomes metamorphosed by Mind. In this -manner that which is received is changed, and the material worked upon -is both enriched and preserved at the same time. - -This is the function of our own and of every age: to grasp the -knowledge which is already existing, to make it our own, and in so -doing to develop it still further and to raise it to a higher level. In -thus appropriating it to ourselves we make it into something different -from what it was before. On the presupposition of an already existing -intellectual world which is transformed in our appropriation of it, -depends the fact that Philosophy can only arise in connection with -previous Philosophy, from which of necessity it has arisen. The course -of history does not show us the Becoming of things foreign to us, but -the Becoming of ourselves and of our own knowledge. - -The ideas and questions which may be present to our mind regarding the -character and ends of the history of Philosophy, depend on the nature -of the relationship here given. In this lies the explanation of the -fact that the study of the history of Philosophy is an introduction to -Philosophy itself. The guiding principles for the formation of this -history are given in this fact, the further discussion of which must -thus be the main object of this introduction. We must also, however, -keep in mind, as being of fundamental importance, the conception of -the aim of Philosophy. And since, as already mentioned, the systematic -exposition of this conception cannot here find a place, such discussion -as we can now undertake, can only propose to deal with the subject -provisionally and not to give a thorough and conclusive account of the -nature of the Becoming of Philosophy. - -This Becoming is not merely a passive movement, as we suppose movements -such as those of the sun and moon to be. It is no mere movement in -the unresisting medium of space and time. What we must represent to -ourselves is the activity of free thought; we have to present the -history of the world of thought as it has arisen and produced itself. - -There is an old tradition that it is the faculty of thought which -separates men from beasts; and to this tradition we shall adhere. In -accordance with this, what man has, as being nobler than a beast, -he has through thinking. Everything which is human, however it may -appear, is so only because the thought contained in it works and has -worked. But thought, although it is thus the essential, substantial, -and effectual, has many other elements. We must, however, consider it -best when Thought does not pursue anything else, but is occupied only -with itself—with what is noblest—when it has sought and found itself. -The history which we have before us is the history of Thought finding -itself, and it is the case with Thought that it only finds itself in -producing itself; indeed, that it only exists and is actual in finding -itself. These productions are the philosophic systems; and the series -of discoveries on which Thought sets out in order to discover itself, -forms a work which has lasted twenty-five hundred years. - -If the Thought which is essentially Thought, is in and for itself -and eternal, and that which is true is contained in Thought alone, -how, then, does this intellectual world come to have a history? In -history what appears is transient, has disappeared in the night of -the past and is no more. But true, necessary thought—and it is only -with such that we have to do—is capable of no change. The question -here raised constitutes one of those matters first to be brought -under our consideration. But in the second place, there are also -many most important things outside of Philosophy, which are yet the -work of Thought, and which are left unconsidered. Such are Religion, -Political History, forms of Government, and the Arts and Sciences. The -question arises as to how these operations differ from the subject of -consideration, and how they are related in history? As regards these -two points of view, it is desirable to show in what sense the history -of Philosophy is here taken, in order to see clearly what we are about. -Moreover, in the third place, we must first take a general survey -before we descend to particulars, else the whole is not seen for the -mere details—the wood is not seen for the trees, nor Philosophy for -mere philosophies. We require to have a general idea of the nature and -aim of the whole in order to know what to look for. Just as we first -desire to obtain a general idea of a country, which we should no longer -see in going into detail, so we desire to see the relation which single -philosophies bear to the whole; for in reality, the high value of the -detail lies in its relation to the whole. This is nowhere more the -case than with Philosophy, and also with its history. In the case of a -history, indeed, the establishment of the Universal seems to be less -needful than in that of one of the sciences proper. For history seems -at first to be a succession of chance events, in which each fact stands -isolated by itself, which has Time alone as a connecting-link. But even -in political history we are not satisfied with this. We see, or at -least divine in it, that essential connection in which the individual -events have their place and relation to an end or aim, and in this -way obtain significance. For the significant in history is such only -through its relation to and connection with a Universal. To perceive -this Universal is thus to apprehend the significance. - -There are, therefore, the following points with which I wish to deal in -this introduction. - -The first of these will be to investigate the character of the history -of Philosophy, its significance, its nature, and its aim, from which -will follow inferences as to its treatment. In particular, we shall -get an insight into the relation of the history of Philosophy to the -science of Philosophy, and this will be the most interesting point of -all. That is to say, this history represents, not merely the external, -accidental, events contained within it, but it shows how the content, -or that which appears to belong to mere history, really belongs to the -science of Philosophy. The history of Philosophy is itself scientific, -and thus essentially becomes the science of Philosophy. - -In the second place, the Notion of Philosophy must be more adequately -determined, and from it must be deduced what should be excluded -from the history of Philosophy out of the infinite material and the -manifold aspects of the intellectual culture of the nations. Religion, -certainly, and the thoughts contained in and regarding it, particularly -when these are in the form of mythology, are, on account of their -matter, and the sciences with their ideas on the state, duties and -laws, on account of their form, so near Philosophy that the history -of the science of Philosophy threatens to become quite indefinite in -extent. It might be supposed that the history of Philosophy should take -account of all these ideas. Has not everything been called Philosophy -and philosophizing? On the one hand, the close connection has to be -further considered in which Philosophy stands with its allied subjects, -religion, art, the other sciences, and likewise with political history. -On the other hand, when the province of Philosophy has been correctly -defined, we reach, with the determination of what Philosophy is and -what pertains to it, the starting-point of its history, which must -be distinguished from the commencements of religious ideas and mere -thoughtful conjectures. - -From the idea of the subject which is contained in these first two -points of view, it is necessary to pass on to the consideration of the -third point, to the general review of this history and to the division -of its progress into natural periods—such an arrangement to exhibit -it as an organic, progressive whole, as a rational connection through -which this history attains the dignity of a science. And I will not -occupy further space with reflections on the use of the history of -Philosophy, and other methods of treating it. The use is evident. -But, in conclusion, I wish to consider the sources of the history of -Philosophy, for this is customary. - - - - -A - -THE NOTION OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. - - -THE thought which may first occur to us in the history of Philosophy, -is that the subject itself contains an inner contradiction. For -Philosophy aims at understanding what is unchangeable, eternal, in and -for itself: its end is Truth. But history tells us of that which has at -one time existed, at another time has vanished, having been expelled by -something else. Truth is eternal; it does not fall within the sphere of -the transient, and has no history. But if it has a history, and as this -history is only the representation of a succession of past forms of -knowledge, the truth is not to be found in it, for the truth cannot be -what has passed away. - -It might be said that all this argument would affect not only the other -sciences, but in like degree the Christian religion, and it might be -found inconsistent that a history of this religion and of the other -sciences should exist; but it would be superfluous further to examine -this argument, for it is immediately contradicted by the very fact that -there are such histories. But in order to get a better understanding -of this apparent contradiction, we must distinguish between the -outward history of a religion or a science and the history of the -subject itself. And then we must take into account that the history -of Philosophy because of the special nature of its subject-matter, -is different from other histories. It is at once evident that the -contradiction in question could not refer to the outward history, but -merely to the inward, or that of the content itself. There is a history -of the spread of Christianity and of the lives of those who have avowed -it, and its existence has formed itself into that of a Church. This in -itself constitutes an external existence such that being brought into -contact with temporal affairs of the most diverse kind, its lot is a -varied one and it essentially possesses a history. And of the Christian -doctrine it is true that it, too, has its history, but it necessarily -soon reached its full development and attained to its appointed powers. -And this old creed has been an acknowledged influence to every age, and -will still be acknowledged unchanged as the Truth, even though this -acknowledgment were become no more than a pretence, and the words -an empty form. But the history of this doctrine in its wider sense -includes two elements: first the various additions to and deviations -from the truth formerly established, and secondly the combating of -these errors, the purification of the principles that remain from such -additions, and a consequent return to their first simplicity. - -The other sciences, including Philosophy, have also an external history -like Religion. Philosophy has a history of its origin, diffusion, -maturity, decay, revival; a history of its teachers, promoters, and -of its opponents—often, too, of an outward relation to religion -and occasionally to the State. This side of its history likewise -gives occasion to interesting questions. Amongst other such, it is -asked why Philosophy, the doctrine of absolute Truth, seems to have -revealed itself on the whole to a small number of individuals, to -special nations, and how it has limited itself to particular periods -of time. Similarly with respect to Christianity, to the Truth in -a much more universal form than the philosophical, a difficulty -has been encountered in respect to the question whether there is a -contradiction in the fact that this religion should have appeared so -late in time, and that it should have remained so long and should still -remain limited to special races of men. But these and other similar -questions are too much a matter of detail to depend merely on the -general conflict referred to, and when we have further touched upon the -peculiar character of philosophic knowledge, we may go more specially -into the aspects which relate to the external existence and external -history of Philosophy. - -But as regards the comparison between the history of Religion and that -of Philosophy as to inner content, there is not in the latter as there -is in Religion a fixed and fundamental truth which, as unchangeable, is -apart from history. The content of Christianity, which is Truth, has, -however, remained unaltered as such, and has therefore little history -or as good as none.[2] Hence in Religion, on account of its very nature -as Christianity, the conflict referred to disappears. The errors and -additions constitute no difficulty. They are transitory and altogether -historical in character. - -The other sciences, indeed, have also according to their content a -History, a part of which relates to alterations, and the renunciation -of tenets which were formerly current. But a great, perhaps the -greater, part of the history relates to what has proved permanent, -so that what was new, was not an alteration on earlier acquisitions, -but an addition to them. These sciences progress through a process of -juxtaposition. It is true that in Botany, Mineralogy, and so on, much -is dependent on what was previously known, but by far the greatest -part remains stationary and by means of fresh matter is merely added -to without itself being affected by the addition. With a science -like Mathematics, history has, in the main, only the pleasing task -of recording further additions. Thus to take an example, elementary -geometry in so far as it was created by Euclid, may from his time on be -regarded as having no further history. - -The history of Philosophy, on the other hand, shows neither the -motionlessness of a complete, simple content, nor altogether the onward -movement of a peaceful addition of new treasures to those already -acquired. It seems merely to afford the spectacle of ever-recurring -changes in the whole, such as finally are no longer even connected by a -common aim. - - -1. COMMON IDEAS REGARDING THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. - -At this point appear these ordinary superficial ideas regarding the -history of Philosophy which have to be referred to and corrected. As -regards these very current views, which are doubtless known to you, -gentlemen, for indeed they are the reflections most likely to occur -in one’s first crude thoughts on a history of Philosophy, I will -shortly explain what requires explanation, and the explanation of the -differences in philosophies will lead us further into the matter itself. - - -a. _The History of Philosophy as an accumulation of Opinions._ - -History, at the first glance, includes in its aim the narration of -the accidental circumstances of times, of races, and of individuals, -treated impartially partly as regards their relation in time, -and partly as to their content. The appearance of contingency in -time-succession is to be dealt with later on. It is contingency of -content which is the idea with which we have first to deal—the idea of -contingent actions. But thoughts and not external actions, or griefs, -or joys, form the content of Philosophy. Contingent thoughts, however, -are nothing but opinions, and philosophical opinions are opinions -relating to the more special content of Philosophy, regarding God, -Nature and Spirit. - -Thus we now meet the view very usually taken of the history of -Philosophy which ascribes to it the narration of a number of -philosophical opinions as they have arisen and manifested themselves -in time. This kind of matter is in courtesy called opinions; those who -think themselves more capable of judging rightly, call such a history -a display of senseless follies, or at least of errors made by men -engrossed in thought and in mere ideas. This view is not only held by -those who recognize their ignorance of Philosophy. Those who do this, -acknowledge it, because that ignorance is, in common estimation, held -to be no obstacle to giving judgment upon what has to do with the -subject; for it is thought that anybody can form a judgment on its -character and value without any comprehension, of it whatever. But -the same view is even held by those who write or have written on the -history of Philosophy. This history, considered only as the enumeration -of various opinions, thus becomes an idle tale, or, if you will, an -erudite investigation. For erudition is, in the main, acquaintance with -a number of useless things, that is to say, with that which has no -intrinsic interest or value further than being known. Yet it is thought -that profit is to be derived from learning the various opinions and -reflections of other men. It stimulates the powers of thought and also -leads to many excellent reflections; this signifies that now and then -it occasions an idea, and its art thus consists in the spinning one -opinion out of the other. - -If the history of Philosophy merely represented various opinions in -array, whether they be of God or of natural and spiritual things -existent, it would be a most superfluous and tiresome science, no -matter what advantage might be brought forward as derived from such -thought-activity and learning. What can be more useless than to learn -a string of bald opinions, and what more unimportant? Literary works, -being histories of Philosophy in the sense that they produce and -treat the ideas of Philosophy as if they were opinions, need be only -superficially glanced at to find how dry and destitute of interest -everything about them is. - -An opinion is a subjective conception, an uncontrolled thought, an -idea which may occur to me in one direction or in another: an opinion -is mine,[3] it is in itself a universal thought which is existent in -and for itself. But Philosophy possesses no opinions, for there is no -such thing as philosophical opinions. When we hear a man speaking of -philosophical opinions, even though he be an historian of philosophy -itself, we detect at once this want of fundamental education. -Philosophy is the objective science of truth, it is science of -necessity, conceiving knowledge, and neither opinion nor the spinning -out of opinions. - -The more precise significance of this idea is that we get to know -opinions only, thus laying emphasis upon the word Opinion. Now the -direct opposite of opinion is the Truth; it is Truth before which -mere opinion pales. Those who in the history of Philosophy seek mere -theories, or who suppose that on the whole only such are to be found -within it, also turn aside when that word Truth confronts them. -Philosophy here encounters opposition from two different sides. On the -one hand piety openly declares Reason or Thought to be incapable of -apprehending what is true, and to lead only to the abyss of doubt; it -declares that independent thought must be renounced, and reason held in -bounds by faith in blind authority, if Truth is to be reached. Of the -relation existing between Religion and Philosophy and of its history, -we shall deal later on. On the other hand, it is known just as well, -that so-called reason has maintained its rights, abandoning faith in -mere authority, and has endeavoured to make Christianity rational, so -that throughout it is only my personal insight and conviction which -obliges me to make any admissions. But this affirmation of the right -of reason is turned round in an astonishing manner, so that it results -in making knowledge of the truth through reason an impossibility. -This so-called reason on the one hand has combated religious faith in -the name and power of thinking reason, and at the same time it has -itself turned against reason and is true reason’s adversary. Instinct -and feeling are maintained by it against the true reason, thus making -the measure of true value the merely subjective—that is a particular -conviction such as each can form in and for himself in his subjective -capacity. A personal conviction such as this is no more than the -particular opinion that has become final for men. - -If we begin with what meets us in our very first conceptions, we cannot -neglect to make mention of this aspect in the history of Philosophy. -In its results it permeates culture generally, being at once the -misconception and true sign of our times. It is the principle through -which men mutually understand and know each other; an hypothesis -whose value is established and which is the ground of all the other -sciences. In theology it is not so much the creed of the church that -passes for Christianity, as that every one to a greater or less degree -makes a Christianity of his own to tally with his conviction. And in -history we often see theology driven into acquiring the knowledge of -various opinions in order that an interest may thus be furnished to -the science, and one of the first results of the attention paid them -is the honour awarded to all convictions, and the esteem vouchsafed to -what has been constituted merely by the individual. The endeavour to -know the Truth is then of course relinquished. It is true that personal -conviction is the ultimate and absolute essential which reason and its -philosophy, from a subjective point of view, demand in knowledge. But -there is a distinction between conviction when it rests on subjective -grounds such as feelings, speculations and perceptions, or, speaking -generally, on the particular nature of the subject, and when it rests -on thought proceeding from acquaintance with the Notion and the nature -of the thing. In the former case conviction is opinion. - -This opposition between mere opinion and truth now sharply defined, we -already recognize in the culture of the period of Socrates and Plato—a -period of corruption in Greek life—as the Platonic opposition between -opinion _δόξα_ and Science _ἐπιστήμη_. It is the same opposition as -that which existed in the decadence of Roman public and political life -under Augustus, and subsequently when Epicureanism and indifference set -themselves up against Philosophy. Under this influence, when Christ -said, “I came into the world that I should bear witness unto the -Truth,” Pilate answered, “What is Truth?” That was said in a superior -way, and signifies that this idea of truth is an expedient which is -obsolete: we have got further, we know that there is no longer any -question about knowing the Truth, seeing that we have gone beyond it. -Who makes this statement has gone beyond it indeed. If this is made our -starting point in the history of Philosophy, its whole significance -will consist in finding out the particular ideas of others, each one of -which is different from the other: these individual points of view are -thus foreign to me: my thinking reason is not free, nor is it present -in them: for me they are but extraneous, dead historic matter, or so -much empty content, and to satisfy oneself with empty vanity is mere -subjective vanity itself. - -To the impartial man, the Truth has always been a heart-stirring word -and one of great import. As to the assertion that the Truth cannot be -known, we shall consider it more closely in the history of Philosophy -itself where it appears. The only thing to be here remarked is that -if this assumption be allowed, as was the case with Tennemann, it is -beyond conception why anyone should still trouble about Philosophy, -since each opinion asserts falsely in its turn that it has found -the truth. This immediately recalls to me the old belief that Truth -consists in knowledge, but that an individual only knows the Truth in -so far as he reflects and not as he walks and stands: and that the -Truth cannot be known in immediate apprehension and perception, whether -it be external and sensuous, or whether it be intellectual perception -(for every perception as a perception is sensuous) but only through the -labour of thought. - - -b. _Proof of the futility of Philosophical Knowledge obtained through -the History of Philosophy itself._ - -From another point of view another consequence ensues from the above -conception of the history of Philosophy which may at will be looked -at as an evil or a benefit. In view of such manifold opinions and -philosophical systems so numerous, one is perplexed to know which -one ought to be accepted. In regard to the great matters to which -man is attracted and a knowledge of which Philosophy would bestow, -it is evident that the greatest minds have erred, because they have -been contradicted by others. “Since this has been so with minds so -great, how then can _ego homuncio_ attempt to form a judgment?” This -consequence, which ensues from the diversity in philosophical systems, -is, as may be supposed, the evil in the matter, while at the same time -it is a subjective good. For this diversity is the usual plea urged by -those who, with an air of knowledge, wish to make a show of interest -in Philosophy, to explain the fact that they, with this pretence of -good-will, and, indeed, with added motive for working at the science, -do in fact utterly neglect it. But this diversity in philosophical -systems is far from being merely an evasive plea. It has far more -weight as a genuine serious ground of argument against the zeal -which Philosophy requires. It justifies its neglect and demonstrates -conclusively the powerlessness of the endeavour to attain to -philosophic knowledge of the truth. When it is admitted that Philosophy -ought to be a real science, and one Philosophy must certainly be the -true, the question arises as to which Philosophy it is, and when it can -be known. Each one asserts its genuineness, each even gives different -signs and tokens by which the Truth can be discovered; sober reflective -thought must therefore hesitate to give its judgment. - -This, then, is the wider interest which the history of Philosophy is -said to afford. Cicero (De natura Deorum I. 8 sq.) gives us from this -point of view, a most slovenly history of philosophic thought on God. -He puts it in the mouth of an Epicurean, but he himself knew of nothing -more favourable to say, and it is thus his own view. The Epicurean -says that no certain knowledge has been arrived at. The proof that -the efforts of philosophy are futile is derived directly from the -usual superficial view taken of its history; the results attendant -on that history make it appear to be a process in which the most -various thoughts arise in numerous philosophies, each of which opposes, -contradicts and refutes the other. This fact, which cannot be denied, -seems to contain the justification, indeed the necessity for applying -to Philosophy the words of Christ, “Let the dead bury their dead; -arise, and follow Me.” The whole of the history of Philosophy becomes -a battlefield covered with the bones of the dead; it is a kingdom -not merely formed of dead and lifeless individuals, but of refuted -and spiritually dead systems, since each has killed and buried the -other. Instead of “Follow thou Me,” here then it must indeed be said, -“Follow thine own self”—that is, hold by thine own convictions, remain -steadfast to thine own opinion, why adopt another? - -It certainly happens that a new philosophy makes its appearance, which -maintains the others to be valueless; and indeed each one in turn -comes forth at first with the pretext that by its means all previous -philosophies not only are refuted, but what in them is wanting is -supplied, and now at length the right one is discovered. But following -upon what has gone before, it would rather seem that other words of -Scripture are just as applicable to such a philosophy—the words which -the Apostle Peter spoke to Ananias, “Behold the feet of them that shall -carry thee out are at the door.” Behold the philosophy by which thine -own will be refuted and displaced shall not tarry long as it has not -tarried before. - - -c. _Explanatory remarks on the diversity in Philosophies._ - -Certainly the fact is sufficiently well established that there are and -have been different philosophies. The Truth is, however, one; and the -instinct of reason maintains this irradicable intuition or belief. It -is said that only one philosophy can be true, and, because philosophies -are different, it is concluded that all others must be erroneous. -But, in fact, each one in turn gives every assurance, evidence and -proof of being the one and true Philosophy. This is a common mode of -reasoning and is what seems in truth to be the view of sober thought. -As regards the sober nature of the word at issue—thought—we can tell -from every-day experience that if we fast we feel hunger either at once -or very soon. But sober thought always has the fortunate power of not -resulting in hunger and desire, but of being and remaining as it is, -content. Hence the thought expressed in such an utterance reveals the -fact that it is dead understanding; for it is only death which fasts -and yet rests satisfied. But neither physical life nor intellectual -remains content with mere abstention; as desire it presses on through -hunger and through thirst towards Truth, towards knowledge itself. It -presses on to satisfy this desire and does not allow itself to feast -and find sufficiency in a reflection such as this. - -As to this reflection, the next thing to be said of it is that however -different the philosophies have been, they had a common bond in -that they were Philosophy. Thus whoever may have studied or become -acquainted with a philosophy, of whatever kind, provided only that it -is such, has thereby become acquainted with Philosophy. That delusive -mode of reasoning which regards diversity alone, and from doubt of -or aversion to the particular form in which a Universal finds its -actuality, will not grasp or even allow this universal nature, I -have elsewhere[4] likened to an invalid recommended by the doctor to -eat fruit, and who has cherries, plums or grapes, before him, but -who pedantically refuses to take anything because no part of what is -offered him is fruit, some of it being cherries, and the rest plums or -grapes. - -But it is really important to have a deeper insight into the bearings -of this diversity in the systems of Philosophy. Truth and Philosophy -known philosophically, make such diversity appear in another light from -that of abstract opposition between Truth and Error. The explanation -of how this comes about will reveal to us the significance of the -whole history of Philosophy. We must make the fact conceivable, that -the diversity and number of philosophies not only does not prejudice -Philosophy itself, that is to say the possibility of a philosophy, -but that such diversity is, and has been, absolutely necessary to the -existence of a science of Philosophy and that it is essential to it. - -This makes it easy to us to comprehend the aim of Philosophy, which -is in thought and in conception to grasp the Truth, and not merely -to discover that nothing can be known, or that at least temporal, -finite truth, which also is an untruth, can alone be known and not -the Truth indeed. Further we find that in the history of Philosophy -we have to deal with Philosophy itself. The facts within that history -are not adventures and contain no more romance than does the history -of the world. They are not a mere collection of chance events, of -expeditions of wandering knights, each going about fighting, struggling -purposelessly, leaving no results to show for all his efforts. Nor is -it so that one thing has been thought out here, another there, at will; -in the activity of thinking mind there is real connection, and what -there takes place is rational. It is with this belief in the spirit of -the world that we must proceed to history, and in particular to the -history of Philosophy. - - -2. EXPLANATORY REMARKS UPON THE DEFINITION OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. - -The above statement, that the Truth is only one, is still abstract -and formal. In the deeper sense it is our starting point. But the -aim of Philosophy is to know this one Truth as the immediate source -from which all else proceeds, both all the laws of nature and all -the manifestations of life and consciousness of which they are -mere reflections, or to lead these laws and manifestations in ways -apparently contrary, back to that single source, and from that source -to comprehend them, which is to understand their derivation. Thus what -is most essential is to know that the single truth is not merely a -solitary, empty thought, but one determined within itself. To obtain -this knowledge we must enter into some abstract Notions which, as -such, are quite general and dry, and which are the two principles of -_Development_ and of the _Concrete_. We could, indeed, embrace the -whole in the single principle of development; if this were clear, all -else would result and follow of its own accord. The product of thinking -is the thought; thought is, however, still formal; somewhat more -defined it becomes Notion, and finally Idea is Thought in its totality, -implicitly and explicitly determined. Thus the Idea, and it alone is -Truth. Now it is essentially in the nature of the Idea to develop, and -only through development to arrive at comprehension of itself, or to -become what it is. That the Idea should have to make itself what it is, -seems like a contradiction; it may be said that it is what it is. - - -a. _The Notion of Development._ - -The idea of development is well known, but it is the special -characteristic of Philosophy to investigate such matters as were -formerly held as known. What is dealt with or made use of without -consideration as an aid to daily life, is certainly the unknown to man -unless he be informed in Philosophy. The further discussion of this -idea belongs to the science of Logic. - -In order to comprehend what development is, what may be called two -different states must be distinguished. The first is what is known as -capacity, power, what I call being-in-itself (_potentia_, _δύναμις_); -the second principle is that of being-for-itself, actuality (_actus_, -_ἐνέργεια_). If we say, for example, that man is by nature rational, -we would mean that he has reason only inherently or in embryo: in this -sense, reason, understanding, imagination, will, are possessed from -birth or even from the mother’s womb. But while the child only has -capacities or the actual possibility of reason, it is just the same as -if he had no reason; reason does not yet exist in him since he cannot -yet do anything rational, and has no rational consciousness. Thus what -man is at first implicitly becomes explicit, and it is the same with -reason. If, then, man has actuality on whatever side, he is actually -rational; and now we come to reason. - -What is the real meaning of this word? That which is in itself must -become an object to mankind, must arrive at consciousness, thus -becoming for man. What has become an object to him is the same as what -he is in himself; through the becoming objective of this implicit -being, man first becomes for himself; he is made double, is retained -and not changed into another. For example, man is thinking, and thus he -thinks out thoughts. In this way it is in thought alone that thought is -object; reason produces what is rational: reason is its own object. The -fact that thought may also descend to what is destitute of reason is -a consideration involving wider issues, which do not concern us here. -But even though man, who in himself is rational, does not at first -seem to have got further on since he became rational for himself—what -is implicit having merely retained itself—the difference is quite -enormous: no new content has been produced, and yet this form of -being for self makes all the difference. The whole variation in the -development of the world in history is founded on this difference. -This alone explains how since all mankind is naturally rational, and -freedom is the hypothesis on which this reason rests, slavery yet has -been, and in part still is, maintained by many peoples, and men have -remained contented under it. The only distinction between the Africans -and the Asiatics on the one hand, and the Greeks, Romans, and moderns -on the other, is that the latter know and it is explicit for them, that -they are free, but the others are so without knowing that they are, -and thus without existing as being free. This constitutes the enormous -difference in their condition. All knowledge, and learning, science, -and even commerce have no other object than to draw out what is inward -or implicit and thus to become objective. - -Because that which is implicit comes into existence, it certainly -passes into change, yet it remains one and the same, for the whole -process is dominated by it. The plant, for example, does not lose -itself in mere indefinite change. From the germ much is produced when -at first nothing was to be seen; but the whole of what is brought -forth, if not developed, is yet hidden and ideally contained within -itself. The principle of this projection into existence is that -the germ cannot remain merely implicit, but is impelled towards -development, since it presents the contradiction of being only implicit -and yet not desiring so to be. But this coming without itself has -an end in view; its completion fully reached, and its previously -determined end is the fruit or produce of the germ, which causes a -return to the first condition. The germ will produce itself alone and -manifest what is contained in it, so that it then may return to itself -once more thus to renew the unity from which it started. With nature it -certainly is true that the subject which commenced and the matter which -forms the end are two separate units, as in the case of seed and fruit. -The doubling process has apparently the effect of separating into two -things that which in content is the same. Thus in animal life the -parent and the young are different individuals although their nature is -the same. - -In Mind it is otherwise: it is consciousness and therefore it is free, -uniting in itself the beginning and the end. As with the germ in -nature, Mind indeed resolves itself back into unity after constituting -itself another. But what is in itself becomes for Mind and thus -arrives at being for itself. The fruit and seed newly contained within -it on the other hand, do not become for the original germ, but for us -alone; in the case of Mind both factors not only are implicitly the -same in character, but there is a being for the other and at the same -time a being for self. That for which the “other” is, is the same -as that “other;” and thus alone Mind is at home with itself in its -“other.” The development of Mind lies in the fact that its going forth -and separation constitutes its coming to itself. - -This being-at-home-with-self, or coming-to-self of Mind may be -described as its complete and highest end: it is this alone that it -desires and nothing else. Everything that from eternity has happened -in heaven and earth, the life of God and all the deeds of time simply -are the struggles for Mind to know itself, to make itself objective -to itself, to find itself, be for itself, and finally unite itself to -itself; it is alienated and divided, but only so as to be able thus to -find itself and return to itself. Only in this manner does Mind attain -its freedom, for that is free which is not connected with or dependent -on another. True self-possession and satisfaction are only to be found -in this, and in nothing else but Thought does Mind attain this freedom. -In sense-perception, for instance, and in feeling, I find myself -confined and am not free; but I am free when I have a consciousness of -this my feeling. Man has particular ends and interests even in will; I -am free indeed when this is mine. Such ends, however, always contain -“another,” or something which constitutes for me “another,” such as -desire and impulse. It is in Thought alone that all foreign matter -disappears from view, and that Mind is absolutely free. All interest -which is contained in the Idea and in Philosophy is expressed in it. - - -b. _The Notion of the Concrete._ - -As to development, it may be asked, what does develop and what forms -the absolute content? Development is considered in the light of a -formal process in action and as destitute of content. But the act -has no other end but activity, and through this activity the general -character of the content is already fixed. For being-in-self and -being-for-self are the moments present in action; but the act is the -retention of these diverse elements within itself. The act thus is -really one, and it is just this unity of differences which is the -concrete. Not only is the act concrete, but also the implicit, which -stands to action in the relation of subject which begins, and finally -the product is just as concrete as the action or as the subject which -begins. Development in process likewise forms the content, the Idea -itself; for this we must have the one element and then the other: both -combined will form a unity as third, because the one in the other is -at home with, and not without, itself. Thus the Idea is in its content -concrete within itself, and this in two ways: first it is concrete -potentially, and then it is its interest that what is in itself should -be there for it. - -It is a common prejudice that the science of Philosophy deals only with -abstractions and empty generalities, and that sense-perception, our -empirical self-consciousness, natural instinct, and the feelings of -every-day life, lie, on the contrary, in the region of the concrete and -the self-determined. As a matter of fact, Philosophy is in the region -of thought, and has therefore to deal with universals; its content -is abstract, but only as to form and element. In itself the Idea is -really concrete, for it is the union of the different determinations. -It is here that reasoned knowledge differs from mere knowledge of the -understanding, and it is the business of Philosophy, as opposed to -understanding, to show that the Truth or the Idea does not consist -in empty generalities, but in a universal; and that is within itself -the particular and the determined. If the Truth is abstract it must -be untrue. Healthy human reason goes out towards what is concrete; -the reflection of the understanding comes first as abstract and -untrue, correct in theory only, and amongst other things unpractical. -Philosophy is what is most antagonistic to abstraction, and it leads -back to the concrete. - -If we unite the Notion of the concrete with that of development we have -the motion of the concrete. Since the implicit is already concrete -within itself, and we only set forth what is implicitly there, the new -form which now looks different and which was formerly shut up in the -original unity, is merely distinguished. The concrete must become for -itself or explicit; as implicit or potential it is only differentiated -within itself, not as yet explicitly set forth, but still in a state -of unity. The concrete is thus simple, and yet at the same time -differentiated. This, its inward contradiction, which is indeed the -impelling force in development, brings distinction into being. But -thus, too, its right to be taken back and reinstated extends beyond -the difference; for its truth is only to be found in unity. Life, both -that which is in Nature and that which is of the Idea, of Mind within -itself, is thus manifested. Were the Idea abstract, it would simply be -the highest conceivable existence, and that would be all that could -be said of it; but such a God is the product of the understanding of -modern times. What is true is rather found in motion, in a process, -however, in which there is rest; difference, while it lasts, is but a -temporary condition, through which comes unity, full and concrete. - -We may now proceed to give examples of sensuous things, which will help -us further to explain this Notion of the concrete. Although the flower -has many qualities, such as smell, taste, form, colour, &c., yet it is -one. None of these qualities could be absent in the particular leaf or -flower: each individual part of the leaf shares alike all the qualities -of the leaf entire. Gold, similarly contains in every particle all -its qualities unseparated and entire. It is frequently allowed with -sensuous things that such varied elements may be joined together, but, -in the spiritual, differentiation is supposed to involve opposition. We -do not controvert the fact, or think it contradictory, that the smell -and taste of the flower, although otherwise opposed, are yet clearly -in one subject; nor do we place the one against the other. But the -understanding and understanding thought find everything of a different -kind, placed in conjunction, to be incompatible. Matter, for example, -is complex and coherent, or space is continuous and uninterrupted. -Likewise we may take separate points in space and break up matter -dividing it ever further into infinity. It then is said that matter -consists of atoms and points, and hence is not continuous. Therefore -we have here the two determinations of continuity and of definite -points, which understanding regards as mutually exclusive, combined -in one. It is said that matter must be clearly either continuous or -divisible into points, but in reality it has both these qualities. Or -when we say of the mind of man that it has freedom, the understanding -at once brings up the other quality, which in this case is necessity, -saying, that if Mind is free it is not in subjection to necessity, and, -inversely, if its will and thought are determined through necessity, it -is not free—the one, they say, excludes the other. The distinctions -here are regarded as exclusive, and not as forming something concrete. -But that which is true, the Mind, is concrete, and its attributes are -freedom and necessity. Similarly the higher point of view is that Mind -is free in its necessity, and finds its freedom in it alone, since -its necessity rests on its freedom. But it is more difficult for us -to show the unity here than in the case of natural objects. Freedom -can, however, be also abstract freedom without necessity, which -false freedom is self-will, and for that reason it is self-opposed, -unconsciously limited, an imaginary freedom which is free in form -alone. - -The fruit of development, which comes third, is a result of motion, -but inasmuch as it is merely the result of one stage in development, -as being last in this stage, it is both the starting point and the -first in order in another such stage. Goethe somewhere truly says, -“That which is formed ever resolves itself back into its elements.” -Matter—which as developed has form—constitutes once more the material -for a new form. Mind again takes as its object and applies its activity -to the Notion in which in going within itself, it has comprehended -itself, which it is in form and being, and which has just been -separated from it anew. The application of thought to this, supplies it -with the form and determination of thought. This action thus further -forms the previously formed, gives it additional determinations, makes -it more determinate in itself, further developed and more profound. As -concrete, this activity is a succession of processes in development -which must be represented not as a straight line drawn out into vague -infinity, but as a circle returning within itself, which, as periphery, -has very many circles, and whose whole is a large number of processes -in development turning back within themselves. - - -c. _Philosophy as the apprehension of the development of the Concrete._ - -Having thus generally explained the nature of the Concrete, I now add -as regards its import, that the Truth thus determined within itself -is impelled towards development. It is only the living and spiritual -which internally bestirs and develops itself. Thus the Idea as concrete -in itself, and self-developing, is an organic system and a totality -which contains a multitude of stages and of moments in development. -Philosophy has now become for itself the apprehension of this -development, and as conceiving Thought, is itself this development in -Thought. The more progress made in this development, the more perfect -is the Philosophy. - -This development goes no further out than into externality, but the -going without itself of development also is a going inwards. That -is to say, the universal Idea continues to remain at the foundation -and still is the all-embracing and unchangeable. While in Philosophy -the going out of the Idea in course of its development is not a -change, a becoming “another,” but really is a going within itself, -a self-immersion, the progress forward makes the Idea which was -previously general and undetermined, determined within itself. Further -development of the Idea or its further determination is the same -thing exactly. Depth seems to signify intensiveness, but in this case -the most extensive is also the most intensive. The more intensive is -the Mind, the more extensive is it, hence the larger is its embrace. -Extension as development, is not dispersion or falling asunder, but -a uniting bond which is the more powerful and intense as the expanse -of that embraced is greater in extent and richer. In such a case what -is greater is the strength of opposition and of separation; and the -greater power overcomes the greater separation. - -These are the abstract propositions regarding the nature of the Idea -and of its development, and thus within it Philosophy in its developed -state is constituted: it is one Idea in its totality and in all its -individual parts, like one life in a living being, one pulse throbs -throughout all its members. All the parts represented in it, and their -systematization, emanate from the one Idea; all these particulars are -but the mirrors and copies of this one life, and have their actuality -only in this unity. Their differences and their various qualities are -only the expression of the Idea and the form contained within it. Thus -the Idea is the central point, which is also the periphery, the source -of light, which in all its expansion does not come without itself, but -remains present and immanent within itself. Thus it is both the system -of necessity and its own necessity, which also constitutes its freedom. - - -3. RESULTS OBTAINED WITH RESPECT TO THE NOTION OF THE HISTORY OF -PHILOSOPHY. - -Thus we see that Philosophy is system in development; the history of -Philosophy is the same; and this is the main point to be noted and the -first principle to be dealt with in this treatise on that history. In -order to make this evident, the difference in respect to the possible -modes of manifestation must first be pointed out. That is to say, the -progression of the various stages in the advance of Thought may occur -with the consciousness of necessity, in which case each in succession -deduces itself, and this form and this determination can alone emerge. -Or else it may come about without this consciousness as does a natural -and apparently accidental process, so that while inwardly, indeed, -the Notion brings about its result consistently, this consistency is -not made manifest. This is so in nature; in the various stages of the -development of twigs, leaves, blossom and fruit, each proceeds for -itself, but the inward Idea is the directing and determining force -which governs the progression. This is also so with the child whose -bodily powers, and above all whose intellectual activities, make their -appearance one after the other, simply and naturally, so that those -parents who form such an experience for the first time, marvel whence -all that is now showing itself from within, comes from; for the whole -of these manifestations merely have the form of a succession in time. - -The one kind of progression which represents the deduction of the -forms, the necessity thought out and recognized, of the determinations, -is the business of Philosophy; and because it is the pure Idea which -is in question and not yet its mere particularized form as Nature and -as Mind, that representation is, in the main, the business of logical -Philosophy. But the other method, which represents the part played by -the history of Philosophy, shows the different stages and moments in -development in time, in manner of occurrence, in particular places, -in particular people or political circumstances, the complications -arising thus, and, in short, it shows us the empirical form. This point -of view is the only one worthy of this science. From the very nature -of the subject it is inherently the true one, and through the study of -this history it will be made manifest that it actually shows and proves -itself so. - -Now in reference to this Idea, I maintain that the sequence in the -systems of Philosophy in History is similar to the sequence in the -logical deduction of the Notion-determinations in the Idea. I maintain -that if the fundamental conceptions of the systems appearing in the -history of Philosophy be entirely divested of what regards their -outward form, their relation to the particular and the like, the -various stages in the determination of the Idea are found in their -logical Notion. Conversely in the logical progression taken for -itself, there is, so far as its principal elements are concerned, -the progression of historical manifestations; but it is necessary to -have these pure Notions in order to know what the historical form -contains. It may be thought that Philosophy must have another order as -to the stages in the Idea than that in which these Notions have gone -forth in time; but in the main the order is the same. This succession -undoubtedly separates itself, on the one hand, into the sequence in -time of History, and on the other into succession in the order of -ideas. But to treat more fully of this last would divert us too far -from our aim. - -I would only remark this, that what has been said reveals that the -study of the history of Philosophy is the study of Philosophy itself, -for, indeed, it can be nothing else. Whoever studies the history of -sciences such as Physics and Mathematics, makes himself acquainted with -Physics and Mathematics themselves. But in order to obtain a knowledge -of its progress as the development of the Idea in the empirical, -external form in which Philosophy appears in History, a corresponding -knowledge of the Idea is absolutely essential, just as in judging of -human affairs one must have a conception of that which is right and -fitting. Else, indeed, as in so many histories of Philosophy, there is -presented to the vision devoid of idea, only a disarranged collection -of opinions. To make you acquainted with this Idea, and consequently -to explain the manifestations, is the business of the history of -Philosophy, and to do this is my object in undertaking to lecture on -the subject. Since the observer must bring with him the Notion of -the subject in order to see it in its phenomenal aspect and in order -to expose the object faithfully to view, we need not wonder at there -being so many dull histories of Philosophy in which the succession of -its systems are represented simply as a number of opinions, errors and -freaks of thought. They are freaks of thought which, indeed, have been -devised with a great pretension of acuteness and of mental exertion, -and with everything else which can be said in admiration of what is -merely formal. But, considering the absence of philosophic mind in -such historians as these, how should they be able to comprehend and -represent the content, which is reasoned thought? - -It is shown from what has been said regarding the formal nature of the -Idea, that only a history of Philosophy thus regarded as a system of -development in Idea, is entitled to the name of Science: a collection -of facts constitutes no science. Only thus as a succession of phenomena -established through reason, and having as content just what is reason -and revealing it, does this history show that it is rational: it shows -that the events recorded are in reason. How should the whole of what -has taken place in reason not itself be rational? That faith must -surely be the more reasonable in which chance is not made ruler over -human affairs, and it is the business of Philosophy to recognize that -however much its own manifestations may be history likewise, it is yet -determined through the Idea alone. - -Through these general preliminary conceptions the categories are now -determined, the more immediate application of which to the history of -Philosophy we have now to consider. This application will bring before -us the most significant aspects in this history. - - -a. _The development in Time of the various Philosophies._ - -The first question which may be asked in reference to this history, -concerns that distinction in regard to the manifestation of the Idea, -which has just been noticed. It is the question as to how it happens -that Philosophy appears to be a development in time and has a history. -The answer to this question encroaches on the metaphysics of Time, and -it would be a digression from our object to give here more than the -elements on which the answer rests. - -It has been shown above in reference to the existence of Mind, that -its Being is its activity. Nature, on the contrary, is, as it is; its -changes are thus only repetitions, and its movements take the form of a -circle merely. To express this better, the activity of Mind is to know -itself. I am, immediately, but this I am only as a living organism; -as Mind I am only in so far as I know myself. _Γνῶθι σεαυτόν_, Know -thyself, the inscription over the temple of the oracle at Delphi, -is the absolute command which is expressed by Mind in its essential -character. But consciousness really implies that for myself, I am -object to myself. In forming this absolute division between what is -mine and myself, Mind constitutes its existence and establishes itself -as external to itself. It postulates itself in the externality which is -just the universal and the distinctive form of existence in Nature. But -one of the forms of externality is Time, and this form requires to be -further examined both in the Philosophy of Nature and the finite Mind. - -This Being in existence and therefore Being in time is a moment not -only of the individual consciousness, which as such is essentially -finite, but also of the development of the philosophical Idea in the -element of Thought. For the Idea, thought of as being at rest, is, -indeed, not in Time. To think of it as at rest, and to preserve it in -the form of immediacy is equivalent to its inward perception. But the -Idea as concrete, is, as has been shown, the unity of differences; it -is not really rest, and its existence is not really sense-perception, -but as differentiation within itself and therefore as development, -it comes into existent Being and into externality in the element of -Thought, and thus pure Philosophy appears in thought as a progressive -existence in time. But this element of Thought is itself abstract and -is the activity of a single consciousness. Mind is, however, not only -to be considered as individual, finite consciousness, but as that -Mind which is universal and concrete within itself; this concrete -universality, however, comprehends all the various sides and modes -evolved in which it is and becomes object to the Idea. Thus Mind’s -thinking comprehension of self is at the same time the progression of -the total actuality evolved. This progression is not one which takes -its course through the thought of an individual and exhibits itself -in a single consciousness, for it shows itself to be universal Mind -presenting itself in the history of the world in all the richness of -its form. The result of this development is that one form, one stage in -the Idea comes to consciousness in one particular race, so that this -race and this time expresses only this particular form, within which it -constructs its universe and works out its conditions. The higher stage, -on the other hand, centuries later reveals itself in another race of -people. - -Now if we thus grasp the principles of the Concrete and of Development, -the nature of the manifold obtains quite another signification, and -what is said of the diversity in philosophies as if the manifold were -fixed and stationary and composed of what is mutually exclusive, is at -once refuted and relegated to its proper place. Such talk is that in -which those who despise Philosophy think they possess an invincible -weapon against it, and in their truly beggarly pride in their pitiful -representations of it, they are in perfect ignorance even of what they -have and what they have to know in any meagre ideas attained, such as -in that of the manifold and diverse. Yet this category is one which -anybody can understand; no difficulty is made in regard to it, for -it is thoroughly known, and those who use it think they can do so as -being entirely comprehensible—as a matter of course they understand -what it is. But those who believe the principle of diversity to be -one absolutely fixed, do not know its nature, or its dialectic; the -manifold or diverse is in a state of flux; it must really be conceived -of as in the process of development, and as but a passing moment. -Philosophy in its concrete Idea is the activity of development in -revealing the differences which it contains within itself; these -differences are thoughts, for we are now speaking of development in -Thought. In the first place, the differences which rest in the Idea -are manifested as thoughts. Secondly, these distinctions must come -into existence, one here and the other there; and in order that they -may do this, they must be complete, that is, they must contain within -themselves the Idea in its totality. The concrete alone as including -and supporting the distinctions, is the actual; it is thus, and thus -alone, that the differences are in their form entire. - -A complete form of thought such as is here presented, is a Philosophy. -But the Idea contains the distinctions in a peculiar form. It may be -said that the form is indifferent, and that the content, the Idea, is -the main consideration; and people think themselves quite moderate and -reasonable when they state that the different philosophies all contain -the Idea, though in different forms, understanding by this that these -forms are contingent. But everything hangs on this: these forms are -nothing else than the original distinctions in the Idea itself, which -is what it is only in them. They are in this way essential to, and -constitute the content of the Idea, which in thus sundering itself, -attains to form. The manifold character of the principles which -appear, is, however, not accidental, but necessary: the different -forms constitute an integral part of the whole form. They are the -determinations of the original Idea, which together constitute the -whole; but as being outside of one another, their union does not take -place in them, but in us, the observers. Each system is determined as -one, but it is not a permanent condition that the differences are thus -mutually exclusive. The inevitable fate of these determinations must -follow, and that is that they shall be drawn together and reduced to -elements or moments. The independent attitude taken up by each moment -is again laid aside. After expansion, contraction follows—the unity -out of which they first emerged. This third may itself be but the -beginning of a further development. It may seem as if this progression -were to go on into infinitude, but it has an absolute end in view, -which we shall know better later on; many turnings are necessary, -however, before Mind frees itself in coming to consciousness. - -The temple of self-conscious reason is to be considered from this the -point of view alone worthy of the history of Philosophy. It is hence -rationally built by an inward master worker, and not in Solomon’s -method, as freemasons build. The great assumption that what has taken -place on this side, in the world, has also done so in conformity -with reason—which is what first gives the history of Philosophy -its true interest—is nothing else than trust in Providence, only -in another form. As the best of what is in the world is that which -Thought produces, it is unreasonable to believe that reason only is -in Nature, and not in Mind. That man who believes that what, like the -philosophies, belongs to the region of mind must be merely contingent, -is insincere in his belief in divine rule, and what he says of it is -but empty talk. - -A long time is undoubtedly required by Mind in working out Philosophy, -and when one first reflects on it, the length of the time may seem -astonishing, like the immensity of the space spoken of in astronomy. -But it must be considered in regard to the slow progress of the -world-spirit, that there is no need for it to hasten:—“A thousand -years are in Thy sight as one day.” It has time enough just because it -is itself outside of time, because it is eternal. The fleeting events -of the day pass so quickly that there is not time enough for all that -has to be done. Who is there who does not die before he has achieved -his aims? The world-spirit has time enough, but that is not all. It -is not time alone which has to be made use of in the acquisition of -a conception; much else is required. The fact that so many races and -generations are devoted to these operations of its consciousness by -Mind, and that the appearance is so perpetually presented of rising -up and passing away, concern it not at all; it is rich enough for -such displays, it pursues its work on the largest possible scale, -and has nations and individuals enough and to spare. The saying that -Nature arrives at its end in the shortest possible way, and that this -is right, is a trivial one. The way shown by mind is indirect, and -accommodates itself to circumstances. Considerations of finite life, -such as time, trouble, and cost, have no place here. We ought, too, to -feel no disappointment that particular kinds of knowledge cannot yet be -attained, or that this or that is still absent. In the history of the -world progression is slow. - - -b. _The application of the foregoing to the treatment of Philosophy._ - -The first result which follows from what has been said, is that the -whole of the history of Philosophy is a progression impelled by an -inherent necessity, and one which is implicitly rational and _à priori_ -determined through its Idea; and this the history of Philosophy has to -exemplify. Contingency must vanish on the appearance of Philosophy. -Its history is just as absolutely determined as the development of -Notions, and the impelling force is the inner dialectic of the forms. -The finite is not true, nor is it what it is to be—its determinate -nature is bound up with its existence. But the inward Idea abolishes -these finite forms: a philosophy which has not the absolute form -identical with the content, must pass away because its form is not that -of truth. - -What follows, secondly from what we have said, is that every philosophy -has been and still is necessary. Thus none have passed away, but -all are affirmatively contained as elements in a whole. But we must -distinguish between the particular principle of these philosophies as -particular, and the realization of this principle throughout the whole -compass of the world. The principles are retained, the most recent -philosophy being the result of all preceding, and hence no philosophy -has ever been refuted. What has been refuted is not the principle of -this philosophy, but merely the fact that this principle should be -considered final and absolute in character. The atomic philosophy, -for example, has arrived at the affirmation that the atom is the -absolute existence, that it is the indivisible unit which is also the -individual or subject; seeing, then, that the bare unit also is the -abstract being-for-self, the Absolute would be grasped as infinitely -many units. The atomic theory has been refuted, and we are atomists -no longer. Mind is certainly explicitly existent as a unit or atom, -but that is to attribute to it a barren character and qualities -incapable of expressing anything of its depth. The principle is indeed -retained, although it is not the absolute in its entirety. This same -contradiction appears in all development. The development of the tree -is the negation of the germ, and the blossom that of the leaves, in so -far as that they show that these do not form the highest and truest -existence of the tree. Last of all, the blossom finds its negation in -the fruit. Yet none of them can come into actual existence excepting -as preceded by all the earlier stages. Our attitude to a philosophy -must thus contain an affirmative side and a negative; when we take both -of these into consideration, we do justice to a philosophy for the -first time. We get to know the affirmative side later on both in life -and in science; thus we find it easier to refute than to justify. - -In the third place, we shall limit ourselves to the particular -consideration of the principle itself. Each principle has reigned for a -certain time, and when the whole system of the world has been explained -from this special form, it is called a philosophical system. Its whole -theory has certainly to be learned, but as long as the principle is -abstract it is not sufficient to embrace the forms belonging to our -conception of the world. The Cartesian principles, for instance, are -very suitable for application to mechanism, but for nothing further; -their representation of other manifestations in the world, such as -those of vegetable and animal nature, are insufficient, and hence -uninteresting. Therefore we take into consideration the principles of -these philosophies only, but in dealing with concrete philosophies -we must also regard the chief forms of their development and their -applications. The subordinate philosophies are inconsistent; they have -had bright glimpses of the truth, which are, however, independent -of their principles. This is exemplified in the Timæus of Plato, a -philosophy of nature, the working out of which is empirically very -barren because its principle does not as yet extend far enough, and it -is not to its principle that we owe the deep gleams of thought there -contained. - -In the fourth place it follows that we must not regard the history -of Philosophy as dealing with the past, even though it is history. -The scientific products of reason form the content of this history, -and these are not past. What is obtained in this field of labour is -the True, and, as such, the Eternal; it is not what exists now, and -not then; it is true not only to-day or to-morrow, but beyond all -time, and in as far as it is in time, it is true always and for every -time. The bodily forms of those great minds who are the heroes of this -history, the temporal existence and outward lives of the philosophers, -are, indeed, no more, but their works and thoughts have not followed -suit, for they neither conceived nor dreamt of the rational import -of their works. Philosophy is not somnambulism, but is developed -consciousness; and what these heroes have done is to bring that which -is implicitly rational out of the depths of Mind, where it is found at -first as substance only, or as inwardly existent, into the light of -day, and to advance it into consciousness and knowledge. This forms a -continuous awakening. Such work is not only deposited in the temple of -Memory as forms of times gone by, but is just as present and as living -now as at the time of its production. The effects produced and work -performed are not again destroyed or interrupted by what succeeds, for -they are such that we must ourselves be present in them. They have as -medium neither canvas, paper, marble, nor representation or memorial -to preserve them. These mediums are themselves transient, or else form -a basis for what is such. But they do have Thought, Notion, and the -eternal Being of Mind, which moths cannot corrupt, nor thieves break -through and steal. The conquests made by Thought when constituted -into Thought form the very Being of Mind. Such knowledge is thus not -learning merely, or a knowledge of what is dead, buried and corrupt: -the history of Philosophy has not to do with what is gone, but with the -living present. - - -c. _Further comparison between the History of Philosophy and Philosophy -itself._ - -We may appropriate to ourselves the whole of the riches apportioned -out in time: it must be shown from the succession in philosophies how -that succession is the systematization of the science of Philosophy -itself. But a distinction is to be noted here: that which first -commences is implicit, immediate, abstract, general—it is what has -not yet advanced; the more concrete and richer comes later, and the -first is poorer in determinations. This may appear contrary to one’s -first impressions, but philosophic ideas are often enough directly -opposed to ordinary ideas, and what is generally supposed, is not found -to be the case. It may be thought that what comes first must be the -concrete. The child, for instance, as still in the original totality -of his nature, is thought to be more concrete than the man, hence we -imagine the latter to be more limited, no longer forming a totality, -but living an abstract life. Certainly the man acts in accordance with -definite ends, not bringing his whole soul and mind into a subject, -but splitting his life into a number of abstract unities. The child -and the youth, on the contrary, act straight from the fulness of the -heart. Feeling and sense-perception come first, thought last, and thus -feeling appears to us to be more concrete than thought, or the activity -of abstraction and of the universal. In reality, it is just the other -way. The sensuous consciousness is certainly the more concrete, and if -poorer in thought, at least richer in content. We must thus distinguish -the naturally concrete from the concrete of thought, which on its -side, again, is wanting in sensuous matter. The child is also the most -abstract and the poorest in thought: as to what pertains to nature, the -man is abstract, but in thought he is more concrete than the child. -Man’s ends and objects are undoubtedly abstract in general affairs, -such as in maintaining his family or performing his business duties, -but he contributes to a great objective organic whole, whose progress -he advances and directs. In the acts of a child, on the other hand, -only a childish and, indeed, momentary “I,” and in those of the youth -the subjective constitution or the random aim, form the principle -of action. It is in this way that science is more concrete than -sense-perception. - -In applying this to the different forms of Philosophy, it follows in -the first place, that the earliest philosophies are the poorest and the -most abstract. In them the Idea is least determined; they keep merely -to generalities not yet realized. This must be known in order that we -may not seek behind the old philosophies for more than we are entitled -to find; thus we need not require from them determinations proceeding -from a deeper consciousness. For instance, it has been asked whether -the philosophy of Thales is, properly speaking, Theism or Atheism,[5] -whether he asserted a personal God or merely an impersonal, universal -existence. The question here regards the attribution of subjectivity -to the highest Idea, the conception of the Personality of God. Such -subjectivity as we comprehend it, is a much richer, more concentrated, -and therefore much later conception, which need not be sought for in -distant ages. The Greek gods had, indeed, personality in imagination -and idea like the one God of the Jewish religion, but to know what -is the mere picture of fancy, and what the insight of pure Thought -and Notion, is quite another thing. If we take as basis our own -ideas judged by these deeper conceptions, an ancient Philosophy may -undoubtedly be spoken of as Atheism. But this expression would at the -same time be false, for the thoughts as thoughts in beginning, could -not have arrived at the development which we have reached. - -From this it follows—since the progress of development is equivalent -to further determination, and this means further immersion in and a -fuller grasp of the Idea itself—that the latest, most modern and -newest philosophy is the most developed, richest and deepest. In that -philosophy everything which at first seems to be past and gone must be -preserved and retained, and it must itself be a mirror of the whole -history. The original philosophy is the most abstract, because it is -the original and has not as yet made any movement forward; the last, -which proceeds from this forward and impelling influence, is the -most concrete. This, as may at once be remarked, is no mere pride in -the philosophy of our time, because it is in the nature of the whole -process that the more developed philosophy of a later time is really -the result of the previous operations of the thinking mind; and that -it, pressed forwards and onwards from the earlier standpoints, has not -grown up on its own account or in a state of isolation. - -It must also be recollected that we must not hesitate to say, what is -naturally implied, that the Idea, as comprehended and shown forth in -the latest and newest philosophy, is the most developed, the richest -and deepest. I call this to remembrance because the designation, new -or newest of all in reference to Philosophy, has become a very common -by-word. Those who think they express anything by using such terms -might quite easily render thanks respecting any number of philosophies -just as fast as their inclination directs, regarding either every -shooting-star and even every candle-gleam in the light of a sun, or -else calling every popular cry a philosophy, and adducing as proof that -at any rate there are so many philosophies that every day one displaces -another. Thus they have the category in which they can place any -apparently significant philosophy, and through which they may at the -same time set it aside; this they call a fashion-philosophy. - - “Scoffer, thou call’st this but a fleeting phase - When the Spirit of Man once again and anew, - Strives earnestly on, towards forms that are higher.” - -A second consequence has regard to the treatment of the older -philosophies. Such insight also prevents us from ascribing any blame -to the philosophies when we miss determinations in them which were not -yet present to their culture, and similarly it prevents our burdening -them with deductions and assertions which were neither made nor thought -of by them, though they might correctly enough allow themselves to -be derived from the thought of such a philosophy. It is necessary -to set to work on an historical basis, and to ascribe to Philosophy -what is immediately given to us, and that alone. Errors crop up here -in most histories of Philosophy, since we may see in them a number -of metaphysical propositions ascribed to a philosopher and given out -as an historical statement of the views which he has propounded, of -which he neither thought nor knew a word, and of which there is not -the slightest trace found in history. Thus in Brucker’s great History -of Philosophy (Pt. I. pp. 465-478 seq.) a list of thirty, forty, or a -hundred theorems are quoted from Thales and others, no idea of which -can be traced in history as having been present to these philosophers. -There are also propositions in support of them and citations taken -from discussions of a similar kind with which we may occupy ourselves -long enough. Brucker’s method is to endow the single theorem of an -ancient philosopher with all the consequences and premises which must, -according to the idea of the Wolffian Metaphysics, be the premises and -conclusions of that theorem, and thus easily to produce a simple, naked -fiction as if it were an actual historical fact. Thus, according to -Brucker, Thales said, _Ex nihilo fit nihil_, since he said that water -was eternal. Thus, too, he was to be counted amongst the philosophers -who deny creation out of nothing; and of this, historically at least, -Thales was ignorant. Professor Ritter, too, whose history of Ionic -Philosophy is carefully written, and who on the whole is cautious not -to introduce foreign matter, has very possibly ascribed to Thales more -than is found in history. He says (pp. 12, 13), “Hence we must regard -the view of nature which we find in Thales as dynamic in principle. -He regarded the world as the all-embracing, living animal which -has developed from a germ like every other animal, and this germ, -like that of all other animals, is either damp or water. Thus the -fundamental idea of Thales is that the world is a living whole which -has developed from a germ and carries on its life as does an animal, -by means of nourishment suitable to its nature” (cf. p. 16). This is -quite a different account from that of Aristotle, and none of it is -communicated by the ancients regarding Thales. The sequence of thought -is evident, but historically it is not justified. We ought not by such -deductions to make an ancient philosophy into something quite different -from what it originally was. - -We are too apt to mould the ancient philosophers into our own forms of -thought, but this is just to constitute the progress of development; -the difference in times, in culture and in philosophies, depends on -whether certain reflections, certain thought determinations, and -certain stages in the Notion have come to consciousness, whether a -consciousness has been developed to a particular point or not. The -history of Philosophy has simply to deal with this development and -bringing forth of thought. The determinations involved certainly follow -from a proposition, but whether they are put forth as yet or not is -quite another thing, and the bringing forth of the inner content is the -only matter of importance. We must therefore only make use of the words -which are actually literal, for to use further thought determinations -which do not yet belong to the consciousness of the philosopher in -question, is to carry on development. Thus Aristotle states that -Thales has defined the principle (_ἀρχή_) of every thing to be water. -But Anaximander first made use of _ἀρχή_, and Thales thus did not -possess this determination of thought at all; he recognized _ἀρχή_ as -commencement in time, but not as the fundamental principle. Thales did -not once introduce the determination of cause into his philosophy, and -first cause is a further determination still. There are whole nations -which have not this conception at all; indeed it involves a great step -forward in development. And seeing that difference in culture on the -whole depends on difference in the thought determinations which are -manifested, this must be so still more with respect to philosophies. - -Now, as in the logical system of thought each of its forms has its -own place in which alone it suffices, and this form becomes, by means -of ever-progressing development, reduced to a subordinate element, -each philosophy is, in the third place, a particular stage in the -development of the whole process and has its definite place where it -finds its true value and significance. Its special character is really -to be conceived of in accordance with this determination, and it is to -be considered with respect to this position in order that full justice -may be done to it. On this account nothing more must be demanded or -expected from it than what it actually gives, and the satisfaction -is not to be sought for in it, which can only be found in a fuller -development of knowledge. We must not expect to find the questions of -our consciousness and the interest of the present world responded to -by the ancients; such questions presuppose a certain development in -thought. Therefore every philosophy belongs to its own time and is -restricted by its own limitations, just because it is the manifestation -of a particular stage in development. The individual is the offspring -of his people, of his world, whose constitution and attributes are -alone manifested in his form; he may spread himself out as he will, he -cannot escape out of his time any more than out of his skin, for he -belongs to the one universal Mind which is his substance and his own -existence. How should he escape from this? It is the same universal -Mind that is embraced by thinking Philosophy; that Philosophy is -Mind’s thought of itself and therefore its determinate and substantial -content. Every philosophy is the philosophy of its own day, a link in -the whole chain of spiritual development, and thus it can only find -satisfaction for the interests belonging to its own particular time. - -On this account an earlier philosophy does not give satisfaction -to the mind in which a deeper conception reigns. What Mind seeks -for in Philosophy is this conception which already constitutes its -inward determination and the root of its existence conceived of as -object to thought; Mind demands a knowledge of itself. But in the -earlier philosophy the Idea is not yet present in this determinate -character. Hence the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, and indeed -all philosophies, ever live and are present in their principles, but -Philosophy no longer has the particular form and aspect possessed -by that of Plato and of Aristotle. We cannot rest content with -them, and they cannot be revived; hence there can be no Platonists, -Aristotelians, Stoics, or Epicureans to-day. To re-awaken them would -be to try to bring back to an earlier stage the Mind of a deeper -culture and self-penetration. But this cannot be the case; it would be -an impossibility and as great a folly as were a man to wish to expend -his energies in attaining the standpoint of the youth, the youth in -endeavouring to be the boy or child again; whereas the man, the youth, -and the child, are all one and the same individual. The period of -revival in the sciences, the new epoch in learning which took place in -the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, began not only with the revived -study of, but also with the re-animation of the old philosophies. -Marsilius Ficinus was a Platonist; an Academy of Platonic philosophy -was established and installed with professors by Cosmos de Medici, and -Ficinus was placed at the head of it. There were pure Aristotelians -like Pomponius: Gassendi later on maintained the Epicurean philosophy, -for his philosophy dealt with Physics after the manner of the -Epicureans; Lipsius wished to be a Stoic, and so on. The sense of -opposition was so great, ancient philosophy and Christianity—from or -in which no special philosophy had developed—were so diverse, that -no philosophy peculiar to itself could develop in Christianity. What -was or could be had as philosophy, either in conformity with or in -opposition to Christianity, was a certain ancient philosophy which was -thus taken up anew. But mummies when brought amongst living beings -cannot there remain. Mind had for long possessed a more substantial -life, a more profound Notion of itself, and hence its thought had -higher needs than such as could be satisfied by these philosophies. -A revival such as this is then to be regarded only as the transitory -period in which we learn to know the forms which are implied and which -have gone before, and as the renewal of former struggles through the -steps necessary in development. Such reconstructions and repetitions in -a distant time of principles which have become foreign to Mind, are in -history transitory only, and formed in a language which is dead. Such -things are translations only and not originals, and Mind does not find -satisfaction excepting in knowledge of its own origination. - -When modern times are in the same way called upon to revert to the -standpoint of an ancient philosophy (as is recommended specially in -regard to the philosophy of Plato) in order to make this a means of -escaping from the complications and difficulties of succeeding times, -this reversion does not come naturally as in the first case. This -discreet counsel has the same origin as the request to cultivated -members of society to turn back to the customs and ideas of the savages -of the North American forests, or as the recommendation to adopt the -religion of Melchisedec which Fichte[6] has maintained to be the -purest and simplest possible, and therefore the one at which we must -eventually arrive. On the one hand, in this retrogression the desire -for an origin and for a fixed point of departure is unmistakable, -but such must be sought for in thought and Idea alone and not in an -authoritatively given form. On the other hand, the return of the -developed, enriched Mind to a simplicity such as this—which means to -an abstraction, an abstract condition or thought—is to be regarded -only as the escape of an incapacity which cannot enjoy the rich -material of development which it sees before it, and which demands to -be controlled and comprehended in its very depths by thought, but seeks -a refuge in fleeing from the difficulty and in mere sterility. - -From what has been said it is quite comprehensible how so many of -those who, whether induced by some special attraction such as this, -or simply by the fame of a Plato or ancient philosophy in general, -direct their way thereto in order to draw their own philosophy from -these sources, do not find themselves satisfied by the study, and -unjustifiably quit such altogether. Satisfaction is found in them to -a certain extent only. We must know in ancient philosophy or in the -philosophy of any given period, what we are going to look for. Or at -least we must know that in such a philosophy there is before us a -definite stage in the development of thought, and in it those forms -and necessities of Mind which lie within the limits of that stage -alone are brought into existence. There slumber in the Mind of modern -times ideas more profound which require for their awakening other -surroundings and another present than the abstract, dim, grey thought -of olden times. In Plato, for instance, questions regarding the nature -of freedom, the origin of evil and of sin, providence, &c., do not -find their philosophic answer. On such subjects we certainly may in -part take the ordinary serious views of the present time, and in part -philosophically set their consideration altogether aside, or else -consider sin and freedom as something negative only. But neither the -one plan nor the other gives freedom to Mind if such subjects have once -been explicitly for it, and if the opposition in self-consciousness -has given it the power of sinking its interests therein. The case is -similar with regard to questions regarding the limits of knowledge, the -opposition between subjectivity and objectivity which had not yet come -up in Plato’s age. The independence of the “I” within itself and its -explicit existence was foreign to him; man had not yet gone back within -himself, had not yet set himself forth as explicit. The subject was -indeed the individual as free, but as yet he knew himself only as in -unity with his Being. The Athenian knew himself to be free, as such, -just as the Roman citizen would, as _ingenuus_. But the fact that man -is in and for himself free, in his essence and as man, free born, was -known neither by Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, nor the Roman legislators, -even though it is this conception alone which forms the source of -law. In Christianity the individual, personal mind for the first time -becomes of real, infinite and absolute value; God wills that all men -shall be saved. It was in the Christian religion that the doctrine -was advanced that all men are equal before God, because Christ has -set them free with the freedom of Christianity. These principles make -freedom independent of any such things as birth, standing or culture. -The progress made through them is enormous, but they still come short -of this, that to be free constitutes the very idea of man. The sense -of this existent principle has been an active force for centuries and -centuries, and an impelling power which has brought about the most -tremendous revolutions; but the conception and the knowledge of the -natural freedom of man is a knowledge of himself which is not old. - - - - -B - -THE RELATION OF PHILOSOPHY TO OTHER DEPARTMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. - - -The History of Philosophy has to represent this science in that form -of time and individualities from which its outward form has resulted. -Such a representation has, however, to shut out from itself the -external history of the time, and to take into account only the general -character of the people and time, and likewise their circumstances as a -whole. But as a matter of fact, the history of Philosophy does present -this character, and that indeed in the highest possible degree; -its connection with it is of the closest kind, and the particular -appearance presented by a philosophy belonging to one special period, -is only a particular aspect or element in the character. Because of -this inward correspondence we have partly to consider more closely -the particular relation borne by a philosophy to its historical -surroundings, and partly, but pre-eminently, what is proper to itself, -from which alone, after separating everything related however closely, -we can fix our standpoint. This connection, which is not merely -external but essential, has thus two sides, which we must consider. The -first is the distinctly historical side, the second is the connection -with other matters—the connection of Philosophy with Religion, for -instance, by which we at once obtain a deeper conception of Philosophy -itself. - - -1. THE HISTORICAL SIDE OF THIS CONNECTION. - -It is usually said that political affairs and such matters as Religion -are to be taken into consideration because they have exercised a great -influence on the Philosophy of the time, and similarly it exerts an -influence upon them. But when people are content with such a category -as “great influence” they place the two in an external relationship, -and start from the point of view that both sides are for themselves -independent. Here, however, we must think of this relationship in -another category, and not according to the influence or effect of one -upon the other. The true category is the unity of all these different -forms, so that it is one Mind which manifests itself in, and impresses -itself upon these different elements. - - -a. _Outward and historical conditions imposed upon Philosophy._ - -It must be remarked in the first place, that a certain stage is -requisite in the intellectual culture of a people in order that it -may have a Philosophy at all. Aristotle says, “Man first begins to -philosophize when the necessities of life are supplied” (Metaphysics, -I. 2); because since Philosophy is a free and not self-seeking -activity, cravings of want must have disappeared, a strength, elevation -and inward fortitude of mind must have appeared, passions must be -subdued and consciousness so far advanced, before what is universal -can be thought of. Philosophy may thus be called a kind of luxury, -in so far as luxury signifies those enjoyments and pursuits which do -not belong to external necessity as such. Philosophy in this respect -seems more capable of being dispensed with than anything else; but that -depends on what is called indispensable. From the point of view of -mind, Philosophy may even be said to be that which is most essential. - - -b. _The commencement in History of an intellectual necessity for -Philosophy._ - -However much Philosophy, as the thought and conception of the Mind -of a particular time, is _à priori_, it is at the same time just as -really a result, since the thought produced and, indeed, the life and -action are produced to produce themselves. This activity contains the -essential element of a negation, because to produce is also to destroy; -Philosophy in producing itself, has the natural as its starting point -in order to abrogate it again. Philosophy thus makes its appearance -at a time when the Mind of a people has worked its way out of the -indifference and stolidity of the first life of nature, as it has also -done from the standpoint of the emotional, so that the individual aim -has blotted itself out. But as Mind passes on from its natural form, -it also proceeds from its exact code of morals and the robustness of -life to reflection and conception. The result of this is that it lays -hold of and troubles this real, substantial kind of existence, this -morality and faith, and thus the period of destruction commences. -Further progress is then made through the gathering up of thought -within itself. It may be said that Philosophy first commences when a -race for the most part has left its concrete life, when separation and -change of class have begun, and the people approach toward their fall; -when a gulf has arisen between inward strivings and external reality, -and the old forms of Religion, &c., are no longer satisfying; when Mind -manifests indifference to its living existence or rests unsatisfied -therein, and moral life becomes dissolved. Then it is that Mind takes -refuge in the clear space of thought to create for itself a kingdom of -thought in opposition to the world of actuality, and Philosophy is the -reconciliation following upon the destruction of that real world which -thought has begun. When Philosophy with its abstractions paints grey in -grey, the freshness and life of youth has gone, the reconciliation is -not a reconciliation in the actual, but in the ideal world. Thus the -Greek philosophers held themselves far removed from the business of -the State and were called by the people idlers, because they withdrew -themselves within the world of thought. - -This holds good throughout all the history of Philosophy. It was so -with Ionic Philosophy in the decline of the Ionic States in Asia Minor. -Socrates and Plato had no more pleasure in the life of the State in -Athens, which was in the course of its decline; Plato tried to bring -about something better with Dionysius. Thus in Athens, with the ruin of -the Athenian people, the period was reached when Philosophy appeared. -In Rome, Philosophy first expanded in the decline of the Republic and -of Roman life proper, under the despotism of the Roman Emperors: a -time of misfortune for the world and of decay in political life, when -earlier religious systems tottered and everything was in the process -of struggle and disintegration. With the decline of the Roman Empire, -which was so great, rich and glorious, and yet inwardly dead, the -height and indeed the zenith of ancient Philosophy is associated -through the Neo-Platonists at Alexandria. It was also in the fifteenth -and sixteenth centuries, when the Teutonic life of the Middle Ages -acquired another form, that Philosophy first became taught, though it -was later on that it attained to independence. Before that, political -life still existed in unity with Religion, or if the State fought -against the Church, the Church still kept the foremost place, but now -the gulf between Church and State came into existence. Philosophy thus -comes in at a certain epoch only in the development of the whole. - - -c. _Philosophy as the thought of its time._ - -But men do not at certain epochs, merely philosophize in general, -for there is a definite Philosophy which arises among a people, and -the definite character of the standpoint of thought is the same -character which permeates all the other historical sides of the spirit -of the people, which is most intimately related to them, and which -constitutes their foundation. The particular form of a Philosophy is -thus contemporaneous with a particular constitution of the people -amongst whom it makes its appearance, with their institutions and forms -of government, their morality, their social life and the capabilities, -customs and enjoyments of the same; it is so with their attempts and -achievements in art and science, with their religious, warfares and -external relationships, likewise with the decadence of the States in -which this particular principle and form had maintained its supremacy, -and with the origination and progress of new States in which a higher -principle finds its manifestation and development. Mind in each case -has elaborated and expanded in the whole domain of its manifold nature -the principle of the particular stage of self-consciousness to which -it has attained. Thus the Mind of a people in its richness is an -organization, and, like a Cathedral, is divided into numerous vaults, -passages, pillars and vestibules, all of which have proceeded out of -one whole and are directed to one end. Philosophy is one form of these -many aspects. And which is it? It is the fullest blossom, the Notion -of Mind in its entire form, the consciousness and spiritual essence of -all things, the spirit of the time as spirit present in itself. The -multifarious whole is reflected in it as in the single focus, in the -Notion which knows itself. - -The Philosophy which is essential within Christianity could not be -found in Rome, for all the various forms of the whole are only the -expression of one and the same determinate character. Hence political -history, forms of government, art and religion are not related to -Philosophy as its causes, nor, on the other hand, is Philosophy the -ground of their existence—one and all have the same common root, the -spirit of the time. It is one determinate existence, one determinate -character which permeates all sides and manifests itself in politics -and in all else as in different elements; it is a condition which hangs -together in all its parts, and the various parts of which contain -nothing which is really inconsistent, however diverse and accidental -they may appear to be, and however much they may seem to contradict one -another. This particular stage is the product of the one preceding. But -to show how the spirit of a particular time moulds its whole actuality -and destiny in accordance with its principle, to show this whole -edifice in its conception, is far from us—for that would be the object -of the whole philosophic world-history. Those forms alone concern us -which express the principle of the Mind in a spiritual element related -to Philosophy. - -This is the position of Philosophy amongst its varying forms, from -which it follows that it is entirely identical with its time. But -if Philosophy does not stand above its time in content, it does so -in form, because, as the thought and knowledge of that which is the -substantial spirit of its time, it makes that spirit its object. In -as far as Philosophy is in the spirit of its time, the latter is its -determined content in the world, although as knowledge, Philosophy is -above it, since it places it in the relation of object. But this is in -form alone, for Philosophy really has no other content. This knowledge -itself undoubtedly is the actuality of Mind, the self-knowledge of Mind -which previously was not present: thus the formal difference is also a -real and actual difference. Through knowledge, Mind makes manifest a -distinction between knowledge and that which is; this knowledge is thus -what produces a new form of development. The new forms at first are -only special modes of knowledge, and it is thus that a new Philosophy -is produced: yet since it already is a wider kind of spirit, it is the -inward birthplace of the spirit which will later arrive at actual form. -We shall deal further with this in the concrete below, and we shall -then see that what the Greek Philosophy was, entered, in the Christian -world, into actuality. - - -2. SEPARATION OF PHILOSOPHY FROM OTHER ALLIED DEPARTMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. - -The history of the other Sciences, of culture and above all the history -of art and of religion are, partly in regard to the elements contained -in them, and partly to their particular objects, related to the history -of Philosophy. It is through this relationship that the treatment -of the history of Philosophy has been so confused. If it is to -concern itself with the possession of culture generally and then with -scientific culture, and then again with popular myths and the dogmas -contained only in them, and yet farther with the religious reflections -which are already thoughts of a speculative kind, and which make their -appearance in them, no bounds are left to Philosophy at all. This is -so, partly on account of the amount of material itself and the labour -required in working it up and preparing it, and partly because it is in -immediate connection with so much else. But the separation must not be -made arbitrarily or as by chance, but must be derived from fundamental -determinations. If we merely look at the name of Philosophy, all this -matter will pertain to its history. - -I shall speak of this material from three points of view, for three -related aspects are to be eliminated and separated from Philosophy. The -first of these is that which is generally considered to be the domain -of science, and in which are found the beginnings of understanding -thought. The second region is that of mythology and religion; the -relation of Philosophy to them seems often to be inimical both in -the time of the Greeks and of the Christians. The third is that of -philosophizing and the metaphysics of the understanding. While we -distinguish what is related to Philosophy, we must also take note of -the elements in this related matter which belong to the Notion of -Philosophy, but which appear to us to be partially separated from it: -and thus we may become acquainted with the Notion of Philosophy. - - -a. _Relation of Philosophy to Scientific Knowledge._ - -Knowledge and thought certainly form the element of whatever has to do -with particular sciences as they form the element of Philosophy; but -their subjects are mainly finite subjects and appearance. A collection -of facts known about this content is by its nature excluded from -Philosophy: neither this content nor such a form has anything to do -with it. But even if the sciences are systematic and contain universal -principles and laws from which they proceed, they are still related to -a limited circle of objects. The ultimate principles are assumed as are -the objects themselves; that is, the outward experience or the feelings -of the heart, natural or educated sense of right and duty, constitute -the source from which they are created. Logic and the determinations -and principles of thought in general are in their methods assumed. - -The forms of thought or the points of view and principles which hold -good in the sciences and constitute the ultimate support of all their -matter, are not peculiar to them, but are common to the condition -and culture of the time and of the people. This culture consists -mainly in the general ideas and aims, in the whole extent of the -particular intellectual powers dominating consciousness and life. Our -consciousness has these ideas and allows them to be considered ultimate -determinations; it makes use of them as guiding and connecting links, -but does not know them and does not even make them the objects of its -consideration. To give an abstract example, each act of consciousness -has and requires the whole abstract thought-determination of Being. -“The sun is in the heavens, the bunch of grapes is ripe,” and so on -into infinitude. Again, in a higher culture, such relations as those -of cause and effect are involved, as also those of force and its -manifestation. All its knowledge and ideas are permeated and governed -by a metaphysic such as this; it is the net in which all the concrete -matter which occupies mankind in action and in impulses, is grasped. -But this web and its knots in our ordinary consciousness are sunk into -a manifold material, for it contains the objects and interests which we -know and which we have before us. These common threads are not drawn up -and made explicitly the objects of our reflection. - -We Germans seldom now count general scientific knowledge as Philosophy. -And yet traces of this are found, as for instance, in the fact that -the philosophic Faculty contains all the Sciences which have not as -their immediate aim the Church and State. In connection with this, -the significance of the name of Philosophy, which is even now an -important matter of discussion in England, comes in question. Natural -Sciences are in England called Philosophy. A “Philosophic Journal” -in England, edited by Thompson, treats of Chemistry, Agriculture, -Manuring, Husbandry, Technology, like Hermbstädt’s Journal, and gives -inventions connected therewith. The English call physical instruments, -such as the barometer and thermometer, philosophical instruments. -Theories too, and especially morality and the moral sciences, which -are derived from the feelings of the human heart or from experience, -are called Philosophy, and finally this is also so with the theories -and principles of Political Economy. And thus at least in England, is -the name of Philosophy respected. Some time ago a banquet took place -under the presidency of Lord Liverpool, at which the minister Canning -was also present. The latter in returning thanks congratulated England -in having philosophic principles of government there brought into -operation. There, at least, Philosophy is no by-word. - -In the first beginnings of culture, however, we are more often met by -this admixture of Philosophy and general knowledge. There comes a time -to a nation when mind applies itself to universal objects, when, for -example, in seeking to bring natural things under general modes of -understanding, it tries to learn their causes. Then it is said that a -people begins to philosophize, for this content has thought in common -with Philosophy. At such a time we find deliverances about all the -common events of Nature, as we also find intellectual maxims, moral -sentences, general principles respecting morality, the will, duty, -and the like, and those who expressed them have been called wise men -or philosophers. Thus in the beginnings of Greek Philosophy we find -the seven sages and the Ionic Philosophers. From them a number of -ideas and discoveries are conveyed to us which seem like philosophic -propositions. Thus Thales, amongst others, has explained that the -eclipse of sun and moon is due to the intervention of the moon or -earth. This is called a theorem. Pythagoras found out the principle -of the harmony of sounds. Others have had ideas about the stars: the -heavens were supposed to be composed of perforated metal, by which we -see throughout the empyrean region, the eternal fire which surrounds -the world. Such propositions as products of the understanding, do not -belong to the history of Philosophy, although they imply that the -merely sensuous gaze has been left behind, as also the representation -of those objects by the imagination only. Earth and heaven thus become -unpeopled with gods, because the understanding distinguishes things in -their outward and natural qualities from Mind. - -In a later time the epoch of the revival in the sciences is as -noteworthy in this respect. General principles regarding the state, -&c., were given expression to, and in them a philosophic side cannot be -mistaken. To this place the philosophic systems of Hobbes and Descartes -belong: the writings of the latter contain philosophic principles, but -his Philosophy of Nature is quite empirical. Hugo Grotius composed -an international law in which what was historically held by the -people as law, the _consensus gentium_, was a main element. Though, -earlier, medicine was a collection of isolated facts and a theosophic -combination mixed up with astrology, &c. (it is not so long ago since -cures were effected by sacred relics), a mode of regarding nature -came into vogue according to which men went forth to discover the -laws and forces of Nature. The _à priori_ reasoning regarding natural -things, according to the metaphysics of the Scholastic Philosophy or -to Religion, has now been given up. The Philosophy of Newton contains -nothing but Natural Science, that is, the knowledge of the laws, -forces, and general constitution of Nature, derived from observation -and from experience. However much this may seem to be contrary to the -principle of Philosophy, it has in common with it the fact that the -bases of both are universal, and still further that _I_ have made -this experience, that it rests on my consciousness and obtains its -significance through me. - -This form is in its general aspect antagonistic to the positive, and -has come forward as particularly opposed to Religion and to that which -is positive in it. If, in the Middle Ages, the Church had its dogmas -as universal truths, man, on the contrary, has now obtained from the -testimony of his “own thought,” feeling and ideas, a mistrust of these. -It is merely to be remarked of this that “my own thought” is in itself -a pleonasm, because each individual must think for himself, and no one -can do so for another. Similarly this principle has turned against the -recognized constitutions and has sought different principles instead, -by them to correct the former. Universal principles of the State have -now been laid down, while earlier, because religion was positive, the -ground of obedience of subjects to princes and of all authority were -also so. Kings, as the anointed of the Lord, in the sense that Jewish -kings were so, derived their power from God, and had to give account to -Him alone, because all authority is given by God. So far theology and -jurisprudence were on the whole fixed and positive sciences, wherever -this positive character might have been derived. Against this external -authority reflection has been brought to bear, and thus, especially -in England, the source of public and civil law became no longer mere -authority derived from God like the Mosaic Law. For the authority of -kings other justification was sought, such as the end implied in the -State, the good of the people. This forms quite another source of -truth, and it is opposed to that which is revealed, given and positive. -This substitution of another ground than that of authority has been -called philosophizing. - -The knowledge was then a knowledge of what is finite—the world of -the content of knowledge. Because this content proceeded through -the personal insight of human reason, man has become independent in -his actions. This independence of the Mind is the true moment of -Philosophy, although the Notion of Philosophy through this formal -determination, which limits it to finite objects, has not yet been -exhausted. This independent thought is respected, has been called -human wisdom or worldly wisdom, for it has had what is earthly as its -object, and it took its origin in the world. This was the meaning of -Philosophy, and men did rightly to call it worldly wisdom. Frederick -von Schlegel revived this by-name for Philosophy, and desired to -indicate by it that what concerns higher spheres, such as religion, -must be kept apart; and he had many followers. Philosophy, indeed, -occupies itself with finite things, but, according to Spinoza, as -resting in the divine Idea: it has thus the same end as religion. To -the finite sciences which are now separated also from Philosophy, the -Churches objected that they led men away from God, since they have as -objects only what is finite. This defect in them, conceived of from the -point of view of content, leads us to the second department allied to -Philosophy,—that is, to Religion. - - -b. _Relation of Philosophy to Religion. - -_As the first department of knowledge was related to Philosophy -principally by means of formal and independent knowledge, Religion, -though in its content quite different from this first kind or sphere -of knowledge, is through it related to Philosophy. Its object is not -the earthly and worldly, but the infinite. In the case of art and -still more in that of Religion, Philosophy has in common a content -composed entirely of universal objects; they constitute the mode in -which the highest Idea is existent for the unphilosophical feeling, the -perceiving and imagining consciousness. Inasmuch as in the progress of -culture in time the manifestation of Religion precedes the appearance -of Philosophy, this circumstance must really be taken account of, and -the conditions requisite for beginning the History of Philosophy have -to depend on this, because it has to be shown in how far what pertains -to Religion is to be excluded from it, and that a commencement must not -be made with Religion. - -In Religion, races of men have undoubtedly expressed their idea of the -nature of the world, the substance of nature and of intellect and the -relation of man thereto. Absolute Being is here the object of their -consciousness; and as such, is for them pre-eminently the “other,” a -“beyond,” nearer or further off, more or less friendly or frightful -and alarming. In the act and forms of worship this opposition is -removed by man, and he raises himself to the consciousness of unity -with his Being, to the feeling of, or dependence on, the Grace of -God, in that God has reconciled mankind to Himself. In conception, -with the Greeks, for instance, this existence is to man one which is -already in and for itself and friendly, and thus worship is but the -enjoyment of this unity. This existence is now reason which is existent -in and for itself, the universal and concrete substance, the Mind -whose first cause is objective to itself in consciousness; it thus is -a representation of this last in which not only reason in general, -but the universal infinite reason is. We must, therefore, comprehend -Religion, as Philosophy, before everything else, which means to know -and apprehend it in reason; for it is the work of self-revealing reason -and is the highest form of reason. Such ideas as that priests have -framed a people’s Religion in fraud and self-interest are consequently -absurd; to regard Religion as an arbitrary matter or a deception is as -foolish as it is perverted. Priests have often profaned Religion—the -possibility of which is a consequence of the external relations -and temporal existence of Religion. It can thus, in this external -connection, be laid hold of here and there, but because it is Religion, -it is really that which stands firm against finite ends and their -complications and constitutes a region exalted high above them. This -region of Mind is really the Holy place of Truth itself, the Holy place -in which are dissolved the remaining illusions of the sensuous world, -of finite ideas and ends, and of the sphere of opinion and caprice. - -Inasmuch as it really is the content of religions, this rational matter -might now seem to be capable of being abstracted and expressed as a -number of historical theorems. Philosophy stands on the same basis -as Religion and has the same object—the universal reason existing -in and for itself; Mind desires to make this object its own, as is -done with Religion in the act and form of worship. But the form, as -it is present in Religion, is different from what is found to be -contained in Philosophy, and on this account a history of Philosophy -is different from a history of Religion. Worship is only the operation -of reflection; Philosophy attempts to bring about the reconciliation -by means of thinking knowledge, because Mind desires to take up its -Being into itself. Philosophy is related in the form of thinking -consciousness to its object; with Religion it is different. But the -distinction between the two should not be conceived of so abstractly as -to make it seem that thought is only in Philosophy and not in Religion. -The latter has likewise ideas and universal thoughts. Because both are -so nearly related, it is an old tradition in the history of Philosophy -to deduce Philosophy from Persian, Indian, or similar philosophy, a -custom which is still partly retained in all histories of Philosophy. -For this reason, too, it is a legend universally believed, that -Pythagoras, for instance, received his Philosophy from India and Egypt; -the fame of the wisdom of these people, which wisdom is understood also -to contain Philosophy, is an old one. The Oriental ideas and religious -worship which prevailed throughout the West up to the time of the Roman -Empire, likewise bear the name of Oriental Philosophy. The Christian -Religion and Philosophy are thought of in the Christian world, as more -definitely divided; in these Eastern days, on the other hand, Religion -and Philosophy are still conceived of as one in so far as that the -content has remained in the form in which it is Philosophy. Considering -the prevalence of these ideas and in order to have a definite limit to -the relations between a history of Philosophy and religious ideas, it -is desirable to note some further considerations as to the form which -separates religious ideas from philosophical theorems. - -Religion has not only universal thought as inward content _implicite_ -contained in its myths, ideas, imaginations and in its exact and -positive histories, so that we require first of all to dig this -content out of such myths in the form of theorems, but it often has -its content _explicite_ in the form of thought. In the Persian and -Indian Religions very deep, sublime and speculative thoughts are even -expressed. Indeed, in Religion we even meet philosophies directly -expressed, as in the Philosophy of the Fathers. The scholastic -Philosophy really was Theology; there is found in it a union or, if you -will, a mixture of Theology and Philosophy which may very well puzzle -us. The question which confronts us on the one side is, how Philosophy -differs from Theology, as the science of Religion, or from Religion -as consciousness? And then, in how far have we in the history of -Philosophy to take account of what pertains to Religion? For the reply -to this last question three aspects have again to be dealt with; first -of all the mythical and historical aspect of Religion and its relation -to Philosophy; in the second place the theorems and speculative -thoughts directly expressed in Religion; and in the third place we must -speak of Philosophy within Theology. - - -_α. Difference between Philosophy and Religion._ - -The consideration of the mythical aspect of Religion or the historical -and positive side generally, is interesting, because from it the -difference in respect of form will show in what this content is -antagonistic to Philosophy. Indeed, taken in its connections, its -difference passes into apparent inconsistency. This diversity is not -only found in our contemplation but forms a very definite element -in history. It is required by Philosophy that it should justify its -beginning and its manner of knowledge, and Philosophy has thus placed -itself in opposition to Religion. On the other hand Philosophy is -combated and condemned by Religion and by the Churches. The Greek -popular religion indeed, proscribed several philosophers; but the -opposition is even more apparent in the Christian Church. The question -is thus not only whether regard is to be paid to Religion in the -history of Philosophy, for it has been the case that Philosophy has -paid attention to Religion, and the latter to the former. Since neither -of the two has allowed the other to rest undisturbed, we are not -permitted to do so either. Of their relations, therefore, we must speak -definitely, openly and honestly—_aborder la question_, as the French -say. We must not hesitate, as if such a discussion were too delicate, -nor try to help ourselves out by beating about the bush; nor must we -seek to find evasions or shifts, so that in the end no one can tell -what we mean. We must not seem to wish to leave Religion alone. This is -nothing else than to appear to wish to conceal the fact that Philosophy -has directed its efforts against Religion. Religion, that is, the -theologians, are indeed the cause of this; they ignore Philosophy, but -only in order that they may not be contradicted in their arbitrary -reasoning. - -It may appear as if Religion demanded that man should abstain from -thinking of universal matters and Philosophy because they are merely -worldly wisdom and represent human operations. Human reason is -here opposed to the divine. Men are, indeed, well accustomed to a -distinction between divine teaching and laws and human power and -inventions, such that under the latter everything is comprehended which -in its manifestation proceeds from the consciousness, the intelligence -or the will of mankind; which makes all this opposed to the knowledge -of God and to things rendered divine by divine revelation. But the -depreciation of what is human expressed by this opposition is then -driven further still, inasmuch as while it implies the further view -that man is certainly called upon to admire the wisdom of God in -Nature, and that the grain, the mountains, the cedars of Lebanon in all -their glory, the song of the birds in the bough, the superior skill -and the domestic instincts of animals are all magnified as being the -work of God, it also implies that the wisdom, goodness and justice of -God is, indeed, pointed out in human affairs, but not so much in the -disposition or laws of man or in actions performed voluntarily and in -the ordinary progress of the world, as in human destiny, that is, in -that which is external and even arbitrary in relation to knowledge -and free-will. Thus what is external and accidental is regarded as -emphatically the work of God, and what has its root in will and -conscience, as the work of man. The harmony between outward relations, -circumstances and events and the general aims of man is certainly -something of a higher kind, but this is the case only for the reason -that this harmony is considered with respect to ends which are human -and not natural—such as those present in the life of a sparrow which -finds its food. But if the summit of everything is found in this, that -God rules over Nature, what then is free-will? Does He not rule over -what is spiritual, or rather since He himself is spiritual, in what -is spiritual? and is not the ruler over or in the spiritual region -higher than a ruler over or in Nature? But is that admiration of God as -revealed in natural things as such, in trees and animals as opposed to -what is human, far removed from the religion of the ancient Egyptians, -which derived its knowledge of what is divine from the ibis, or from -cats and dogs? or does it differ from the deplorable condition of the -ancient and the modern Indians, who held and still hold cows and apes -in reverence, and are scrupulously concerned for the maintenance and -nourishment of these animals, while they allow men to suffer hunger; -who would commit a crime by removing the pangs of starvation through -their slaughter or even by partaking of their food? - -It seems to be expressed by such a view that human action as regards -Nature is ungodly; that the operations of Nature are divine operations, -but what man produces is ungodly. But the productions of human reason -might, at least, be esteemed as much as Nature. In so doing, however, -we cede less to reason than is permitted to us. If the life and the -action of animals be divine, human action must stand much higher, and -must be worthy to be called divine in an infinitely higher sense. The -preeminence of human thought must forthwith be avowed. Christ says on -this subject (Matt. vi. 26-80), “Behold the fowls of the air,” (in -which we may also include the Ibis and the _Kokilas_,) “are ye not much -better than they? Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, -which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall He not -much more clothe you?” The superiority of man, of the image of God, to -animals and plants is indeed implicitly and explicitly established, -but in asking wherein the divine element is to be sought and seen—in -making use of such expressions—none of the superior, but only the -inferior nature, is indicated. Similarly, in regard to the knowledge of -God, it is remarkable that Christ places the knowledge of and faith in -Him not in any admiration of the creatures of nature nor in marvelling -at any so-called dominion, over them, nor in signs and wonders, but in -the witness of the Spirit. Spirit is infinitely high above Nature, in -it the Divine Nature manifests itself more than in Nature. - -But the form in which the universal content which is in and for itself, -first belongs to Philosophy is the form of Thought, the form of the -universal itself. In Religion, however, this content is for immediate -and outward perception, and further for idea and sensation through art. -The import is for the sensuous nature; it is the evidence of the Mind -which comprehends that content. To make this clearer, the difference -must be recollected between that which we are and have, and how we know -the same—that is, in what manner we know it and have it as our object. -This distinction is an infinitely important matter, and it alone is -concerned in the culture of races and of individuals. We are men and -have reason; what is human, or above all, what is rational vibrates -within us, both in our feelings, mind and heart and in our subjective -nature generally. It is in this corresponding vibration and in the -corresponding motion effected that a particular content becomes our own -and is like our own. The manifold nature of the determinations which -it contains is concentrated and wrapt up within this inward nature—an -obscure motion of Mind in itself and in universal substantiality. The -content is thus directly identical with the simple abstract certainty -of ourselves and with self-consciousness. But Mind, because it is -Mind, is as truly consciousness. What is confined within itself in its -simplicity must be objective to itself and must come to be known. The -whole difference lies in the manner and method of this objectivity, and -hence in the manner and method of consciousness. - -This method and manner extends from the simple expression of the -dulness of mere feeling to the most objective form, to that which is -in and for itself objective, to Thought. The most simple, most formal -objectivity is the expression of a name for that feeling and for the -state of mind according with it, as seen in these words, worship, -prayer, etc. Such expressions as “Let us pray” and “Let us worship” -are simply the recalling of that feeling. But “Let us think about God” -brings with it something more; it expresses the absolutely embracing -content of that substantial feeling, and the object, which differs -from mere sensation as subjective self-conscious activity; or which is -content distinguished from this activity as form. This object, however, -comprehending in itself the whole substantial content, is itself still -undeveloped and entirely undetermined. To develop that content, to -comprehend, express and bring to consciousness its relations, is the -commencement, creation and manifestation of Religion. The form in which -this developed content first possesses objectivity is that of immediate -perception, of sensuous idea or of a more defined idea deduced from -natural, physical or mental manifestations and conditions. - -Art brings about this consciousness, in that it gives permanence and -cohesion to the fleeting visible appearance through which objectivity -passes in sensation. The shapeless, sacred stone, the mere place, or -whatever it is to which the desire for objectivity first attaches -itself, receives from art, form, feature, determinate character and -content which can be known and which is now present for consciousness. -Art has thus become the instructress of the people. This was the case -with Homer and Hesiod for instance, who, according to Herodotus (II. -53), “Made the Greeks their Theogony,” because they elevated and -consolidated ideas and traditions in unison with the spirit of the -people, wherever and in whatever confusion they might be found, into -definite images and ideas. This is not the art which merely gives -expression in its own way to the content, already perfectly expressed, -of a Religion which in thought, idea and words has already attained -complete development; that is to say, which puts its matter into stone, -canvas, or words as is done by modern art, which, in dealing either -with religious or with historical objects, takes as its groundwork -ideas and thoughts which are already there. The consciousness of this -Religion is rather the product of thinking imagination, or of thought -which comprehends through the organ of imagination alone and finds -expression in its forms. - -If the infinite Thought, the absolute Mind, has revealed and does -reveal itself in true Religion, that in which it reveals itself is the -heart, the representing consciousness and the understanding of what -is finite. Religion is not merely directed to every sort of culture. -“To the poor is the Gospel preached,” but it must as being Religion -expressly directed towards heart and mind, enter into the sphere of -subjectivity and consequently into the region of finite methods of -representation. In the perceiving and, with reference to perceptions, -reflecting consciousness, man possesses for the speculative relations -belonging to the absolute, only finite relations, whether taken in an -exact or in a symbolical sense, to serve him to comprehend and express -those qualities and relationships of the infinite. - -In Religion as the earliest and the immediate revelations of God, the -form of representation and of reflecting finite thought cannot be the -only form in which He gives existence to Himself in consciousness, but -it must also appear in this form, for such alone is comprehensible -to religious consciousness. To make this clearer, something must be -said as to what is the meaning of comprehension. On the one hand, -as has been remarked above, there is in it the substantial basis of -content, which, coming to Mind as its absolute Being, affects it in -its innermost, finds an answering chord, and thereby obtains from -it confirmation. This is the first absolute condition necessary to -comprehension; what is not implicitly there cannot come within it or -be for it—that is, a content which is infinite and eternal. For the -substantial as infinite, is just that which has no limitations in that -to which it is related, for else it would be limited and not the true -substantial. And Mind is that alone which is not implicit, which is -finite and external; for what is finite and external is no longer what -is implicit but what is for another, what has entered into a relation. -But, on the other hand, because the true and eternal must be for Mind -become known, that is, enter into finite consciousness, the Mind for -which it is, is finite and the manner of its consciousness consists -in the ideas and forms of finite things and relations. These forms -are familiar and well known to consciousness, the ordinary mode of -finality, which mode it has appropriated to itself, having constituted -it the universal medium of its representation, into which everything -that comes to consciousness must be resolved in order that it may have -and know itself therein. - -The assertion of Religion is that the manifestation of Truth which -is revealed to us through it, is one which is given to man from -outside, and on this account it is also asserted that man has humbly -to assent to it, because human reason cannot attain to it by itself. -The assertion of positive Religion is that its truths exist without -having their source known, so that the content as given, is one which -is above and beyond reason. By means of some prophet or other divine -instrument, the truth is made known: just as Ceres and Triptolemus who -introduced agriculture and matrimony, for so doing were honoured by -the Greeks, men have rendered thanks to Moses and to Mahomed. Through -whatever individual the Truth may have been given, the external matter -is historical, and this is indifferent to the absolute content and to -itself, since the person is not the import of the doctrine. But the -Christian Religion has this characteristic that the Person of Christ -in His character of the Son of God, Himself partakes of the nature -of God. If Christ be for Christians only a teacher like Pythagoras, -Socrates or Columbus, there would be here no universal divine content, -no revelation or knowledge imparted about the Nature of God, and it is -regarding this alone that we desire to obtain knowledge. - -Whatever stage it may itself have reached, the Truth must undoubtedly -in the first place come to men from without as a present object, -sensuously represented, just as Moses saw God in the fiery bush, and as -the Greek brought the god into conscious being by means of sculpture -or other representations. But there is the further fact, that neither -in Religion nor in Philosophy does this external form remain, nor can -it so remain. A form of the imagination or an historical form, such -as Christ, must for the spirit be spiritual; and thus it ceases to be -an external matter, seeing that the form of externality is dead. We -must know God “in Spirit and in Truth.” He is the absolute and actual -Spirit. The relation borne by the human spirit to this Spirit involves -the following considerations. - -When man determines to adopt a Religion he asks himself, “What is the -ground of my faith?” The Christian Religion replies—“The Spirit’s -witness to its content.” Christ reproved the Pharisees for wishing to -see miracles; the Spirit alone comprehends Spirit, the miracle is only -a presentiment of that Spirit; and if the miracle be the suspension -of natural laws, Spirit itself is the real miracle in the operations -of nature. Spirit in itself is merely this comprehension of itself. -There is only one Spirit, the universal divine Spirit. Not that it -is merely everywhere; it is not to be comprehended as what is common -to everything, as an external totality, to be found in many or in -all individuals, which are essentially individuals; but it must be -understood as that which permeates through everything, as the unity -of itself and of a semblance of its “other,” as of the subjective and -particular. As universal, it is object to itself, and thus determined -as a particular, it is this individual: but as universal it reaches -over this its “other,” so that its “other” and itself are comprised in -one. The true universality seems, popularly expressed, to be two—what -is common to the universal itself and to the particular. A division -is formed in the understanding of itself, and the Spirit is the unity -of what is understood and the understanding person. The divine Spirit -which is comprehended, is objective; the subjective Spirit comprehends. -But Spirit is not passive, or else the passivity can be momentary only; -there is one spiritual substantial unity. The subjective Spirit is the -active, but the objective Spirit is itself this activity; the active -subjective Spirit is that which comprehends the divine, and in its -comprehension of it it is itself the divine Spirit. The relation of -Spirit to self alone is the absolute determination; the divine Spirit -lives in its own communion and presence. This comprehension has been -called Faith, but it is not an historical faith; we Lutherans—I am -a Lutheran and will remain the same—have only this original faith. -This unity is not the Substance of Spinoza, but the apprehending -Substance in self-consciousness which makes itself eternal and relates -to universality. The talk about the limitations of human thought is -futile; to know God is the only end of Religion. The testimony of the -Spirit to the content of Religion is itself Religion; it is a testimony -that both bears witness and at the same time is that witness. The -Spirit proves itself, and does so first in the proof; it is only proved -because it proves itself and shows or manifests itself. - -It has further to be said, that this testimony, this inward stirring -and self-consciousness, reveals itself, while in the enshrouded -consciousness of devotion it does not arrive at the proper -consciousness of an object, but only at the consciousness of immersion -in absolute Being. This permeating and permeated Spirit now enters -into conception; God goes forth into the “other” and makes Himself -objective. All that pertains to revelation and its reception, and -which comes before us in mythology, here appears; everything which is -historical and which belongs to what is positive has here its proper -place. To speak more definitely, we now have the Christ who came into -the world nearly two thousand years ago. But He says, “I am with you -even unto the ends of the earth; where two or three are gathered -together in My Name, there will I be in the midst.” I shall not be seen -of you in the flesh, but “The Spirit of Truth will guide you into all -Truth.” The external is not the true relation; it will disappear. - -The two stages have here been given, the first of which is the stage -of devotion, of worship, such as that reached in partaking of the -Communion. That is the perception of the divine Spirit in the community -in which the present, indwelling, living Christ as self-consciousness -has attained to actuality. The second stage is that of developed -consciousness, when the content becomes the object; here this present, -indwelling Christ retreats two thousand years to a small corner of -Palestine, and is an individual historically manifested far away at -Nazareth or Jerusalem. It is the same thing in the Greek Religion where -the god present in devotion changes into prosaic statues and marble; -or in painting, where this externality is likewise arrived at, when -the god becomes mere canvas or wood. The Supper is, according to the -Lutheran conception, of Faith alone; it is a divine satisfaction, -and is not adored as if it were the Host. Thus a sacred image is no -more to us than is a stone or thing. The second point of view must -indeed be that with which consciousness begins; it must start from the -external comprehension of this form: it must passively accept report -and take it up into memory. But if it remain where it is, that is the -unspiritual point of view; to remain fixed in this second standpoint -in this dead far-away historic distance, is to reject the Spirit. The -sins of him who lies against the Holy Ghost cannot be forgiven. That -lie is the refusal to be a universal, to be holy, that is to make -Christ become divided, separated, to make Him only another person as -this particular person in Judea; or else to say that He now exists, but -only far away in Heaven, or in some other place, and not in present -actual form amongst His people. The man who speaks of the _merely_ -finite, of _merely_ human reason, and of the limits to mere reason, -lies against the Spirit, for the Spirit as infinite and universal, as -self-comprehension, comprehends itself not in a “merely” nor in limits, -nor in the finite as such. It has nothing to do with this, for it -comprehends itself within itself alone, in its infinitude. - -If it be said of Philosophy that it makes reality the subject of its -knowledge, the principal point is that the reality should not be one -outside of that of which it is the reality. For example, if from the -real content of a book, I abstract the binding, paper, ink, language, -the many thousand letters that are contained in it, the simple -universal content as reality, is not outside of the book. Similarly -law is not outside of the individual, but it constitutes the true -Being of the individual. The reality of my Mind is thus in my Mind -itself and not outside of it; it is my real Being, my own substance, -without which I am without existence. This reality is, so to speak, the -combustible material which may be kindled and lit up by the universal -reality as such as objective; and only so far as this phosphorus is -in men, is comprehension, the kindling and lighting up, possible. -Feeling, anticipation, knowledge of God, are only thus in men; without -such, the divine Mind would not be the in and for itself Universal. -Reality is itself a real content and not the destitute of content -and undetermined; yet, as the book has other content besides, there -is in the individual mind also a great amount of other matter which -belongs only to the manifestation of this reality, and the individual -surrounded with what is external, must be separated from this -existence. Since reality is itself Spirit and not an abstraction, “God -is not a God for the dead but for the living,” and indeed for living -spirits. - - The great Creator was alone - And experienced desire, - Therefore He created Spirits, - Holy mirrors of His holiness. - The noblest Being He found no equal; - From out the bowl of all the spiritual world, - There sparkled up to Him infinitude. - -Religion is also the point of view from which this existence is known. -But as regards the different forms of knowledge existing in Religion -and Philosophy, Philosophy appears to be opposed to the conception in -Religion that the universal mind first shows itself as external, in the -objective mode of consciousness. Worship, commencing with the external, -then turns against and abrogates it as has just been said, and thus -Philosophy is justified through the acts and forms of worship, and only -does what they do. Philosophy has to deal with two different objects; -first as in the Religion present in worship, with the substantial -content, the spiritual soul, and secondly with bringing this before -consciousness as object, but in the form of thought. Philosophy -thinks and conceives of that which Religion represents as the object -of consciousness, whether it is as the work of the imagination or as -existent facts in history. The form of the knowledge of the object -is, in religious consciousness, such as pertains to the ordinary -idea, and is thus more or less sensuous in nature. In Philosophy -we do not say that God begot a Son, which is a relation derived -from natural life. Thought, or the substance of such a relation, is -therefore still recognized in Philosophy. Since Philosophy thinks its -object, it has the advantage of uniting the two stages of religious -consciousness—which in Religion are different moments—into one unity -in philosophic thought. - -It is these two forms which are different from one another and which, -as opposed, may therefore seem to be mutually conflicting; and it -is natural and it necessarily seems to be the case, that on first -definitely coming to view they are so to speak conscious of their -diversity, and hence at first appear as inimical to one another. The -first stage in the order of manifestation is definite existence, or -a determinate Being-for-self as opposed to the other. The later form -is that Thought embraces itself in the concrete, immerses itself in -itself, and Mind, as such, comes in it to consciousness. In the earlier -stage, Mind is abstract, and in this constraint it knows itself to be -different, and in opposition to the other. When it embraces itself in -the concrete, it is no more simply confined in determinate existence, -only knowing or possessing itself in that diversity, but it is the -Universal which, inasmuch as it determines itself, contains its “other” -within itself. As concrete intelligence, Mind thus comprehends the -substantial in the form which seemed to differ from it, of which it had -only grasped the outward manifestation and had turned away from it; it -recognizes itself in its inward content, and so it for the first time -grasps its object, and deals justice to its opposite. - -Generally speaking, the course of this antithesis in history is that -Thought first of all comes forth within Religion, as not free and in -separate manifestations. Secondly, it strengthens itself, feels itself -to be resting upon itself, holds and conducts itself inimically towards -the other form, and does not recognize itself therein. In the third -place, it concludes by acknowledging itself as in this other. Or else -Philosophy has to begin with carrying on its work entirely on its -own account, isolating Thought from all popular beliefs, and taking -for itself quite a different field of operation, a field for which -the world of ordinary ideas lies quite apart, so that the two exist -peacefully side by side, or, to put it better, so that no reflection -on their opposition is arrived at. Just as little did the thought of -reconciling them occur, since in the popular beliefs the same content -appeared as in any external form other than the notion—the thought -that is, of explaining and justifying popular belief, in order thus to -be able again to express the conceptions of free thought in the form of -popular religion. - -Thus we see Philosophy first restrained and confined within the range -of the Greek heathen world; then resting upon itself, it goes forth -against popular religion and takes up an unfriendly attitude to it, -until it grasps that religion in its innermost and recognizes itself -therein. Thus the ancient Greek philosophers generally respected the -popular religion, or at least they did not oppose it, or reflect upon -it. Those coming later, including even Xenophanes, handled popular -ideas most severely, and thus many so-called atheists made their -appearance. But as the spheres of popular conception, and abstract -thought stood peacefully side by side, we also find Greek philosophers -of even a later period in development, in whose case speculative -thought and the act of worship, as also the pious invocation upon -and sacrifice to the gods, coexist in good faith, and not in mere -hypocrisy. Socrates was accused of teaching other gods than those -belonging to the popular religion; his _δαιμόνιον_ was indeed opposed -to the principles of Greek morals and religion, but at the same time -he followed quite honestly the usages of his religion, and we know -besides that his last request was to ask his friends to offer a cock to -Æsculapius—a desire quite inconsistent with his conclusions regarding -the existence of God and above all regarding morality. Plato declaimed -against the poets and their gods. It was in a much later time that -the Neo-platonists first recognized in the popular mythology rejected -earlier by the philosophers, the universal content; they transposed -and translated it into what is significant for thought, and thus used -mythology itself as a symbolical imagery for giving expression to their -formulas. - -Similarly do we see in the Christian Religion, thought which is not -independent first placing itself in conjunction with the form belonging -to this Religion and acting within it—that is to say, taking the -Religion as its groundwork, and proceeding from the absolute assumption -of the Christian doctrine. We see later on the opposition between -so-called faith and so-called reason; when the wings of thought have -become strengthened, the young eaglet flies away for himself to the sun -of Truth; but like a bird of prey he turns upon Religion and combats -it. Latest of all Philosophy permits full justice to be done to the -content of Religion through the speculative Notion, which is through -Thought itself. For this end the Notion must have grasped itself in the -concrete and penetrated to concrete spirituality. This must be the -standpoint of the Philosophy of the present time; it has begun within -Christianity and can have no other content than the world-spirit. When -that spirit comprehends itself in Philosophy, it also comprehends -itself in that form which formerly was inimical to Philosophy. - -Thus Religion has a content in common with Philosophy the forms alone -being different; and the only essential point is that the form of the -Notion should be so far perfected as to be able to grasp the content of -Religion. The Truth is just that which has been called the mysteries -of Religion. These constitute the speculative element in Religion -such as were called by the Neo-platonists _μυεῖν, μυεῖσθαι_ (being -initiated), or being occupied with speculative Notions. By mysteries is -meant, superficially speaking, the secret, what remains such and does -not arrive at being known. But in the Eleusinian mysteries there was -nothing unknown; all Athenians were initiated into them, Socrates alone -shut himself out. Openly to make them known to strangers was the one -thing forbidden, as indeed it was made a crime in the case of certain -people. Such matters however, as being holy, were not to be spoken of. -Herodotus often expressly says (e.g. ii. 45-47) that he would speak -of the Egyptian Divinities and mysteries in as far as it was pious so -to do: he knew more, but it would be impious to speak of them. In the -Christian Religion dogmas are called mysteries. They are that which man -knows about the Nature of God. Neither is there anything mysterious in -this; it is known by all those who are partakers in that Religion, and -these are thus distinguished from the followers of other Religions. -Hence mystery here signifies nothing unknown, since all Christians are -in the secret. Mysteries are in their nature speculative, mysterious -certainly to the understanding, but not to reason; they are rational, -just in the sense of being speculative. The understanding does not -comprehend the speculative which simply is the concrete because it -holds to the differences in their separation; their contradiction -is indeed contained in the mystery, which, however, is likewise the -resolution of the same. - -Philosophy, on the contrary, is opposed to the so-called Rationalism -of the new Theology which for ever keeps reason on its lips, but which -is dry understanding only; no reason is recognizable in it as the -moment of independent thought which really is abstract thought and that -alone. When the understanding which does not comprehend the truths of -Religion, calls itself the illuminating reason and plays the lord and -master, it goes astray. Rationalism is opposed to Philosophy in content -and form, for it has made the content empty as it has made the heavens, -and has reduced all that is, to finite relations—in its form it is a -reasoning process which is not free and which has no conceiving power. -The supernatural in Religion is opposed to rationalism, and if indeed -the latter is related in respect of the real content to Philosophy, -yet it differs from it in form, for it has become unspiritual and -wooden, looking for its justification to mere external authority. The -scholastics were not supernaturalists in this sense; they knew the -dogmas of the Church in thought and in conception. If Religion in the -inflexibility of its abstract authority as opposed to thought, declares -of it that “the gates of Hell shall not triumph over it,” the gates of -reason are stronger than the gates of Hell, not to overcome the Church -but to reconcile itself to the Church. Philosophy, as the conceiving -thought of this content, has as regards the idea of Religion, the -advantage of comprehending both sides—it comprehends Religion and -also comprehends both rationalism and supernaturalism and itself -likewise. But this is not the case on the other side. Religion from the -standpoint of idea, comprehends only what stands on the same platform -as itself, and not Philosophy, the Notion, the universal thought -determinations. Often no injustice is done to a Philosophy when its -opposition to Religion has been made matter of reproach; but often, -too, a wrong has been inflicted where this is done from the religious -point of view. - -The form of Religion is necessary to Mind as it is in and for -itself; it is the form of truth as it is for all men, and for every -mode of consciousness. This universal mode is first of all for men -in the form of sensuous consciousness, and then, secondly, in the -intermingling of the form of the universal with sensuous manifestation -or reflection—the representing consciousness, the mythical, positive -and historical form, is that pertaining to the understanding. What -is received in evidence of Mind only becomes object to consciousness -when it appears in the form of the understanding, that is to say, -consciousness must first be already acquainted with these forms from -life and from experience. Now, because thinking consciousness is not -the outward universal form for all mankind, the consciousness of the -true, the spiritual and the rational, must have the form of Religion, -and this is the universal justification of this form. - -We have here laid down the distinction between Philosophy and Religion, -but taking into account what it is we wish to deal with in the history -of Philosophy, there is something still which must be remarked upon, -and which partly follows from what has been already said. There is -the question still confronting us as to what attitude we must take in -reference to this matter in the history of Philosophy. - - -_β. The religious element to be excluded from the content of the -History of Philosophy._ - -_αα_. Mythology first meets us, and it seems as if it might be drawn -within the history of Philosophy. It is indeed a product of the -imagination, but not of caprice, although that also has its place -here. But the main part of mythology is the work of the imaginative -reason, which makes reality its object, but yet has no other means -of so doing, than that of sensuous representation, so that the gods -make their appearance in human guise. Mythology can now be studied for -art, &c. But the thinking mind must seek out the substantial content, -the thought and the theory implicitly contained therein, as reason -is sought in Nature. This mode of treating mythology was that of the -Neo-platonists; in recent times it has for the most part become the -work of my friend Creuzer in symbolism. This method of treatment is -combated and condemned by others. Man, it is said, must set to work -historically alone, and it is not historic when a theory unthought -of by the ancients, is read into a myth, or brought out of it. In -one light, this is quite correct, for it points to a method adopted -by Creuzer, and also by the Alexandrians who acted in a similar way. -In conscious thought the ancients had not such theories before them, -nor did anyone maintain them, yet to say that such content was not -implicitly present, is an absurd contention. As the products of reason, -though not of thinking reason, the religions of the people, as also -the mythologies, however simple and even foolish they may appear, -indubitably contain as genuine works of art, thoughts, universal -determinations and truth, for the instinct of reason is at their basis. -Bound up with this is the fact that since mythology in its expression -takes sensuous forms, much that is contingent and external becomes -intermingled, for the representation of the Notion in sensuous forms -always possesses a certain incongruity, seeing that what is founded on -imagination cannot express the Idea in its real aspect. This sensuous -form produced as it is by an historic or natural method, must be -determined on many sides, and this external determination must, more or -less, be of such a nature as not to express the Idea. It may also be -that many errors are contained in that explanation, particularly when -a single one is brought within our notice; all the customs, actions, -furnishings, vestments, and offerings taken together, may undoubtedly -contain something of the Idea in analogy, but the connection is far -removed, and many contingent circumstances must find their entrance. -But that there is a Reason there, must certainly be recognized, and it -is essential so to comprehend and grasp mythology. - -But Mythology must remain excluded from our history of Philosophy. -The reason of this is found in the fact that in Philosophy we have -to do not with theorems generally, or with thoughts which only are -_implicite_ contained in some particular form or other, but with -thoughts which are explicit, and only in so far as they are explicit -and in so far as a content such as that belonging to Religion, has -come to consciousness in the form of Thought. And this is just what -forms the immense distinction which we saw above, between capacity and -actuality. The theorems which are _implicite_ contained within Religion -do not concern us; they must be in the form of thoughts, since Thought -alone is the absolute form of the Idea. - -In many mythologies, images are certainly used along with their -significance, or else the images are closely attended by their -interpretation. The ancient Persians worshipped the sun, or fire, as -being the highest existence; the first cause in the Persian Religion -is Zervane Akerene—unlimited time, eternity. This simple eternal -existence possesses according to Diogenes Lærtius (I. 8), “the two -principles Ormuzd (_Ὠρομάσδης_) and Ahriman (_Ἀρειμάνος_), the rulers -over good and evil.” Plutarch in writing on Isis and Osiris (T. II. p. -369, ed. Xyl.) says, “It is not one existence which holds and rules -the whole, but good is mingled with evil; nature as a rule brings -forth nothing pure and simple; it is not one dispenser, who, like a -host, gives out and mixes up the drink from two different barrels. But -through two opposed and inimical principles of which the one impels -towards what is right, and the other in the opposite direction, if not -the whole world, at least this earth is influenced in different ways. -Zoroaster has thus emphatically set up the one principle (Ormuzd) as -being the Light, and the other (Ahriman) as the Darkness. Between the -two (_μέσος δὲ ἀμφοῖν_) is Mithra, hence called by the Persians the -Mediator (_μεσίτης_).” Mithra is then likewise substance, the universal -existence, the sun raised to a totality. It is not the mediator between -Ormuzd and Ahriman by establishing peace and leaving each to remain -as it was; it does not partake of good and evil both, like an unblest -middle thing, but it stands on the side of Ormuzd and strives with him -against the evil. Ahriman is sometimes called the first-born son of the -Light, but Ormuzd only remained within the Light. At the creation of -the visible world, Ormuzd places on the earth in his incomprehensible -kingdom of Light, the firm arches of the heavens which are above yet -surrounded on every side with the first original Light. Midway to the -earth is the high hill Albordi, which reaches into the source of Light. -Ormuzd’s empire of Light extended uninterruptedly over the firm vault -of the heavens and the hill Albordi, and over the earth too, until -the third age was reached. Then Ahriman, whose kingdom of night was -formerly bound beneath the earth, broke in upon Ormuzd’s corporeal -world and ruled in common with him. Now the space between heaven and -earth was divided into light and night. As Ormuzd had formerly only a -spiritual kingdom of light, Ahriman had only one of night, but now that -they were intermingled he placed the terrestrial light thus created in -opposition to the terrestrial night. From this time on, two corporeal -worlds stand opposed, one pure and good, and one impure and evil, and -this opposition permeates all nature. On Albordi, Ormuzd created Mithra -as mediator for the earth. The end of the creation of the bodily world -is none other than to reinstate existence, fallen from its creator, -to make it good again, and thus to make the evil disappear for ever. -The bodily world is the battle-ground between good and evil; but the -battle between light and darkness is not in itself an absolute and -irreconcilable opposition, but one which can be conquered, and in it -Ormuzd, the principle of Light, will be the conqueror. - -I would remark of this, that when we consider the elements in these -ideas which bear some further connection with Philosophy, the universal -of that duality with which the Notion is necessarily set forth can -alone be interesting and noteworthy to us; for in it the Notion is just -the immediate opposite of itself, the unity of itself with itself in -the “other:” a simple existence in which absolute opposition appears -as the opposition of existence, and the sublation of that opposition. -Because properly the Light principle is the only existence of both, and -the principle of Darkness is the null and void,—the principle of Light -identifies itself with Mithra, which was before called the highest -existence. The opposition has laid aside the appearance of contingency, -but the spiritual principle is not separate from the physical, because -the good and evil are both determined as Light and Darkness. We thus -here see thought breaking forth from actuality, and yet not such a -separation as only takes place in Religion, when the supersensuous -is itself again represented in a manner sensuous, notionless and -dispersed, for the whole of what is dispersed in sensuous form is -gathered together in the one single opposition, and activity is thus -simply represented. These determinations lie much nearer to Thought; -they are not mere images or symbols, but yet these myths do not concern -Philosophy. In them Thought does not take the first place, for the -myth-form remains predominant. In all religions this oscillation -between form and thought is found, and such a combination still lies -outside Philosophy. - -This is also so in the Sanchuniathonic Cosmogony of the Phœnicians. -These fragments, which are found in Eusebius (Præpar. Evang. I. 10), -are taken from the translation of the Sanchuniathon from Phœnician -into Greek made by a Grammarian named Philo from Biblus. Philo -lived in the time of Vespasian and ascribes great antiquity to the -Sanchuniathon. It is there said, “The principles of things are found -in Chaos, in which the elements exist undeveloped and confused, and -in a Spirit of Air. The latter permeated the chaos, and with it -engendered a slimy matter or mud (_ἰλύν_) which contained within it the -living forces and the germs of animals. By mingling this mud with the -component matter of chaos and the resulting fermentation, the elements -separated themselves. The fire elements ascended into the heights and -formed the stars. Through their influence in the air, clouds were -formed and the earth was made fruitful. From the mingling of water -and earth, through the mud converted into putrefying matter, animals -took their origin as imperfect and senseless. These again begot other -animals perfect and endowed with senses. It was the crash of thunder in -a thunder-storm that caused the first animals still sleeping in their -husks to waken up to life.”[7] - -The fragments of Berosus of the Chaldeans were collected from Josephus, -Syncellus and Eusebius under the title _Berosi Chaldaica_, by Scaliger, -as an appendix to his work _De emendatione temporum_, and they are -found complete in the Greek Library of Fabricius (T. xiv. pp. 175-211). -Berosus lived in the time of Alexander, is said to have been a Priest -of Bel and to have drawn upon the archives of the temple at Babylon. -He says, “The original god is Bel and the goddess Omoroka (the sea), -but beside them there were yet other gods. Bel divided Omoroka in two, -in order to create from her parts heaven and earth. Hereupon he cut -off his own head and the human race originated from the drops of his -divine blood. After the creation of man, Bel banished the darkness, -divided heaven and earth, and formed the world into its natural shape. -Since certain parts of the earth seemed to him to be insufficiently -populated, he compelled another god to lay hands upon himself, and from -his blood more men and more kinds of animals were created. At first -the men lived a wild and uncultivated life, until a monster” (called -by Berosus, Oannes) “joined them into a state, taught them arts and -sciences, and in a word brought Humanity into existence. The monster -set about this end with the rising of the sun out of the sea, and with -its setting he again hid himself under the waves.” - -_ββ_. What belongs to Mythology may in the second place make a pretence -of being a kind of Philosophy. It has produced philosophers who availed -themselves of the mythical form in order to bring their theories and -systems more prominently before the imagination, for they made the -thoughts the content of the myth. But the myth is not a mere cloak -in the ancient myths; it is not merely that the thoughts were there -and were concealed. This may happen in our reflecting times; but the -first poetry does not start from a separation of prose and poetry. If -philosophers used myths, it was usually the case that they had the -thoughts and then sought for images appropriate to them; Plato has -many beautiful myths of this kind. Others likewise have spoken in -myths, as for example, Jacobi, whose Philosophy took the form of the -Christian Religion, through which he gave utterance to matter of a -highly speculative nature. But this form is not suitable to Philosophy. -Thought which has itself as object, must have raised itself to its own -form, to the form of thought. Plato is often esteemed on account of his -myths; he is supposed to have evinced by their means greater genius -than other philosophers were capable of. It is contended here that -the myths of Plato are superior to the abstract form of expression, -and Plato’s method of representation is certainly a wonderful one. -On closer examination we find that it is partly the impossibility of -expressing himself after the manner of pure thought that makes Plato -put his meaning so, and also such methods of expression are only used -by him in introducing a subject. When he comes to the matter in point, -Plato expresses himself otherwise, as we see in the Parmenides, where -simple thought determinations are used without imagery. Externally -these myths may certainly serve when the heights of speculative thought -are left behind, in order to present the matter in an easier form, but -the real value of Plato does not rest in his myths. If thought once -attains power sufficient to give existence to itself within itself -and in its element, the myth becomes a superfluous adornment, by -which Philosophy is not advanced. Men often lay hold of nothing but -these myths. Hence Aristotle has been misunderstood just because he -intersperses similes here and there; the simile can never be entirely -in accord with thought, for it always carries with it something more. -The difficulty of representing thoughts as thoughts always attaches to -the expedient of expression in sensuous form. Thought, too, ought not -to be concealed by means of the myth, for the object of the mythical -is just to give expression to and to reveal thought. The symbol is -undoubtedly insufficient for this expression; thought concealed in -symbols is not yet possessed, for thought is self-revealing, and hence -the myth does not form a medium adequate for its conveyance. Aristotle -(Metaph. III. 4) says, “It is not worth while to treat seriously of -those whose philosophy takes a mythical form.” Such is not the form in -which thought allows itself to be stated, but only is a subordinate -mode. - -Connected with this, there is a similar method of representing the -universal content by means of numbers, lines and geometric figures. -These are figurative, but not concretely so, as in the case of myths. -Thus it may be said that eternity is a circle, the snake that bites -its own tail. This is only an image, but Mind does not require such -a symbol. There are people who value such methods of representation, -but these forms do not go far. The most abstract determinations -can indeed be thus expressed, but any further progress brings about -confusion. Just as the freemasons have symbols which are esteemed -for their depth of wisdom—depth as a brook is deep when one cannot -see the bottom—that which is hidden very easily seems to men deep, -or as if depth were concealed beneath. But when it is hidden, it may -possibly prove to be the case that there is nothing behind. This is so -in freemasonry, in which everything is concealed to those outside and -also to many people within, and where nothing remarkable is possessed -in learning or in science, and least of all in Philosophy. Thought is, -on the contrary, simply its manifestation; clearness is its nature and -itself. The act of manifestation is not a condition which may be or -may not be equally, so that thought may remain as thought when it is -not manifested, but its manifestation is itself, its Being. Numbers, -as will be remarked in respect of the Pythagoreans, are unsuitable -mediums for expressing thoughts; thus _μονάς_, _δυάς_, _τριάς_ are, -with Pythagoras, unity, difference, and unity of the unity and of -the difference. The two first of the three are certainly united by -addition; this kind of union is, however, the worst form of unity. -In Religion the three make their appearance in a deeper sense as the -Trinity, and in Philosophy as the Notion, but enumeration forms a -bad method of expression. There is the same objection to it as would -exist to making the mensuration of space the medium for expressing the -absolute. People also quote the Philosophy of the Chinese, of the Foï, -in which it is said that thoughts are represented by numbers. Yet the -Chinese have explained their symbols and hence have made their meaning -evident. Universal simple abstractions have been present to all people -who have arrived at any decree of culture. - -_γγ_. We have still to remark in the third place, that Religion, as -such, does not merely form its representations after the manner of -art; and also that Poetry likewise contains actual thoughts. In the -case of the poets whose art has speech as medium, we find all through -deep universal thought regarding reality; these are more explicitly -expressed in the Indian Religion, but with the Indians everything is -mixed up. Hence it is said that such races have also had a Philosophy -proper to themselves; but the universal thoughts of interest in Indian -books limit themselves to what is most abstract, to the idea of rising -up and passing away, and thus of making a perpetual round. The story of -the Phœnix is well known as an example of this; it is one which took -its origin in the East. We are able similarly to find thoughts about -life and death and of the transition of Being into passing away; from -life comes death and from death comes life; even in Being, in what -is positive, the negation is already present. The negative side must -indeed contain within it the positive, for all change, all the process -of life is founded on this. But such reflections only occasionally come -forth; they are not to be taken as being proper philosophic utterances. -For Philosophy is only present when thought, as such, is made the -absolute ground and root of everything else, and in these modes of -representation this is not so. - -Philosophy does not reflect on any particular thing or object already -existing as a first substratum; its content is just Thought, universal -thought which must plainly come first of all; to put it otherwise, the -Absolute must in Philosophy be in the form of thought. In the Greek -Religion we find the thought-determination “eternal necessity;” which -means an absolute and clearly universal relation. But such thought has -other subjects besides; it only expresses a relation, the necessity to -be the true and all-embracing Being. Thus neither must we take this -form into our consideration. We might speak in that way of a philosophy -of Euripides, Schiller or Goethe. But all such reflection respecting, -or general modes of representing what is true, the ends of men, -morality and so on, are in part only incidentally set forth, and in -part they have not reached the proper form of thought, which implies -that what is so expressed must be ultimate, thus constituting the -Absolute. - - -_γ. Particular theories found in Religion._ - -In conclusion, the philosophy which we find within Religion does not -concern us. We find deep, speculative thoughts regarding the nature -of God not only in the Indian Religions, but also in the Fathers and -the Schoolmen. In the history of dogmatism there is a real interest -in becoming acquainted with these thoughts, but they do not belong -to the history of Philosophy. Nevertheless more notice must be taken -of the Schoolmen than of the Fathers, for they were certainly great -philosophers to whom the culture of Christendom owes much. But their -speculations belong in part to other philosophies such as to that of -Plato, which must in so far be considered for themselves; partly, too, -they emanate from the speculative content of Religion itself which -already exists as independent truth in the doctrine of the Church, -and belongs primarily to faith. Thus such modes of thought rest on an -hypothesis and not on Thought itself; they are not properly speaking -themselves Philosophy or thought which rests on itself, but as ideas -already firmly rooted, they act on its behalf either in refuting -other ideas and conclusions or in philosophically vindicating against -them their own religious teaching. Thought in this manner does not -represent and know itself as the ultimate and absolute culmination of -the content, or as the inwardly self-determining Thought. Hence, too, -when the Fathers, seeing that the content of the Christian Religion can -only be grasped after the speculative form, did, within the teaching -of the Church, produce thoughts of a highly speculative nature, the -ultimate justification of these was not found in Thought as such, but -in the teaching of the Church. Philosophic teaching here finds itself -within a strongly bound system and not as thought which emanates freely -from itself. Thus with the scholastics, too, Thought does not construct -itself out of itself, but depends upon hypotheses; and although it ever -rests more and more upon itself, it never does so in opposition to the -doctrine of the Church. Both must and do agree, since Thought has to -prove from itself what the Church has already verified. - - -c. _Philosophy proper distinguished from Popular Philosophy._ - -Of the two departments of knowledge allied to Philosophy we found -that the one, that of the special sciences, could not be called a -philosophy in that it, as independent seeing and thinking immersed in -finite matter, and as the active principle in becoming acquainted with -the finite, was not the content, but simply the formal and subjective -moment. The second sphere, Religion, is deficient in that it only had -the content or the objective moment in common with Philosophy. In it -independent thought was an essential moment, since the subject had -an imaginary or historical form. Philosophy demands the unity and -intermingling of these two points of view; it unites the Sunday of -life when man in humility renounces himself, and the working-day when -he stands up independently, is master of himself and considers his -own interests. A third point of view seems to unite both elements, -and that is popular Philosophy. It deals with universal objects and -philosophizes as to God and the world; and thought is likewise occupied -in learning about these matters. Yet this Philosophy must also be -cast aside. The writings of Cicero may be put under this category; -they contain a kind of philosophy that has its own place and in which -excellent things are said. Cicero formed many experiences both in the -affairs of life and mind, and from them and after observing what takes -place in the world, he deduced the truth. He expresses himself with -culture on the concerns most important to man, and hence his great -popularity. Fanatics and mystics may from another point of view be -reckoned as in this category. They give expression to a deep sense of -devotion, and have had experiences in the higher regions. They are able -to express the highest content, and the result is attractive. We thus -find the brightest gleams of thought in the writings of a Pascal—as we -do in his _Pensées_. - -But the drawback that attaches to this Philosophy is that the ultimate -appeal—even in modern times—is made to the fact that men are -constituted such as they are by nature, and with this Cicero is very -free. Here the moral instinct comes into question, only under the -name of feeling; Religion now rests not on what is objective but on -religious feeling, because the immediate consciousness of God by men -is its ultimate ground. Cicero makes copious use of the _consensus -gentium_; in more modern times this appeal has been more or less left -alone, since the individual subject has to rest upon himself. Feeling -is first of all laid hold of, then comes reasoning from what is given, -but in these we can appeal to what is immediate only. Independent -thought is certainly here advanced; the content too, is taken from the -self; but we must just as necessarily exclude this mode of thinking -from Philosophy. For the source from which the content is derived is -of the same description as in the other cases. Nature is the source in -finite sciences, and in Religion it is Spirit; but here the source is -in authority; the content is given and the act of worship removes but -momentarily this externality. The source of popular Philosophy is in -the heart, impulses and capacities, our natural Being, my impression of -what is right and of God; the content is in a form which is of nature -only. I certainly have everything in feeling, but the whole content is -also in Mythology, and yet in neither is it so in veritable form. The -laws and doctrines of Religion are that in which this content always -comes to consciousness in a more definite way, while in feeling there -still is intermingled the arbitrary will of that which is subjective. - - -3. COMMENCEMENT OF PHILOSOPHY AND OF ITS HISTORY. - -Now that we have thus defined the Notion of Philosophy to be the -Thought which, as the universal content, is complete Being, it will -be shown in the history of Philosophy how the determinations in this -content make their appearance little by little. At first we only ask -where Philosophy and its History begin. - - -_a. Freedom of Thought as a first condition._ - -The general answer is in accordance with what has been said. Philosophy -begins where the universal is comprehended as the all-embracing -existence, or where the existent is laid hold of in a universal form, -and where thinking about thought first commences. Where, then, has -this occurred? Where did it begin? That is a question of history. -Thought must be for itself, must come into existence in its freedom, -liberate itself from nature and come out of its immersion in mere -sense-perception; it must as free, enter within itself and thus arrive -at the consciousness of freedom. Philosophy is properly to be commenced -where the Absolute is no more in the form of ordinary conception, and -free thought not merely thinks the Absolute but grasps its Idea. That -is to say where Thought grasps as Thought, the Being (which may be -Thought itself), which it recognizes as the essence of things, the -absolute totality and the immanent essence of everything, and does so -as an external Being. The simple existence which is not sensuous and -which the Jews thought of as God (for all Religion is thinking), is -thus not a subject to be treated of by Philosophy, but just such a -proposition as that “The existence or principle of things is water, -fire or thought.” - -Thought, this universal determination which sets forth itself, is -an abstract determinateness; it is the beginning of Philosophy, but -this beginning is at the same time in history, the concrete form taken -by a people, the principle of which constitutes what we have stated -above. If we say that the consciousness of freedom is connected with -the appearance of Philosophy, this principle must be a fundamental -one with those with whom Philosophy begins; a people having this -consciousness of freedom founds its existence on that principle seeing -that the laws and the whole circumstances of the people are based -only on the Notion that Mind forms of itself, and in the categories -which it has. Connected with this on the practical side, is the fact -that actual freedom develops political freedom, and this only begins -where the individual knows himself as an independent individual to be -universal and real, where his significance is infinite, or where the -subject has attained the consciousness of personality and thus desires -to be esteemed for himself alone. Free, philosophic thought has this -direct connection with practical freedom, that as the former supplies -thought about the absolute, universal and real object, the latter, -because it thinks itself, gives itself the character of universality. -Thinking means the bringing of something into the form of universality; -hence Thought first treats of the universal, or determines what is -objective and individual in the natural things which are present in -sensuous consciousness, as the universal, as an objective Thought. Its -second attribute is that in recognizing and knowing this objective and -infinite universal, I, at the same time, remain confronting it from the -standpoint of objectivity. - -On account of this general connection between political freedom and the -freedom of Thought, Philosophy only appears in History where and in as -far as free institutions are formed. Since Mind requires to separate -itself from its natural will and engrossment in matter if it wishes -to enter upon Philosophy, it cannot do so in the form with which the -world-spirit commences and which takes precedence of that separation. -This stage of the unity of Mind with Nature which as immediate is not -the true and perfect state, is mainly found in the Oriental conception -of existence, therefore Philosophy first begins in the Grecian world. - - -b. _Separation of the East and its Philosophy._ - -Some explanations have to be given regarding this first form. -Since Mind in it, as consciousness and will, is but desire, -self-consciousness still stands upon its first stage in which the -sphere of its idea and will is finite. As intelligence is thus finite -too, its ends are not yet a universal for themselves; but if a people -makes for what is moral, if laws and justice are possessed, the -character of universality underlies its will. This presupposes a new -power in Mind with which it commences to be free, for the universal -will as the relation of thought to thought or as the universal, -contains a thought which is at home with itself. If a people desire to -be free, they will subordinate their desires to universal laws, while -formerly that which was desired was only a particular. Now finitude -of the will characterizes the orientals, because with them the will -has not yet grasped itself as universal, for thought is not yet free -for itself. Hence there can but be the relation of lord and slave, -and in this despotic sphere fear constitutes the ruling category. -Because the will is not yet free from what is finite, it can therein -be comprehended and the finite can be shown forth as negative. This -sensation of negation, that something cannot last, is just fear as -distinguished from freedom which does not consist in being finite -but in being for itself, and this cannot be laid hold of. Religion -necessarily has this character, since the fear of the Lord is the -essential element beyond which we cannot get. “The fear of the Lord is -the beginning of wisdom” is indeed a true saying; man must begin with -this in order to know the finite ends in their negative character. But -man must also have overcome fear through the relinquishment of finite -ends, and the satisfaction which that Religion affords is confined -to what is finite, seeing that the chief means of reconciliation are -natural forms which are impersonated and held in reverence. - -The oriental consciousness raises itself, indeed, above the natural -content to what is infinite; but it only knows itself as accidental -in reference to the power which makes the individual fear. This -subordination may take two forms and must indeed from one extreme pass -to the other. The finite, which is for consciousness, may have the form -of finitude as finite, or it may become the infinite, which is however -an abstraction. The man who lives in fear, and he who rules over -men through fear, both stand upon the same platform; the difference -between them is only in the greater power of will which can go forth to -sacrifice all that is finite for some particular end. The despot brings -about what his caprice directs, including certainly what is good, not -as law, but as arbitrary will: the passive will, like that of slavery, -is converted into the active energy of will, which will, however, is -arbitrary still. In Religion we even find self-immersion in the deepest -sensuality represented as the service of God, and then there follows in -the East a flight to the emptiest abstraction as to what is infinite, -as also the exaltation attained through the renunciation of everything, -and this is specially so amongst the Indians, who torture themselves -and enter into the most profound abstraction. The Indians look straight -before them for ten years at a time, are fed by those around, and are -destitute of other spiritual content than that of knowing what is -abstract, which content therefore is entirely finite. This, then, is -not the soil of freedom. - -In the East, Mind indeed begins to dawn, but it is still true of it -that the subject is not presented as a person, but appears in the -objectively substantial, which is represented as partly supersensuous -and partly, and even more, material, as negative and perishing. The -highest point attainable by the individual, the everlasting bliss, is -made an immersion into substance, a vanishing away of consciousness, -and thus of all distinction between substance and individuality—hence -an annihilation. A spiritually dead relation thus comes into existence, -since the highest point there to be reached is insensibility. So -far, however, man has not attained that bliss, but finds himself to -be a single existent individual, distinguished from the universal -substance. He is thus outside the unity, has no significance, and as -being what is accidental and without rights, is finite only; he finds -himself limited through Nature—in caste for instance. The will is -not here the substantial will; it is the arbitrary will given up to -what is outwardly and inwardly contingent, for substance alone is the -affirmative. With it greatness, nobility, or exaltitude of character, -are certainly not excluded, but they are only present as the naturally -determined or the arbitrary will, and not in the objective forms of -morality and law to which all owe respect, which hold good for all, and -in which for that same reason all are recognized. The oriental subject -thus has the advantage of independence, since there is nothing fixed; -however undetermined is the substance of the Easterns, as undetermined, -free and independent may their character be. What for us is justice -and morality is also in their state, but in a substantial, natural, -patriarchal way, and not in subjective freedom. Conscience does not -exist nor does morality. Everything is simply in a state of nature, -which allows the noblest to exist as it does the worst. - -The conclusion to be derived from this is that no philosophic knowledge -can be found here. To Philosophy belongs the knowledge of Substance, -the absolute Universal, that whether I think it and develop it or not, -confronts me still as for itself objective; and whether this is to me -substantial or not, still just in that I think it, it is mine, that in -which I possess my distinctive character or am affirmative: thus my -thoughts are not mere subjective determinations or opinions, but, as -being my thoughts, are also thoughts of what is objective, or they are -substantial thoughts. The Eastern form must therefore be excluded from -the History of Philosophy, but still, upon the whole, I will take some -notice of it. I have touched on this elsewhere,[8] for some time ago we -for the first time reached a position to judge of it. Earlier a great -parade was made about the Indian wisdom without any real knowledge of -what it was; now this is for the first time known, and naturally it is -found to be in conformity with the rest. - - -c. _Beginnings of Philosophy in Greece._ - -Philosophy proper commences in the West. It is in the West that -this freedom of self-consciousness first comes forth; the natural -consciousness, and likewise Mind disappear into themselves. In the -brightness of the East the individual disappears; the light first -becomes in the West the flash of thought which strikes within itself, -and from thence creates its world out of itself. The blessedness of -the West is thus so determined that in it the subject as such endures -and continues in the substantial; the individual mind grasps its Being -as universal, but universality is just this relation to itself. This -being at home with self, this personality and infinitude of the “I” -constitutes the Being of Mind; it is thus and can be none else. For a -people to know themselves as free, and to be only as universal, is for -them to be; it is the principle of their whole life as regards morality -and all else. To take an example, we only know our real Being in so far -as personal freedom is its first condition, and hence we never can be -slaves. Were the mere arbitrary will of the prince a law, and should -he wish slavery to be introduced, we would have the knowledge that this -could not be. To sleep, to live, to have a certain office, is not our -real Being, and certainly to be no slave is such, for that has come to -mean the being in nature. Thus in the West we are upon the soil of a -veritable Philosophy. - -Because in desire I am subject to another, and my Being is in a -particularity, I am, as I exist, unlike myself; for I am “I,” the -universal complete, but hemmed in by passion. This last is self-will -or formal freedom, which has desire as content. Amongst the Greeks we -first find the freedom which is the end of true will, the equitable and -right, in which I am free and universal, and others, too, are free, are -also “I” and like me; where a relationship between free and free is -thus established with its actual laws, determinations of the universal -will, and justly constituted states. Hence it is here that Philosophy -began. - -In Greece we first see real freedom flourish, but still in a restricted -form, and with a limitation, since slavery was still existent, and the -states were by its means conditioned. In the following abstractions we -may first of all superficially describe the freedom of the East, of -Greece, and of the Teutonic world. In the East only one individual is -free, the despot; in Greece the few are free; in the Teutonic world -the saying is true that all are free, that is, man is free as man. But -since the one in Eastern countries cannot be free because that would -necessitate the others also being free to him, impulse, self-will, and -formal freedom, can there alone be found. Since in Greece we have to -deal with the particular, the Athenians, and the Spartans, are free -indeed, but not the Messenians or the Helots. The principle of the -“few” has yet to be discovered, and this implies some modifications of -the Greek point of view which we must consider in connection with the -History of Philosophy. To take these into consideration means simply to -proceed to the dividing up of Philosophy. - - -C - -DIVISION, SOURCES, AND METHOD ADOPTED IN TREATING OF THE HISTORY OF -PHILOSOPHY. - - -1. DIVISION OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. - -Since we set to work systematically this division must present itself -as necessary. Speaking generally, we have properly only two epochs to -distinguish in the history of Philosophy, as in ancient and modern -art—these are the Greek and the Teutonic. The Teutonic Philosophy -is the Philosophy within Christendom in so far as it belongs to the -Teutonic nations; the Christian-European people, inasmuch as they -belong to the world of science, possess collectively Teutonic culture; -for Italy, Spain, France, England, and the rest, have through the -Teutonic nations, received a new form. The influence of Greece also -reaches into the Roman world, and hence we have to speak of Philosophy -in the territory of the Roman world; but the Romans produced no proper -Philosophy any more than any proper poets. They have only received -from and imitated others, although they have often done this with -intelligence; even their religion is derived from the Greek, and the -special character that it has, makes no approach to Philosophy and Art, -but is unphilosophical and inartistic. - -A further description of these two outstanding opposites must be given. -The Greek world developed thought as far as to the Idea; the Christian -Teutonic world, on the contrary, has comprehended Thought as Spirit; -Idea and Spirit are thus the distinguishing features. More particularly -the facts are as follows. Because God, the still undetermined and -immediate Universal, Being, or objective Thought, jealously allowing -nothing to exist beside Him, is the substantial groundwork of all -Philosophy, which never alters, but ever sinks more deeply within -itself, and through the development of determinations manifests itself -and brings to consciousness, we may designate the particular character -of the development in the first period of Philosophy by saying that -this development is a simple process of determinations, figurations, -abstract qualities, issuing from the one ground that potentially -already contains the whole. - -The second stage in this universal principle is the gathering up of -the determinations manifested thus, into ideal, concrete unity, in the -mode of subjectivity. The first determinations as immediate, were still -abstractions, but now the Absolute, as the endlessly self-determining -Universal, must furthermore be comprehended as active Thought, and not -as the Universal in this determinate character. Hence it is manifested -as the totality of determinations and as concrete individuality. Thus, -with the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras, and still more with Socrates, there -commences a subjective totality in which Thought grasps itself, and -thinking activity is the fundamental principle. - -The third stage, then, is that this totality, which is at first -abstract, in that it becomes realized through the active, -determining, distinguishing thought, sets itself forth even in the -separated determinations, which, as ideal, belong to it. Since these -determinations are contained unseparated in the unity, and thus -each in it is also the other, these opposed moments are raised into -totalities. The quite general forms of opposition are the universal -and the particular, or, in another form, Thought as such, external -reality, feeling or perception. The Notion is the identity of universal -and particular; because each of these is thus set forth as concrete in -itself, the universal is in itself at once the unity of universality -and particularity, and the same holds good of particularity. Unity -is thus posited in both forms, and the abstract moments can be made -complete through this unity alone; thus it has come to pass that the -differences themselves are each raised up to a system of totality, -which respectively confront one another as the Philosophy of Stoicism -and of Epicureanism. The whole concrete universal is now Mind; and -the whole concrete individual, Nature. In Stoicism pure Thought -develops into a totality; if we make the other side from Mind—natural -being or feeling—into a totality, Epicureanism is the result. Each -determination is formed into a totality of thought, and, in accordance -with the simple mode which characterizes this sphere, these principles -seem to be for themselves and independent, like two antagonistic -systems of Philosophy. Implicitly both are identical, but they -themselves take up their position as conflicting, and the Idea is also, -as it is apprehended, in a one-sided determinateness. - -The higher stage is the union of these differences. This may occur -in annihilation, in scepticism; but the higher point of view is the -affirmative, the Idea in relation to the Notion. If the Notion is, -then, the universal—that which determines itself further within -itself, but yet remains there in its unity and in the ideality and -transparency of its determinations which do not become independent—the -further step is, on the other hand, the reality of the Notion in which -the differences are themselves brought to totalities. Thus the fourth -stage is the union of the Idea, in which all these differences, as -totalities, are yet at the same time blended into one concrete unity of -Notion. This comprehension first takes place without constraint, since -the ideal is itself only apprehended in the element of universality. - -The Greek world got as far as this Idea, since they formed an ideal -intellectual world; and this was done by the Alexandrian Philosophy, -in which the Greek Philosophy perfected itself and reached its end. -If we wish to represent this process figuratively, _A._ Thought, is -(_α_) speaking generally abstract, as in universal or absolute space, -by which empty space is often understood; (_β_) then the most simple -space determinations appear, in which we commence with the point in -order that we may arrive at the line and angle; (_γ_) what comes third -is their union into the triangle, that which is indeed concrete, but -which is still retained in this abstract element of surface, and -thus is only the first and still formal totality and limitation which -corresponds to the _νοῦς_. _B._ The next point is, that since we allow -each of the enclosing lines of the triangle to be again surface, each -forms itself into the totality of the triangle and into the whole -figure to which it belongs; that is the realization of the whole in the -sides as we see it in Scepticism or Stoicism. _C._ The last stage of -all is, that these surfaces or sides of the triangle join themselves -into a body or a totality; the body is for the first time the perfect -spacial determination, and that is a reduplication of the triangle. -But in as far as the triangle which forms the basis is outside of the -pyramid, this simile does not hold good. - -Grecian Philosophy in the Neo-platonists finds its end in a perfect -kingdom of Thought and of bliss, and in a potentially existent world -of the ideal, which is yet unreal because the whole only exists in the -element of universality. This world still lacks individuality as such, -which is an essential moment in the Notion; actuality demands that in -the identity of both sides of the Idea, the independent totality shall -be also posited as negative. Through this self-existent negation, which -is absolute subjectivity, the Idea is first raised into Mind. Mind is -the subjectivity of self-knowledge; but it is only Mind inasmuch as -it knows what is object to itself, and that is itself, as a totality, -and is for itself a totality. That is to say, the two triangles which -are above and below in the prism must not be two in the sense of being -doubled, but they must be one intermingled unity. Or, in the case of -body, the difference arises between the centre and the peripheral -parts. This opposition of real corporeality and centre as the simple -existence, now makes its appearance, and the totality is the union of -the centre and the substantial—not, however, the simple union, but a -union such that the subjective knows itself as subjective in relation -to the objective and substantial. Hence the Idea is this totality, -and the Idea which knows itself is essentially different from the -substantial; the former manifests itself independently, but in such a -manner that as such it is considered to be for itself substantial. The -subjective Idea is at first only formal, but it is the real possibility -of the substantial and of the potentially universal; its end is to -realize itself and to identify itself with substance. Through this -subjectivity and negative unity, and through this absolute negativity, -the ideal becomes no longer our object merely, but object to itself, -and this principle has taken effect in the world of Christianity. Thus -in the modern point of view the subject is for itself free, man is -free as man, and from this comes the idea that because he is Mind he -has from his very nature the eternal quality of being substantial. God -becomes known as Mind which appears to itself as double, yet removes -the difference that it may in it be for and at home with itself. The -business of the world, taking it as a whole, is to become reconciled -with Mind, recognizing itself therein, and this business is assigned to -the Teutonic world. - -The first beginning of this undertaking is found in the Religion which -is the contemplation of and faith in this principle as in an actual -existence before a knowledge of the principle has been arrived at. In -the Christian Religion this principle is found more as feeling and -idea; in it man as man is destined to everlasting bliss, and is an -object of divine grace, pity and interest, which is as much as saying -that man has an absolute and infinite value. We find it further in -that dogma revealed through Christ to men, of the unity of the divine -and human nature, according to which the subjective and the objective -Idea—man and God—are one. This, in another form, is found in the -old story of the Fall, in which the serpent did not delude man, for -God said, “Behold, Adam has become as one of us, to know good and -evil.” We have to deal with this unity of subjective principle and of -substance; it constitutes the process of Mind that this individual -one or independent existence of subject should put aside its immediate -character and bring itself forth as identical with the substantial. -Such an aim is pronounced to be the highest end attainable by man. -We see from this that religious ideas and speculation are not so far -asunder as was at first believed, and I maintain these ideas in order -that we may not be ashamed of them, seeing that we still belong to -them, and so that if we do get beyond them, we may not be ashamed of -our progenitors of the early Christian times, who held these ideas in -such high esteem. - -The first principle of that Philosophy which has taken its place in -Christendom is thus found in the existence of two totalities. This -is a reduplication of substance which now, however, is characterized -by the fact that the two totalities are no longer external to one -another, but are clearly both required through their relation to one -another. If formerly Stoicism and Epicureanism, whose negativity was -Scepticism, came forth as independent, and if finally the implicitly -existent universality of both was established, these moments are now -known as separate totalities, and yet in their opposition they have -to be thought of as one. We have here the true speculative Idea, the -Notion in its determinations, each of which is brought into a totality -and clearly relates to the other. We thus have really two Ideas, the -subjective Idea as knowledge, and then the substantial and concrete -Idea; and the development and perfection of this principle and its -coming to the consciousness of Thought, is the subject treated by -modern Philosophy. Thus the determinations are in it more concrete than -with the ancients. This opposition in which the two sides culminate, -grasped in its widest significance, is the opposition between Thought -and Being, individuality and substance, so that in the subject himself -his freedom stands once more within the bounds of necessity; it is the -opposition between subject and object, and between Nature and Mind, in -so far as this last as finite stands in opposition to Nature. - -The Greek Philosophy is free from restraint because it does not yet -have regard to the opposition between Being and Thought, but proceeds -from the unconscious presupposition that Thought is also Being. -Certainly certain stages in the Greek Philosophy are laid hold of which -seem to stand on the same platform as the Christian philosophies. -Thus when we see, for instance, in the Philosophy of the Sophists, -the new Academics, and the Sceptics, that they maintain the doctrine -that the truth is not capable of being known, they might appear to -accord with the later subjective philosophies in asserting that all -thought-determinations were only subjective in character, and that -hence from these no conclusions could be arrived at as regards what is -objective. But there is really a difference. In the case of ancient -philosophies, which said that we know only the phenomenal, everything -is confined to that; it is as regards practical life that the new -Academy and the Sceptics also admitted the possibility of conducting -oneself rightly, morally and rationally, when one adopts the phenomenal -as one’s rule and guide in life. But though it is the phenomenal that -lies at the foundation of things, it is not asserted that there is -likewise a knowledge of the true and existent, as in the case of the -merely subjective idealists of a more modern day. These last still -keep in the background a potentiality, a beyond which cannot be known -through thought or through conception. This other knowledge is an -immediate knowledge—a faith in, a view of, and a yearning after, -the beyond such as was evinced by Jacobi. The ancients have no such -yearning; on the contrary, they have perfect satisfaction and rest in -the certitude that only that which appears is for Knowledge. Thus it -is necessary in this respect to keep strictly to the point of view -from which we start, else through the similarity of the results, we -come to see in that old Philosophy all the determinate character of -modern subjectivity. Since in the simplicity of ancient philosophy the -phenomenal was itself the only sphere, doubts as to objective thought -were not present to it. - -The opposition defined, the two sides of which are in modern times -really related to one another as totalities, also has the form of an -opposition between reason and faith, between individual perception -and the objective truth which must be taken without reason of one’s -own, and even with a complete disregard for such reason. This is faith -as understood by the church, or faith in the modern sense, i.e. a -rejection of reason in favour of an inward revelation, called a direct -certainty or perception, or an implicit and intuitive feeling. The -opposition between this knowledge, which has first of all to develop -itself, and that knowledge which has already developed itself inwardly, -arouses a peculiar interest. In both cases the unity of thought or -subjectivity and of Truth or objectivity is manifested, only in the -first form it is said that the natural man knows the Truth since -he intuitively believes it, while in the second form the unity of -knowledge and Truth is shown, but in such a way that the subject raises -itself above the immediate form of sensuous consciousness and reaches -the Truth first of all through Thought. - -The final end is to think the Absolute as Mind, as the Universal, that -which, when the infinite bounty of the Notion in its reality freely -emits its determinations from itself, wholly impresses itself upon and -imparts itself to them, so that they may be indifferently outside of -or in conflict with one another, but so that these totalities are one -only, not alone implicitly, (which would simply be our reflection) but -explicitly identical, the determinations of their difference being thus -explicitly merely ideal. Hence if the starting-point of the history of -Philosophy can be expressed by saying that God is comprehended as the -immediate and not yet developed universality, and that its end—the -grasping of the Absolute as Mind through the two and a half thousand -years’ work of the thus far inert world-spirit—is the end of our time, -it makes it easy for us from one determination to go on through the -manifestation of its needs, to others. Yet in the course of history -this is difficult. - -We thus have altogether two philosophies—the Greek and the Teutonic. -As regards the latter we must distinguish the time when Philosophy made -its formal appearance as Philosophy and the period of formation and of -preparation for modern times. We may first begin Teutonic philosophy -where it appears in proper form as Philosophy. Between the first -period and those more recent, comes, as an intermediate period, that -fermentation of a new Philosophy which on the one side keeps within the -substantial and real existence and does not arrive at form, while on -the other side, it perfects Thought, as the bare form of a presupposed -truth, until it again knows itself as the free ground and source of -Truth. Hence the history of Philosophy falls into three periods—that -of the Greek Philosophy, the Philosophy of the Middle Ages and the -modern Philosophy. Of these the first is speaking generally, regulated -by Thought, the second falls into the opposition between existence and -formal reflection, but the third has the Notion as its ground. This -must not be taken to mean that the first contains Thought alone; it -also has conceptions and ideas, just as the latter begins from abstract -thoughts which yet constitute a duality. - -_First Period._—This commences at the time of Thales, about 600 B.C., -and goes on to the coming to maturity of the Neo-platonic philosophy -with Plotinus in the third century; from thence to its further progress -and development with Proclus in the fifth century until the time when -all philosophy was extinguished. The Neo-platonic philosophy then made -its entrance into Christianity later on, and many philosophies within -Christianity have this philosophy as their only groundwork. This is a -space of time extending to about 1000 years, the end of which coincides -with the migration of the nations and the decline of the Roman Empire. - -_Second Period._—The second period is that of the Middle Ages. -The Scholastics are included in it, and Arabians and Jews are also -historically to be noticed, but this philosophy mainly falls within the -Christian Church. This period is of something over 1000 years’ duration. - -_Third Period._—The Philosophy of modern times made its first -independent appearance after the Thirty Years’ War, with Bacon, Jacob -Böhm and Descartes; it begins with the distinction contained in: -_cogito ergo sum_. This period is one of a couple of centuries and the -philosophy is consequently still somewhat modern. - - -2. SOURCES OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. - -We have to seek for sources of another kind in this than in political -history. There historians are the fountainheads, which again have -as sources the deeds and sayings of individuals; and the historians -who are not original have over and above performed their work at -secondhand. But historians always have the deeds already present -in history, that is to say, here brought into the form of ordinary -conception; for the name of history has two meanings: it signifies -on the one hand the deeds and events themselves, and on the other, -it denotes them in so far as they are formed through conception for -conception. In the history of Philosophy there are, on the contrary, -not any sources which can be derived from historians, but the deeds -themselves lie before us, and these—the philosophic operations -themselves—are the true sources. If we wish to study the history of -Philosophy in earnest, we must go to such springs as these. Yet these -operations form too wide a field to permit of our keeping to it alone -in this history. In the case of many philosophers it is absolutely -necessary to confine oneself to the original authors, but in many -periods, in which we cannot obtain original sources, seeing that they -have not been preserved to us, (as, for instance, in that of the older -Greek philosophy) we must certainly confine our attention simply to -historians and other writers. There are other periods, too, where it is -desirable that others should have read the works of the philosophers -and that we should receive abstracts therefrom. Several schoolmen -have left behind them works of sixteen, twenty-four and twenty-six -folios, and hence we must in their case confine ourselves to the -researches of others. Many philosophic works are also rare and hence -difficult to obtain. Many philosophers are for the most part important -from an historic or literary point of view only, and hence we may -limit ourselves to the compilations in which they are dealt with. The -most noteworthy works on the history of Philosophy are, however, the -following, regarding which I refer for particulars to the summary of -Tennemann’s History of Philosophy, by A. Wendt, since I do not wish to -give any complete list. - -1. One of the first Histories of Philosophy, which is only interesting -as an attempt, is the “History of Philosophy,” by Thomas Stanley -(London, 1655, folio ed. III., 1701, 4. translated into Latin by -Godofr. Olearius, Lipsiæ, 1711, 4). This history is no longer much -used, and only contains the old philosophic schools in the form of -sects and as if no new ones had existed. That is to say, it keeps to -the old belief commonly held at that time, that there only were ancient -philosophies and that the period of philosophy came to an end with -Christianity, as if Philosophy were something belonging to heathendom -and the truth only could be found in Christianity. In it a distinction -was drawn between Truth as it is created from the natural reason in the -ancient philosophies, and the revealed truth of the Christian religion, -in which there was consequently no longer any Philosophy. In the time -of the Revival of Learning there certainly were no proper philosophies, -and above all in Stanley’s time systems of Philosophy proper were too -young for the older generations to have the amount of respect for them -necessary to allow of their being esteemed as realities. - -2. _Jo. Jac. Bruckeri Historia critica philosophiæ, Lipsiæ_, 1742-1744, -four parts, or five volumes in four, for the fourth part has two -volumes. The second edition, unaltered, but with the addition of -a supplement, 1766-1767, four parts in six quartos, the last of -which forms the supplement. This is an immense compilation which is -not formed straight from the original sources, but is mixed with -reflections after the manner of the times. As we have seen from an -example above (p. 43) the accounts given are in the highest degree -inaccurate. Brucker’s manner of procedure is entirely unhistoric, and -yet nowhere ought we to proceed in a more historic manner than in -the history of Philosophy. This work is thus simply so much useless -ballast. An epitome of the same is _Jo. Jac. Bruckeri Institutiones -historiæ philosophicæ, usui academicæ juventutis adornatæ, Lipsiæ_, -1747, 8; second edition, Leipzig, 1756; third edition prepared by Born, -Leipzig, 1790, 8. - -3. Dietrich Tiedmann’s _Geist der Speculativen Philosophie_, Marburg, -1791-1797, 6 vols., 8. He treats of political history diffusely, but -without any life, and the language is stiff and affected. The whole -work is a melancholy example of how a learned professor can occupy his -whole life with the study of speculative philosophy, and yet have no -idea at all of speculation. His _argumenta_ to the Plato of Brucker -are of the same description. In every history he makes abstracts from -the philosophers so long as they keep to mere ratiocination, but when -the speculative is arrived at, he becomes irate, declaring it all to -be composed of empty subtleties, and stops short with the words “we -know better.” His merit is that he has supplied valuable abstracts -from rare books belonging to the Middle Ages and from cabalistic and -mystical works of that time. - -4. Joh. Gottlieb Buhle: _Lehrbuch der Geschichte der Philosophie und -einer kritischen Literatur derselben_, Göttingen, 1796 to 1804, eight -parts, 8. Ancient philosophy is treated with disproportionate brevity; -the further Buhle went on, the more particular he became. He has many -good summaries of rare works, as for instance those of Giordano Bruno, -which were in the Göttingen Library. - -5. Wilh. Gottl. Tennemann’s _Geschichte der Philosophie_, Leipzig, -1798—1819, eleven parts, 8. The eighth part, the Scholastic -Philosophy, occupies two volumes. The philosophies are fully described, -and the more modern times are better done than the ancient. The -philosophies of recent times are easier to describe, since it is only -necessary to make an abstract or to interpret straight on, for the -thoughts contained in them lie nearer to ours. It is otherwise with -the ancient philosophers, because they stand in another stage of -the Notion, and on this account they are likewise more difficult to -grasp. That is to say, what is old is easily overthrown by something -else more familiar to us, and where Tennemann comes across such he is -almost useless. In Aristotle, for instance, the misinterpretation is so -great, that Tennemann foists upon him what is directly opposite to his -beliefs, and thus from the adoption of the opposite to what Tennemann -asserts to be Aristotle’s opinion, a correct idea of Aristotelian -philosophy is arrived at. Tennemann is then candid enough to place the -reference to Aristotle underneath the text, so that the original and -the interpretation often contradict one another. Tennemann thinks that -it is really the case that the historian should have no philosophy, and -he glories in that; yet he really has a system and he is a critical -philosopher. He praises philosophers, their work and their genius, -and yet the end of the lay is that all of them will be pronounced to -be wanting in that they have one defect, which is not to be Kantian -philosophers and not yet to have sought the source of knowledge. From -this the result is that the Truth could not be known. - -Of compendiums, three have to be noticed. 1. Frederick Aft’s _Grundriss -einer Geschichte der Philosophie_. (Landshut, 1807, 8; second edition, -1825) is written from a better point of view; the Philosophy is that -of Schelling for the most part, but it is somewhat confused. Aft by -some formal method has distinguished ideal philosophy from real. 2. -Professor Wendt’s Göttingen edition of Tennemann (fifth edition, -Leipzig, 1828, 8). It is astonishing to see what is represented as -being Philosophy, without any consideration as to whether it has any -meaning or not. Such so-called new philosophies grow like mushrooms out -of the ground. There is nothing easier than to comprehend in harmony -with a principle; but it must not be thought that hence something -new and profound has been accomplished. 3. Rirner’s _Handbuch der -Geschichte der Philosophie_, 3 vols., Sulzbach, 1822-1823, 8 (second -amended edition, 1829) is most to be commended, and yet I will not -assert that it answers all the requirements of a History of Philosophy. -There are many points which leave much to desire, but the appendices -to each volume in which the principal original authorities are quoted, -are particularly excellent for their purpose. Selected extracts, more -specially from the ancient philosophers, are needed, and these would -not be lengthy, since there are not very many passages to be given from -the philosophers before Plato. - - -3. METHOD OF TREATMENT ADOPTED IN THIS HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. - -As regards external history I shall only touch upon that which is -the concern of universal history, the spirit or the principle of the -times, and hence I will treat of conditions of life in reference to -the outstanding philosophers. Of philosophies, however, only those -are to be made mention of the principles of which have caused some -sensation, and through which science has made an advance; hence I shall -put aside many names which would be taken up in a learned treatise, but -which are of little value in respect to Philosophy. The history of the -dissemination of a doctrine, its fate, those who have merely taught a -particular doctrine, I pass over, as the deduction of the whole world -from one particular principle. - -The demand that in Philosophy an historian should have no system, -should put into the philosophy nothing of his own, nor assail it with -his ideas, seems a plausible one. The history of Philosophy should -show just this impartiality, and it seems in so far that to give only -summaries of the philosophers proves a success. He who understands -nothing of the matter, and has no system, but merely historic -knowledge, will certainly be impartial. But political history has to -be carefully distinguished from the history of Philosophy. That is -to say, though in the former, one is not indeed at liberty to limit -oneself to representing the events chronologically only, one can yet -keep to what is entirely objective, as is done in the Homeric epic. -Thus Herodotus and Thucydides, as free men, let the objective world -do freely and independently as it would; they have added nothing of -their own, neither have they taken and judged before their tribunal the -actions which they represented. Yet even in political history there is -also a particular end kept in view. In Livy the main points are the -Roman rule, its enlargement, and the perfecting of the constitution; -we see Rome arise, defend itself, and exercise its mastery. It is thus -that the self-developing reason in the history of Philosophy makes of -itself an end, and this end is not foreign or imported, but is the -matter itself, which lies at the basis as universal, and with which the -individual forms of themselves correspond. Thus when the history of -Philosophy has to tell of deeds in history, we first ask, what a deed -in Philosophy is; and whether any particular thing is philosophic or -not. In external history everything is in action—certainly there is in -it what is important and that which is unimportant—but action is the -idea immediately placed before us. This is not the case in Philosophy, -and on this account the history of Philosophy cannot be treated -throughout without the introduction of the historian’s views. - - - - -ORIENTAL PHILOSOPHY - - -THE first Philosophy in order is the so-called Oriental, which, -however, does not enter into the substance or range of our subject -as represented here. Its position is preliminary, and we only deal -with it at all in order to account for not treating of it at greater -length, and to show in what relation it stands to Thought and to true -Philosophy. The expression Eastern philosophy is specially employed -in reference to the period in which this great universal Oriental -conception aroused the East—the land of circumscription and of -limitation, where the spirit of subjectivity reigns. More particularly -in the first centuries of Christendom—that significant period—did -these great Oriental ideas penetrate into Italy; and in the Gnostic -philosophy they began to force the idea of the illimitable into the -Western mind, until in the Church the latter again succeeded in -obtaining the ascendency and hence in firmly establishing the Divine. -That which we call Eastern Philosophy is more properly the religious -mode of thought and the conception of the world belonging generally -to the Orientals and approximates very closely to Philosophy; and to -consider the Oriental idea of religion just as if it were religious -philosophy, is to give the main reason why it is so like. - -We do not similarly maintain that the Roman, Greek and Christian -Religions constitute Philosophy. These bear all the less similarity -thereto in that the Greek and Roman gods as also Christ and the God -of the Jews, on account of the principle of individual freedom which -penetrates the Greek and still more the Christian element, make their -appearance immediately as the explicit, personal forms, which, being -mythological or Christian, must first be themselves interpreted and -changed into a philosophic form. In the case of Eastern Religion, on -the contrary, we are much more directly reminded of the philosophic -conception, for since in the East the element of subjectivity has -not come forth, religious ideas are not individualized, and we have -predominating a kind of universal ideas, which hence present the -appearance of being philosophic ideas and thoughts. The Orientals -certainly have also individual forms, such as Brahma, Vishnu and Civa, -but because freedom is wanting the individuality is not real, but -merely superficial. And so much is this the case, that when we suppose -that we have to deal with a human form, the same loses itself again and -expands into the illimitable. Just as we hear amongst the Greeks of a -Uranus and Chronos—of Time individualized—we find with the Persians, -Zeroane Akerene, but it is Time unlimited. We find Ormuzd and Ahriman -to be altogether general forms and ideas; they appear to be universal -principles which thus seem to bear a relationship to Philosophy or even -seem to be themselves philosophic. - -Just as the content of the Eastern religions, God, the essentially -existent, the eternal, is comprehended somewhat in the light of -universal, we find the relative positions of individuals to Him to be -the same. In the Eastern religions the first condition is that only -the one substance shall, as such, be the true, and that the individual -neither can have within himself, nor can he attain to any value in as -far as he maintains himself as against the being in and for itself. -He can have true value only through an identification with this -substance in which he ceases to exist as subject and disappears into -unconsciousness. In the Greek and Christian Religion, on the other -hand, the subject knows himself to be free and must be maintained as -such; and because the individual in this way makes himself independent, -it is undoubtedly much more difficult for Thought to free itself from -this individuality and to constitute itself in independence. The -higher point of view implicitly contained in the Greek individual -freedom, this happier, larger life, makes more difficult the work of -Thought, which is to give due value to the universal. In the East, -on the contrary, the substantial in Religion is certainly on its own -view the principal matter, the essential—and with it lawlessness, -the absence of individual consciousness is immediately connected—and -this substance is undoubtedly a philosophic idea. The negation of -the finite is also present, but in such a manner that the individual -only reaches to its freedom in this unity with the substantial. In as -far as in the Eastern mind, reflection, consciousness come through -thought to distinction and to the determination of principles, there -exist such categories and such definite ideas not in unity with the -substantial. The destruction of all that is particular either is an -illimitable, the exaltitude of the East, or, in so far as that which -is posited and determined for itself is known, it is a dry, dead -understanding, which cannot take up the speculative Notion into itself. -To that which is true, this finite can exist only as immersed in -substance; if kept apart from this it remains dead and arid. We thus -find only dry understanding amongst the Easterns, a mere enumeration -of determinations, a logic like the Wolffian of old. It is the same as -in their worship, which is complete immersion in devotion and then an -endless number of ceremonials and of religious actions; and this on the -other side is the exaltitude of that illimitable in which everything -disappears. - -There are two Eastern nations with which I wish just now to deal—the -Chinese and the Indian. - - -A. CHINESE PHILOSOPHY. - -It is true of the Chinese as well as of the Indians that they have a -great reputation for culture; but this, as well as the amount of Indian -literature which exists, has largely diminished through a further -knowledge of it. The great knowledge of these people bears upon such -subjects as Religion, Science, the constitution and administration -of the state, poetry, handicrafts and commerce. But when we compare -the laws and constitution of China with the European, we find that -we can only do so in respect of what is formal, for the content is -very different. It is also felt, however consistently they may be -constituted as to form, that they cannot find their place with us, that -we could not allow of their giving us satisfaction, and that they take -the place of law, or rather that they put an end to it. It is the same -thing when we compare Indian poetry with European; considered as a mere -play of the imagination it is as brilliant, rich and cultured as that -of any other people. But in poetry we have to do with content, and that -is the important part of it. Even the Homeric poetry is not serious for -us, and hence such poetry cannot last. It is not the lack of genius -in the Oriental poetry; the amount of genius is the same and the form -may be very much developed, but the content remains confined within -certain bounds and cannot satisfy us, nor can it be our content. This -is at outset a fact applying universally to such comparisons, inasmuch -as men let themselves be dazzled by form, making it equal with, or even -preferring it to ours. - -1. _Confucius_. The first subject of remark with regard to the Chinese -respects the teaching of Confucius (500 years before Christ) which -made a great sensation in Liebnitz’ time; this teaching is a moral -philosophy. Confucius has, besides, commented upon the old traditional -principles of the Chinese; his high moral teaching, however, gave him -his great fame, and that teaching is the authority most esteemed in -China. Confucius’ Biography has been translated by French missionaries -from the original Chinese; from this he appears to have been almost -contemporaneous with Thales, to have been for a considerable time -Minister, to have then fallen into disfavour, lost his place and -lived and philosophized amongst his own friends, while still being -often asked to give advice. We have conversations between Confucius -and his followers in which there is nothing definite further than a -commonplace moral put in the form of good, sound doctrine, which may be -found as well expressed and better, in every place and amongst every -people. Cicero gives us _De Officiis_, a book of moral teaching more -comprehensive and better than all the books of Confucius. He is hence -only a man who has a certain amount of practical and worldly wisdom—one -with whom there is no speculative philosophy. We may conclude from his -original works that for their reputation it would have been better had -they never been translated. The treatise which the Jesuits produced[9] -is, however, more a paraphrase than a translation. - -2. _The Philosophy of the Y-king_. A second matter of remark is -that the Chinese have also taken up their attention with abstract -thoughts and with pure categories. The old book Y-king, or the Book of -Principles, serves as the foundation for such; it contains the wisdom -of the Chinese, and its origin is attributed to Fohi. That which is -there by him related passes into what is quite mythological, fabulous -and even senseless. The main point in it is the ascription to him of -the discovery of a table with certain signs or figures (Ho-tu) which -he saw on the back of a horse-dragon as it rose out of the river.[10] -This table contains parallel lines above one another, which have a -symbolical signification; and the Chinese say that these lines are -the foundation of their characters as also of their philosophy. These -symbols are quite abstract categories, and consequently the most -superficial determinations of the understanding. It must certainly be -considered that pure thoughts are brought to consciousness, but in this -case we make no advance, merely remaining stationary so far as they -are concerned. The concrete is not conceived of speculatively, but -is simply taken from ordinary ideas, inasmuch as it is expressed in -accordance with their forms of representation and of perception. Hence -in this collection of concrete principles there is not to be found -in one single instance a sensuous conception of universal natural or -spiritual powers. - -To satisfy the curious, I will give these principles in greater detail. -The two fundamental, figures are a horizontal line (⚊, Yang) and the -one which is broken into two equal parts (⚋, Yin). The first which is -the perfect, the father, the manlike, the unity, such as is represented -by the Pythagoreans, represents the affirmative; the second is the -imperfect, the mother, the womanly, the duality and the negation. -These signs are held in high esteem, for they are considered to be -the Principles of things. First of all they are placed in combination -of two from which four figures result: ⚌, ⚍, ⚎, ⚏, or the great Yang, -the little Yang, the little Yin, and the great Yin. The signification -of these four representations is matter as perfect and imperfect. The -two Yangs are perfect matter: the first is in the category of youth -and power; the second is the same matter, but as old and powerless. -The third and fourth images, where Yin constitutes the basis, are -imperfect matter, which has again the two determinations of youth and -age, strength and weakness. These lines are further united in sets of -three, and thus eight figures result, which are called Kua, ☰, ☱, ☲, ☳, -☴, ☵, ☶, ☷. I will give the interpretation of these Kua just to show -how superficial it is. The first sign, containing the great Yang and -the Yang is the Heavens (Tien) or the all-pervading ether. The Heavens -to the Chinese means what is highest, and it has been a great source -of division amongst the missionaries whether they ought to call the -Christian God, Tien, or not. The second sign is pure water (Tui), -the third pure fire (Li), the fourth thunder (Tschin), the fifth wind -(Siun), the sixth common water (Kan), the seventh mountains (Ken), the -eighth the earth (Kuen). We should not place heaven, thunder, wind -and mountains on the same footing. We may thus obtain a philosophic -origin for everything out of these abstract thoughts of absolute unity -and duality. All symbols have the advantage of indicating thoughts -and of calling up significations, and in this way such are likewise -present there. Thought thus forms the first beginning, but afterwards -it goes into the clouds, and Philosophy does likewise. Therefore -if Windischmann[11] in his commentary recognizes in this system of -Confucius, a “thorough interconnection between all Kua in the whole -series,” it should be remembered that not a particle of the Notion is -to be found in it. - -United further in sets of four, the lines produce sixty-four figures, -which the Chinese consider to be the origin of their characters, -since there have been added to these straight lines those which are -perpendicular and inclined in different directions. - -In Schuking there is also a chapter on Chinese wisdom, where the five -elements from which everything is made make their appearance. These are -fire, water, wood, metal and earth, which exist all in confusion, and -which we should no more than we did before, allow to be principles. The -first canon in the law is found in the Schuking, as the naming of the -five elements; the second, considerations upon the last, and so it goes -on.[12] Universal abstraction with the Chinese thus goes on to what is -concrete, although in accordance with an external kind of order only, -and without containing anything that is sensuous. This is the principle -of all Chinese wisdom and of all the objects of study in China. - -3. _The Sect of the Tao-See_. There is yet another separate sect, -that of the Tao-See, the followers of which are not mandarins and -attached to the state religion, nor are they Buddhists or Lamaics. The -originator of this philosophy and the one who was closely connected -with it in his life, is Lao-Tsö, who was born in the end of the seventh -century before Christ and who was older than Confucius, for this -representative of the more political school went to him in order to -ask his advice. The book of the Lao-Tsö, Tao-king, is certainly not -included in the proper Kings and has not their authority, but it is -an important work amongst the Taosts or the followers of reason, who -call their rule in life Tao-Tao, which means the observation of the -dictates or the laws of reason. They dedicate their lives to the study -of reason, and maintain that he who knows reason in its source will -possess universal science, remedies for every ill and all virtue; he -will also have obtained a supernatural power of being able to fly to -heaven and of not dying.[13] - -His followers say of Lao-Tsö himself that he is Buddha who as man -became the ever-existent God. We still have his principal writings; -they have been taken to Vienna, and I have seen them there myself. -One special passage is frequently taken from them: “Without a name -Tao[14] is the beginning of Heaven and Earth, and with a name she is -the Mother of the Universe. It is only in her imperfect state that she -is considered with affection; who desires to know her must be devoid -of passions.” Abel Rémusat says that taken at its best this might be -expressed by the Greek in _όογος_. The celebrated passage which is -often quoted by the ancients is this,[15] “Reason has brought forth -the one; the one has brought forth the two; the two have brought forth -the three; and the three have produced the whole world.” In this men -have tried to find a reference to the Trinity. “The Universe rests -upon the principle of Darkness, the universe embraces the principle of -Light,” or “it is embraced by ether;” it can be thus reversed, because -the Chinese language has no case inflection, the words merely standing -in proximity. Another passage in the same place has this sense, “He -whom ye look at and do not see, is named I; thou hearkenest to him and -hearest him not, and he is called Hi; thou seekest for him with thy -hand and touchest him not, and his name is Weï. Thou meetest him and -seest not his head; thou goest behind him and seest not his back.” -These contradictory expressions are called the “chain of reason.” One -naturally thinks in quoting these passages of יהרה and of the African -kingly name of Juba and also of _Jovis_. This I-hi-weï or I-H-W[16] is -further made to signify an absolute vacuity and that which is Nothing; -to the Chinese what is highest and the origin of things is nothing, -emptiness, the altogether undetermined, the abstract universal, and -this is also called Tao or reason. When the Greeks say that the -absolute is one, or when men in modern times say that it is the highest -existence, all determinations are abolished, and by the merely abstract -Being nothing has been expressed excepting this same negation, only in -an affirmative form. But if Philosophy has got no further than to such -expression, it still stands on its most elementary stage. What is there -to be found in all this learning? - - -B. INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. - -If we had formerly the satisfaction of believing in the antiquity -of the Indian wisdom and of holding it in respect, we now have -ascertained through being acquainted with the great astronomical -works of the Indians, the inaccuracy of all figures quoted. Nothing -can be more confused, nothing more imperfect than the chronology of -the Indians; no people which has attained to culture in astronomy, -mathematics, &c., is as incapable for history; in it they have neither -stability nor coherence. It was believed that such was to be had in -the time of Wikramaditya, who was supposed to have lived about 50 -B.C., and under whose reign the poet Kalidasa, author of Sakontala, -lived. But further research discovered half a dozen Wikramadityas and -careful investigation has placed this epoch in our eleventh century. -The Indians have lines of kings and an enormous quantity of names, but -everything is vague. - -We know how the ancient glory of this land was held in the highest -estimation even by the Greeks, just as they knew about the -Gymnosophists, who were excellent men, though people ventured to call -them otherwise—men who having dedicated themselves to a contemplative -life, lived in abstraction from external life, and hence, wandering -about in hordes, like the Cynics renounced all ordinary desires. These -latter in their capacity as philosophers, were also more especially -known to the Greeks, inasmuch as Philosophy is also supposed to exist -in this abstraction, in which all the relationships of ordinary life -are set aside; and this abstraction is a feature which we wish to bring -into prominence and consider. - -Indian culture is developed to a high degree, and it is imposing, but -its Philosophy is identical with its Religion, and the objects to -which attention is devoted in Philosophy are the same as those which -we find brought forward in Religion. Hence the holy books or Vedas -also form the general groundwork for Philosophy. We know the Vedas -tolerably well; they contain principally prayers addressed to the -many representations of God, direction as to ceremonials, offerings, -&c. They are also of the most various periods; many parts are very -ancient, and others have taken their origin later, as, for instance, -that which treats of the service of Vishnu. The Vedas even constitute -the basis for the atheistical Indian philosophies; these, too, are not -wanting in gods, and they pay genuine attention to the Vedas. Indian -Philosophy thus stands within Religion just as scholastic Philosophy -stands within Christian dogmatism, having at its basis and presupposing -the doctrines of the church. Mythology takes the form of incarnation -or individualization, from which it might be thought that it would be -opposed to Philosophy in its universality and ideality; incarnation is -not, however, here taken in so definite a sense, for almost everything -is supposed to partake of it, and the very thing that seems to define -itself as individuality falls back directly within the mist of the -universal. The idea of the Indians more appropriately expressed, is -that there is one universal substance which may be laid hold of in the -abstract or in the concrete, and out of which everything takes its -origin. The summit of man’s attainment is that he as consciousness -should make himself identical with the substance, in Religion by means -of worship, offerings, and rigid acts of expiation, and in Philosophy -through the instrumentality of pure thought. - -It is quite recently that we first obtained a definite knowledge of -Indian Philosophy; in the main we understand by it religious ideas, -but in modern times men have learned to recognize real philosophic -writings. Colebrooke,[17] in particular, communicated abstracts -to us from two Indian philosophic works, and this forms the first -contribution we have had in reference to Indian Philosophy. What -Frederick von Schlegel says about the wisdom of the Indians is taken -from their religious ideas only. He is one of the first Germans who -took up his attention with Indian philosophy, yet his work bore little -fruit because he himself read no more than the index to the Ramayana. -According to the abstract before mentioned, the Indians possess ancient -philosophic systems; one part of these they consider to be orthodox, -and those which tally with the Vedas are particularly included; the -others are held to be heterodox and as not corresponding with the -teaching of the holy books. The one part, which really is orthodox, has -no other purpose than to make the deliverances of the Vedas clearer, -or to derive from the text of these original treatises an ingeniously -thought-out Psychology. This system is called Mimansa, and two schools -proceed from it. Distinguished from these there are other systems, -amongst which the two chief are those of the Sanc’hya and Nyaya. The -former again divides into two parts which are, however, different in -form only. The Nyaya is the most developed; it more particularly gives -the rules for reasoning, and may be compared to the Logic of Aristotle. -Colebrooke has made abstracts from both of these systems, and he says -that there are many ancient treatises upon them, and that the _versus -memoriales_ from them are very extensive. - -1. _The Sanc’hya Philosophy of Capila_. The originator of the Sanc’hya -is called Capila, and he was an ancient sage of whom it was said that -he was a son of Brahma, and one of the seven great Holy men; others -say that he was an incarnation of Vishnu, like his disciple Asuri, -and that he was identified with fire. As to the age of the Aphorisms -(Sutras) of Capila, Colebrooke can say nothing; he merely mentions that -they were already mentioned in other very ancient books, but he does -not feel able to say anything definite in the matter. The Sanc’hya is -divided into different schools, of which there are two or three, which, -however, differ from one another only in a few particulars. It is held -to be partly heterodox and partly orthodox. - -The real aim of all Indian schools and systems of Philosophy, whether -atheistic or theistic, is to teach the means whereby eternal happiness -can be attained before, as well as after, death. The Vedas say, “What -has to be known is the Soul; it must be distinguished from nature, and -hence it will never come again.” That means that it is exempt from -metempsychosis and likewise from bodily form, so that it does not after -death make its appearance in another body. This blessed condition -therefore is, according to the Sanc’hya, a perfect and eternal -release from every kind of ill. It reads:—“Through Thought, the true -Science, this freedom can be accomplished; the temporal and worldly -means of procuring enjoyment and keeping off spiritual or bodily evil -are insufficient; even the methods advocated by the Vedas are not -effectual for the purpose, and these are found in the revealed form -of worship, or in the performance of religious ceremonies as directed -in the Vedas.” The offering up of animals is specially valuable as -such a means; and in this regard the Sanc’hya rejects the Vedas; such -an offering is not pure, because it is connected with the death of -animals, and the main tenet in the former is not to injure any animal. -Other methods of deliverance from evil are in the excessive acts of -penance performed by the Indians, to which a retreat within themselves -is added. Now when the Indian thus internally collects himself, and -retreats within his own thoughts, the moment of such pure concentration -is called Brahma, the one and the clearly supersensuous state, which -the understanding calls the highest possible existence. When this is -so with me, then am I Brahma. Such a retreat into Thought takes place -in the Religion as well as in the Philosophy of the Indians, and they -assert with reference to this state of bliss that it is what is highest -of all, and that even the gods do not attain to it. Indra, for example, -the god of the visible heavens, is much lower than the soul in this -life of internal contemplation; many thousand Indras have passed away, -but the soul is exempt from every change. The Sanc’hya only differs -from Religion in that it has a complete system of thought or logic, and -that the abstraction is not made a reduction to what is empty, but is -raised up into the significance of a determinate thought. This science -is stated to subsist in the correct knowledge of the principles—which -may be outwardly perceptible or not—of the material and of the -immaterial world. - -The Sanc’hya system separates itself into three parts: the method of -knowledge, the object of knowledge, and the determinate form of the -knowledge of principles. - -_a._ As regards the methods of obtaining knowledge, the Sanc’hya says -that there are three kinds of evidence possible: first of all, that of -perception; secondly, that of inference; thirdly, that of affirmation, -which is the origin of all others, such as reverence for authority, a -teachable disposition, and tradition. Perception is said to require no -explanation. Inference is a conclusion arrived at from the operation of -cause and effect, by which one determination merely passes over into -a second. There are three forms, because inferences are made either -from cause to effect, from effect to cause, or in accordance with -different relations of cause and effect. Rain, we may say, is foretold -when a cloud is seen to be gathering; fire, when a hill is seen to be -smoking; or the movement of the moon is inferred when, at different -times, it is observed to be in different places. These are simple, -dry relations, originating from the understanding. Under affirmation, -tradition or revelation is understood, such as that of the orthodox -Vedas; in a wider sense, immediate certainty or the affirmation in my -consciousness, and in a less wide sense, an assurance through verbal -communication or through tradition is so denominated. - -_b._ Of objects of knowledge or of principles, the Sanc’hya gives -five-and-twenty; and these I will mention to show the want of order -that is in them. - -1. Nature, as the origin of everything, is said to be the -universal, the material cause, eternal matter, undistinguished and -undistinguishable, without parts, productive but without production, -absolute substance. 2. Intelligence, the first production of Nature -and itself producing other principles, distinguishable as three gods -through the efficacy of three qualities, which are Goodness, Foulness -and Darkness. These form one person and three gods, namely, Brahma, -Vishnu, and Maheswara. 3. Consciousness, personality, the belief that -in all perceptions and meditations I am present, that the objects of -sense, as well as of intelligence, concern me, in short that I am I. -It issues from the power of intelligence, and itself brings forth the -following principles. 4-8. Five very subtle particles, rudiments or -atoms, which are only perceptible to an existence of a higher order, -and not through the senses of men; these proceed from the principle -of consciousness, and bring forth on their own account the five -elements—space and the first origination of earth, water, fire and -air. 9-19. The eleven succeeding principles are the organs of feeling, -which are produced by the personality. There are ten external organs, -comprising the five senses and five active organs—the organs of the -voice, hands and feet, the excretory and genital organs. The eleventh -organ is that of the inward sense. 20 to 24. These principles are the -five elements brought forth from the earlier-named rudiments—the ether -which takes possession of space, air, fire, water and earth. 25. The -soul. In this very unsystematic form we see only the first beginnings -of reflection, which seem to be put together as a universal. But -this arrangement is, to say nothing of being unsystematic, not even -intelligent. - -Formerly the principles were outside of and successive to one another; -their unity is found in the Soul. It is said of the latter that -it is not produced, and is not productive; it is individual, and -hence there are many souls; it is sentient, eternal, immaterial and -unchangeable. Colebrooke here distinguishes between the theistic and -atheistic systems of the Sanc’hya, since the former not only admits -of individual souls, but also upholds God (Iswara) as the ruler of the -world. The knowledge of the soul still remains the principal point. It -is through the consideration of nature and through abstraction from -nature that the unity of the soul with nature is brought about, just -as the lame man and the blind are brought together for the purposes of -transport and of guidance—the one being the bearer and being directed -(nature?), the other being borne and guiding (soul?). Through the union -of Soul and Nature, the creation is effected, and this consists in -the development of intelligence and of other principles. This unity -is the actual support for that which is, and the means by which it is -so maintained. It is at the same time an important consideration that -the negation of the object which is contained in thought, is necessary -in order to comprehend; this reflection has far more depth than the -ordinary talk about immediate consciousness. The view is superficial -and perverted which maintains the Easterns to have lived in unity -with nature; the soul in its activity, mind, is indeed undoubtedly in -relation with nature and in unity with the truth of nature. But this -true unity essentially contains the moment of the negation of nature -as it is in its immediacy; such an immediate unity is merely the life -of animals, the life and perception of the senses. The idea which is -present to the Indians is thus indeed the unity of nature and of soul, -but the spiritual is only one with nature in so far as it is within -itself, and at the same time manifests the natural as negative. As -regards the creation, this is further signified. The soul’s desire -and end is for satisfaction and freedom, and with this view it is -endowed with a subtle environment, in which all the above-mentioned -principles are contained, but only in their elementary development. -Something of our ideal, or of the implicit is present in this idea; it -is like the blossom which is ideally in the bud, and yet is not actual -and real. The expression for this is Lingam, the generative power of -nature, which holds a high place in the estimation of all Indians. This -subtle form, says the Sanc’hya, also assumes a coarse bodily shape, -and clothes itself in several garbs; and as a means of preventing -the descent into a coarse materiality, philosophic contemplation is -recommended. - -Hitherto we have observed the abstract principles; the following is -to be noticed regarding the creation of the concrete actuality of -the universe. The bodily creation consists of the soul habited in -a material body; it comprehends eight orders of higher beings and -five orders of lower beings, which constitute—with men, who form -a single class—fourteen orders, and these are divided into three -worlds or classes. The first eight orders have appellations which -appear in Indian mythology, viz. Brahma, Prajapatis, Indra, &c.; -there are both gods and demi-gods, and Brahma himself is represented -here as if he were created. The five lower orders are composed of -animals: the four-footed animals are in two classes, birds come third, -reptiles, fishes, and insects fourth, and, finally, vegetable and -inorganic nature comes fifth. The abode of the eight higher classes -is in heaven; they are, it is said, in the enjoyment of that which is -good and virtuous, and consequently are happy, though still they are -but imperfect and transient; underneath is the seat of darkness or -delusion, where beings of the lower orders live; and between is the -world of men, where untruth or passion reigns. - -Against these three worlds, which have their place in the material -creation, the system places yet another creation, and that is the -Intellectual, consisting of the powers of understanding and the -senses. These last are again divided into four classes, viz. those -determinations which impede, those which incapacitate, those which -satisfy, and those which perfect the intelligence. 1. Sixty-two of -the impeding determinations are adduced; eight kinds of error, as -many of opinion or of illusion, ten of passion as being illusion -carried to extremity, eighteen of hate or sullenness, and the same of -grief. Here there is shown somewhat of an empirical, psychological, -and observing mode of treatment. 2. The incapacity of intelligence -has again eight-and-twenty variations: injury, want of organs, &c. -3. Satisfaction is either inward or outward. The inward satisfaction -is fourfold; the first concerns nature, the whole universal or -substantial, and is set forth in the opinion that philosophic knowledge -is a modification of the principle of nature itself, with which there -is immediately united the anticipation of a liberty given through -the act of nature; yet the true liberty is not to be expected as -an act of nature, for it is the soul which has to bring forth that -liberty through itself and through its thinking activity. The second -satisfaction is in the belief of securing liberty through ascetic -exercises, pains, torments, and penances. The third has to do with -time—the idea that liberty will come in the course of time and without -study. The fourth satisfaction is obtained in a belief in luck—in -believing that liberty depends on fate. The external mode of obtaining -satisfaction relates to continence from enjoyment, but continence -from sensuous motives, such as dislike to the unrest of acquisition, -and fear of the evil consequences of enjoyment. 4. There are, again, -several means of perfecting the intelligence adduced, and, amongst -others, there is the direct psychological mode of perfecting mind, as -is seen in the act of reasoning, in friendly converse, and so on. This -we may find, indeed, in our applied logic. - -There is still somewhat to be remarked as to the main points of -the system. The Sanc’hya, and likewise the other Indian systems of -Philosophy, occupy themselves particularly with the three _qualities_ -(Guna) of the absolute Idea, which are represented as substances and -as modifications of nature. It is noteworthy that in the observing -consciousness of the Indians it struck them that what is true and -in and for itself contains three determinations, and the Notion of -the Idea is perfected in three moments. This sublime consciousness -of the trinity, which we find again in Plato and others, then went -astray in the region of thinking contemplation, and retains its place -only in Religion, and there but as a Beyond. Then the understanding -penetrated through it, declaring it to be senseless; and it was Kant -who broke open the road once more to its comprehension. The reality and -totality of the Notion of everything, considered in its substance, is -absorbed by the triad of determinations; and it has become the business -of our times to bring this to consciousness. With the Indians, this -consciousness proceeded from sensuous observation merely, and they now -further define these qualities as follows: The first and highest is -with them the Good (Sattva); it is exalted and illuminating—allied -to joy and felicity—and piety predominates within it. It prevails -in fire, and therefore flames rise up and sparks fly upwards; if it -has ascendency in men, as it does have in the eight higher orders, -it is the origin of virtue. This also is the universal—throughout -and in every aspect the affirmative—in abstract form. The second -and mediate quality is deceit or passion (Najas, Tejas) which for -itself is blind; it is that which is impure, harmful, hateful; it is -active, vehement, and restless, allied to evil and misfortune, being -prevalent in the air, on which account the wind moves transversely; -amongst living beings it is the cause of vice. The third and last -quality is darkness (Tamas); it is inert and obstructive, allied to -care, dullness, and disappointment, predominating in earth and water, -and hence these fall down and tend ever downwards. With living beings -stupidity takes its origin in this. The first quality is thus the -unity with itself; the second the manifestation or the principle of -difference, desire, disunion, as wickedness; the third, however, is -mere negation, as in mythology it is concretely represented in the form -of Siva, Mahadeva, or Maheswara, the god of change or destruction. As -far as we are concerned, the important distinction is that the third -principle is not the return to the first which Mind and Idea demand, -and which is effected by the removal of the negation in order to effect -a reconciliation with itself and to go back within itself. With the -Indians the third is still change and negation. - -These three qualities are represented as the essential being of nature. -The Sanc’hya says, “We speak of them as we do of the trees in a wood.” -Yet this is a bad simile, for the wood is but an abstract universal, in -which the individuals are independent. In the religious ideas of the -Vedas, where these qualities also appear as Trimurti, they are spoken -of as if they were successive modifications, so that “Everything was -darkness first, then received the command to transform itself, and in -this manner the form”—which, however, is a worse one—“of movement and -activity (foulness) was assumed, until finally, by yet another command -from Brahma, the form of goodness was adopted.” - -Further determinations of the intelligence in respect of these -qualities follow. It is said that eight kinds of intelligence are -counted, of which four pertain to what is good:—virtue first, -science and knowledge second, thirdly, freedom from passion, which, -may have either an external and sensuous motive—the repugnance to -disturbance—or be of an intellectual nature, and emanate from the -conviction that nature is a dream, a mere jugglery and sham; the fourth -is power. This last is eight-fold, and hence eight special qualities -are given as being present; viz. the power to contract oneself into a -quite small form, for which everything shall be penetrable; the power -to expand into a gigantic body; the power to become light enough to -be able to mount to the sun on a sunbeam; the possession of unlimited -power of action in the organs, so that with the finger-tips the moon -may be touched; irresistible will, so that, for instance, one may dive -into the earth as easily as in the water; mastery over all living and -lifeless existence; the power to change the course of nature; and the -power to perform everything that is wished. “The feeling that such -transcendent power,” Colebrooke goes on, “is within the reach of man -in his life is not peculiar to the Sanc’hya sect, but is common to all -systems and religious ideas, and such a power is in good faith ascribed -to many holy men and Brahmins in dramas and popular narratives.” -Sensuous evidence is of no account as opposed to this, for with the -Indian, perception of the senses is, generally speaking, absent: -everything adopts the form of imaginary images, every dream is esteemed -just as much as truth and actuality. The Sanc’hya ascribes this power -to man, in so far as he elevates himself through the working of his -thought into inward subjectivity. Colebrooke says, “The Yoga-sastra -names in one of its four chapters a number of acts by which such power -may be attained; these are exemplified by a profound meditation, -accompanied by holding back the breath and inactivity of the senses, -while a fixed position is constantly preserved. By means of such acts -the adept reaches the knowledge of all that is past as well as future; -he has learned to divine the thoughts of others, to have the strength -of elephants, the courage of lions, the swiftness of the wind, the -power to fly in the air, to swim in the water, to dive into the earth, -to behold every possible world in one moment, and to accomplish other -wonderful deeds. But the quickest mode of reaching happiness through -deep contemplation is that worship of God which consists in ever -murmuring the mystic name of God, ‘Om.’” This idea is a very general -one. - -Colebrooke deals more particularly with the theistic and atheistic -divisions of the Sanc’hya as distinguished. While in the theistic -system, Iswara, the chief ruler of the world, is a soul or spirit -distinguished from the other souls, Capila, in the atheistic Sanc’hya, -disowns Iswara, the originator of the world by volition, alleging that -there is no proof of the existence of God, since it is not shown by -perception, nor is it possible that it should be deduced from argument. -He recognizes, indeed, an existence proceeding from nature which is -Absolute Intelligence, the source of all individual intelligences and -the origin of all other existences, which gradually develop out of it: -about the Creator of the world, understanding this to be creation, he -emphatically remarks that “the truth of such an Iswara is proved.” -But, he says, “the existence of effects depends on the soul, on -consciousness, and not on Iswara. Everything proceeds from the great -Principle, which is Intelligence;” to this the individual soul belongs, -and through this it is brought about. - -_c._ As to the third division of the Sanc’hya, the more particular -consideration of the forms of knowledge as regards the principle, I -shall make a few more remarks, which may perhaps have some interest. -Of the various kinds of knowledge already given, that of reasoning, of -the connection existing with the conclusion through the relation of -cause and effect, remains the chief, and I will show how the Indians -comprehend this relation. The understanding and all other principles -derived from it are to them effects, and from these they reason to -their causes; in one respect this is analogous to our inference, but -in another different. They perceive that “effects exist even before -the operation of the causes; for what does not exist cannot be made -explicit in existence through causality.” Colebrooke says, “This means -that effects are educts rather than products.” But the question is just -what products are. As an example of how the effect is already contained -in the cause, the following is given:—Oil is already existent in the -seeds of sesamum before it is pressed out; rice is in the husk before -it is thrashed; milk is in the udder of the cow before it is milked. -Cause and effect are in reality the same; a piece of a dress is not -really different from the yarn from which it is woven, for the material -is the same. This is how this relation is understood. A consequence -derived from it was the eternity of the world, for the saying “Out -of nothing there comes nothing,” which Colebrooke also mentions, is -opposed to the belief in a creation of the world from nothing in our -religious sense. As a matter of fact, it must also be said, “God -creates the world not out of nothing, but out of Himself; it is His -own determination, by Him brought into existence.” The distinction -between cause and effect is only a formal distinction; it is the -understanding that keeps them separate, and not reason. Moisture is the -same as rain; or again we speak in mechanics of different movements, -whereas motion has the same velocity before as after impact. The -ordinary consciousness cannot comprehend the fact that there is no real -distinction between cause and effect. - -The Indians infer the existence of “a universal cause which is -undistinguishable, while determinate things are finite,” and on -this account there must be a cause permeating through them. Even -intelligence is an effect of this cause, which is the soul in so far -as it is creative in this identity with nature after its abstraction -from it. Effect proceeds from cause, yet, on the other hand, this -last is not independent, but goes back into universal cause. General -destruction is postulated along with what is called the creation of -the three worlds. Just as the tortoise stretches out its limbs and -then draws them back again within its shell, the five elements, earth, -&c., which constitute the three worlds, are in the general ruin and -dissolution of things which takes place within a certain time, again -drawn back in the reverse order to that in which they emerged from -the original principle, because they return, step by step, to their -first cause—that is, to what is highest and inseparable, which is -Nature. To this the three qualities, goodness, passion, and darkness, -are attributed; the further attributes of these determinations may be -very interesting, but they are understood in a very superficial way. -For it is said that nature operates through the admixture of these -three qualities; each thing has all three within itself, like three -streams which flow together; it also works by means of modifications, -just as water which is soaked in through the roots of plants and led -up into the fruit, obtains a special flavour. There are hence only -the categories of admixture and of modification present. The Indians -say:—“Nature has these three qualities in her own right as her forms -and characteristics; other things have them only because they are -present in them as effects of the former.” - -We still have to consider the relation of nature to spirit. “Nature, -although it is quite inanimate, performs the office of preparing -the soul for its freedom, just as it is the function of milk—of a -substance having no sensation—to nourish the calf.” The Sanc’hya makes -the following simile. Nature is like a _bajadere_ showing herself to -the soul as to an audience; she is abused for her impudence in exposing -herself too often to the rude gaze of the spectators. “But she retires -when she has shown herself sufficiently; she does so because she -has been seen, and the audience retires because it has seen. Nature -has no further use as regards the soul, and yet the union remains a -lasting one.” With the attainment of intellectual knowledge through -the study of principles, the final, incontrovertible, single truth is -learnt, that “I neither am, nor is anything mine, nor do I exist.” -That is, the personality is still distinguished from the soul, and -finally personality and self-consciousness disappear for the Indian. -“Everything that comes forth in consciousness is reflected by the -soul, but like an image which does not dull the crystal of the soul, -and does not belong to it. In possession of this self-knowledge” -(without personality) “the soul contemplates nature at its ease, -thus exempt from all terrible variation, and freed from every other -form and operation of the understanding, with the exception of this -spiritual knowledge.” This is a mediate spiritual knowledge of the -likewise spiritualized content—a knowledge without personality and -consciousness. “The soul still indeed remains for some time in bodily -garb, but this is only so after the same manner as the potter’s wheel, -when the jar is perfected, still turns round from the effect of the -previously given impulse.” The soul thus has, according to the Indians, -nothing further to do with the body, and its connection therewith is -therefore a superfluous one. “But when the separation of the already -prepared soul from its body at length comes to pass, and nature is done -with soul, the absolute and final liberation is accomplished.” Here we -find the crowning moments in the Sanc’hya philosophy. - -2. _The Philosophy of Gotama and Canade_. The philosophy of Gotama and -that of Canade belong to one another.[18] The philosophy of Gotama is -called Nyaya (reasoning), and that of Canade, Vaiseshica (particular). -The first is a specially perfect dialectic, and the second, on the -other hand, occupies itself with physics, that is, with particular or -sensuous objects. Colebrooke says:—“No department of science or of -literature has taken up the attention of the Indians more than the -Nyaya; and the fruit of this study is an infinite number of writings, -included in which there may be found the works of very celebrated -men of learning. The system which Gotama and Canade observe is that -indicated in one part of the Vedas as being the path which must be -trodden in the pursuit of learning and study; viz., enunciation, -definition, and investigation. Enunciation is the specification of -a thing by its name, that is, by the expression denoting it, as -revelation directs; for language is considered as revealed to man. -Definition sets forth the particular quality which constitutes the -real character of a thing. Investigation consists in an inquiry into -the adequacy and sufficiency of the definition. In conformity with -this, the teachers of philosophy presuppose scientific terms, proceed -to definitions and then come to the investigation of the thus premised -subjects.” By the name, the ordinary conception is indicated, and with -it what is given in definition is compared in investigation. What comes -next is the object to be contemplated. “Gotama here adduces sixteen -points, amongst which proof, evidence” (which is formal), “and what has -to be proved, are the principal; the others are merely subsidiary and -accessory, as contributing to the knowledge and confirmation of the -truth. The Nyaya concurs with the other psychological schools in this, -that it promises happiness, final excellence, and freedom from evil as -the reward of a perfect knowledge of the principles which it teaches, -that is to say, of the Truth, meaning the conviction of the eternal -existence of the soul as separable from body,” which makes spirit -independent. Soul then is itself the object which is to be known and -proved. This has still to be shown more particularly. - -_a._ The first point of importance, the evidence brought forth -as proof, is said to be divided into four kinds:—first of all, -perception; secondly, inference, of which there are three kinds, -viz. inference from result to cause, that from cause to effect, and -that derived from analogy. The third kind of evidence is comparison, -the fourth, trustworthy authority, including both tradition and the -revelation implied in it. These kinds of proof are much brought -forward, both in the ancient Treatise ascribed to Gotama and in -innumerable commentaries. - -_b._ The second point of importance is found in the subjects which -have to be proved, and which have to be made evident; and of these -twelve are here given. The first and most important is, however, the -soul, as the seat, distinguished from the body and from the senses, -of feeling and of knowledge, the existence of which is proved through -inclination, disinclination, will, &c. It has fourteen qualities: -number, size, individuality, connection, separation, intelligence, -pleasure, pain, desire, dislike, will, merit, fault, and imagination. -We see in this first commencement of reflection, which is quite without -order, neither connection nor any totality of determinations. The -second object of knowledge is body; the third, the organs of sensation, -as the five outward senses are called. These are not modifications of -consciousness, as the Sanc’hya asserts, but matter constructed out of -the elements, which respectively consist of earth, water, light, air, -and ether. The pupil of the eye is not, they say, the organ of sight, -nor the ear of hearing, but the organ of seeing is a ray of light that -proceeds from the eye to the object; the organ of hearing is the ether -that in the cavity of the ear communicates with the object heard, -through the ether that is found between. The ray of light is usually -invisible, just as a light is not seen at mid-day, but in certain -circumstances it is visible. In taste, a watery substance like saliva -is the organ, and so on. We find something similar to what is here said -about sight in Plato’s Timæus (pp. 45, 46, Steph.; pp. 50-53, Bekk.); -there are interesting remarks upon the phosphorus of the eyes in a -paper by Schultz, contained in Goethe’s Morphology. Examples of men -seeing at night, so that their eyes lighted up the object, are brought -forward in numbers, but the demonstration certainly demands particular -conditions. The objects of sense form the fourth subject. Here Cesava, -a commentator, inserts the categories of Canade, of which there are -six. The first of these is substance, and of this there are nine kinds: -earth, water, light, air, ether, time, space, soul, understanding. The -fundamental elements of material substances are by Canade regarded as -if they were original atoms, and afterwards aggregates of the same; he -maintains the everlasting nature of atoms, and thus much is adduced -about the union of atoms, by which means motes are also produced. The -second category is that of Quality, and of it there are twenty-four -kinds, viz. 1, colour; 2, taste; 3, smell; 4, tangibility; 5, numbers; -6, size; 7, individuality; 8, conjunction; 9, separation; 10, -priority; 11, posteriority; 12, weight; 13, fluidity; 14, viscidity; -15, sound; 16, intelligence; 17, pleasure; 18, pain; 19, desire; 20, -dislike; 21, will; 22, virtue; 23, vice; 24, a capacity which includes -three different qualities, viz. celerity, elasticity, and power of -imagination. The third category is action; the fourth, association of -qualities; the fifth, distinction; the sixth, is aggregation, and, -according to Canade, this is the last; other writers add negation as -the seventh. This is the manner in which philosophy is regarded by the -Indians. - -_c._ The philosophy of Gotama makes doubt the third topic, succeeding -those of the evidence of knowledge, and the subjects of interest to -knowledge. Another topic is regular proof, formal reasoning, or the -perfect syllogism (Nyaya), which consists of five propositions:—1, the -proposition; 2, the reason; 3, the instance; 4, the application; 5, the -conclusion. To take examples:—1. This hill is burning; 2, because it -smokes; 3, what smokes is burning, like a kitchen fire; 4, accordingly -the hill smokes; 5, therefore it is on fire. This is propounded as -syllogisms are with us, but in the manner adopted, the matter which is -in point is propounded first. We should, on the contrary, begin with -the general. This is the ordinary form, and these examples may satisfy -us, yet we shall recapitulate the matter once more. - -We have seen that in India the point of main importance is the -soul’s drawing itself within itself, raising itself up into liberty, -or thought, which constitutes itself for itself. This becoming -explicit of soul in the most abstract mode may be called intellectual -substantiality, but here it is not the unity of mind and nature that -is present, but directly the opposite. To mind, the consideration of -nature is only the vehicle of thought or its exercise, which has as -its aim the liberation of mind. Intellectual substantiality is in India -the end, while in Philosophy it is in general the true commencement; -to philosophize is the idealism of making thought, in its own right, -the principle of truth. Intellectual substantiality is the opposite -of the reflection, understanding, and the subjective individuality of -the European. With us it is of importance that I will, know, believe, -think this particular thing according to the grounds that I have for -so doing, and in accordance with my own free will; and upon this -an infinite value is set. Intellectual substantiality is the other -extreme from this; it is that in which all the subjectivity of the “I” -is lost; for it everything objective has become vanity, there is for -it no objective truth, duty or right, and thus subjective vanity is -the only thing left. The point of interest is to reach intellectual -substantiality in order to drown in it that subjective vanity with all -its cleverness and reflection. This is the advantage of arriving at -this point of view. - -The defect in such a view is that because intellectual substantiality, -while represented as end and aim for the subject, as a condition that -has to be produced in the interest of the subject, even though it be -most objective, is yet only quite abstractly objective; and hence the -essential form of objectivity is wanting to it. That intellectual -substantiality that thus remaining in abstraction, has as its -existence the subjective soul alone. Just as in empty vanity, where -the subjective power of negation alone remains, everything disappears, -this abstraction of intellectual substantiality only signifies -an escape into what is empty and without determination, wherein -everything vanishes. Therefore what remains to be done is to force -forward the real ground of the inwardly self-forming and determining -objectivity—the eternal form within itself, which is what men call -Thought. Just as this Thought in the first place, as subjective, is -mine, because I think, but in the second place is universality which -comprehends intellectual substantiality, it is likewise in the third -place forming activity, the principle of determination. This higher -kind of objectivity that unfolds itself, alone gives a place to the -particular content, allows it to have free scope and receives it -into itself. If in the Oriental view, the particular shakes and is -destined to fall, it still has its place grounded on thought. It is -able to root itself in itself, it is able to stand firm, and this is -the hard European understanding. Such Eastern ideas tend to destroy -it, but it is preserved active in the soil of thought; it cannot exist -when regarded as independent, but must exist only as a moment in the -whole system. In the Eastern Philosophy we have also discovered a -definite content, which is brought under our consideration; but the -consideration is destitute of thought or system because it comes -from above and is outside of the unity. On that side there stands -intellectual substantiality, on this side it appears dry and barren; -the particular thus only has the dead form of simple reason and -conclusion, such as we find in the Scholastics. Based on the ground of -thought, on the other hand, the particular may receive its dues; it may -be regarded and grasped as a moment in the whole organization. The Idea -has not become objective in the Indian Philosophy; hence the external -and objective has not been comprehended in accordance with the Idea. -This is the deficiency in Orientalism. - -The true, objective ground of thought finds its basis in the real -freedom of the subject; the universal or substantial must itself have -objectivity. Because thought is this universal, the ground of the -substantial and likewise “I”—thought is the implicit and exists as -the free subject—the universal has immediate existence and actual -presence; it is not only an end or condition to be arrived at, but the -absolute character is objective. It is this principle that we find in -the Greek world, and the object of our further consideration is its -development. The universal first appears as quite abstract, and as such -it confronts the concrete world; but its value is both for the ground -of the concrete world and for that which is implicit. It is not a -beyond, for the value of the present lies in the fact that it exists in -the implicit; or that which is implicit, the universal, is the truth of -present objects. - - - - -PART ONE - -GREEK PHILOSOPHY - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -THE name of Greece strikes home to the hearts of men of education in -Europe, and more particularly is this so with us Germans. Europeans -have taken their religion, the life to come, the far-off land, from a -point somewhat further off than Greece—they took it from the East, and -more especially from Syria. But the here, the present, art and science, -that which in giving liberty to our spiritual life, gives it dignity as -it likewise bestows upon it ornament, we know to have proceeded from -Greece either directly or indirectly—through the circuitous road of -Rome. The latter of these two ways was the earlier form in which this -culture came to us; it also came from the formerly universal church -which derived its origin as such from Rome, and has retained its speech -even until now. The sources of authority in addition to the Latin -Gospels have been the Fathers. Our law, too, boasts of deriving its -most perfect forms from Rome. Teutonic strength of mind has required -to pass through the hard discipline of the church and law which came -to us from Rome, and to be kept in check; it is in this way that the -European character first obtained its pliability and capacity for -freedom. Thus it was after European manhood came to be at home with -itself and to look upon the present, that the historical and that which -is of foreign derivation was given. When man began to be at home with -himself, he turned to the Greeks to find enjoyment in it. Let us leave -the Latin and the Roman to the church and to jurisprudence. Higher, -freer philosophic science, as also the beauty of our untrammelled art, -the taste for, and love of the same, we know to have taken their root -in Greek life and to have created therefrom their spirit. If we were to -have an aspiration, it would be for such a land and such conditions. - -But what makes us specially at home with the Greeks is that they -made their world their home; the common spirit of homeliness unites -us both. In ordinary life we like best the men and families that are -homely and contented in themselves, not desiring what is outside and -above them, and so it is with the Greeks. They certainly received the -substantial beginnings of their religion, culture, their common bonds -of fellowship, more or less from Asia, Syria and Egypt; but they have -so greatly obliterated the foreign nature of this origin, and it is -so much changed, worked upon, turned round, and altogether made so -different, that what they, as we, prize, know, and love in it, is -essentially their own. For this reason, in the history of Greek life, -when we go further back and seem constrained so to go back, we find -we may do without this retrogression and follow within the world and -manners of the Greeks, the beginnings, the germination and the progress -of art and science up to their maturity, even seeing the origin of -their decay—and this completely comprehended within their own range. -For their spiritual development requires that which is received or -foreign, as matter or stimulus only; in such they have known and borne -themselves as men that were free. The form which they have given to the -foreign principle is this characteristic breath of spirituality, the -spirit of freedom and of beauty which can in the one aspect be regarded -as form, but which in another and higher sense is simply substance. - -They have thus not only themselves created the substantial in their -culture and made their existence their own, but they have also held -in reverence this their spiritual rebirth, which is their real birth. -The foreign origin they have so to speak thanklessly forgotten, -putting it in the background—perhaps burying it in the darkness of -the mysteries which they have kept secret from themselves. They have -not only done this, that is they have not only used and enjoyed all -that they have brought forth and formed, but they have become aware of -and thankfully and joyfully placed before themselves this at-homeness -[Heimathlichkeit] in their whole existence, the ground and origin of -themselves, not merely existing in it, possessing and making use of -it. For their mind, when transformed in this spiritual new birth, is -just the living in their life, and also the becoming conscious of that -life as it has become actual. They represent their existence as an -object apart from themselves, which manifests itself independently and -which in its independence is of value to them; hence they have made for -themselves a history of everything which they have possessed and have -been. Not only have they represented the beginning of the world—that -is, of gods and men, the earth, the heavens, the wind, mountains -and rivers—but also of all aspects of their existence, such as the -introduction of fire and the offerings connected with it, the crops, -agriculture, the olive, the horse, marriage, property, laws, arts, -worship, the sciences, towns, princely races, &c. Of all these it is -pleasingly represented through tales how they have arisen in history as -their own work. - -It is in this veritable homeliness, or, more accurately, in the spirit -of homeliness, in this spirit of ideally being-at-home-with-themselves -in their physical, corporate, legal, moral and political existence; it -is in the beauty and the freedom of their character in history, making -what they are to be also a sort of Mnemosyne with them, that the kernel -of thinking liberty rests; and hence it was requisite that Philosophy -should arise amongst them. Philosophy is being at home with self, just -like the homeliness of the Greek; it is man’s being at home in his -mind, at home with himself. If we are at home with the Greeks, we must -be at home more particularly in their Philosophy; not, however, simply -as it is with them, for Philosophy is at home with itself, and we have -to do with Thought, with what is most specially ours, and with what is -free from all particularity. The development and unfolding of thought -has taken place with them from its earliest beginning, and in order to -comprehend their Philosophy we may remain with them without requiring -to seek for further and external influences. - -But we must specify more particularly their character and point of -view. The Greeks have a starting-point in history as truly as they have -arisen from out of themselves: this starting-point, comprehended in -thought, is the oriental substantiality of the natural unity between -the spiritual and the natural. To start from the self, to live in the -self, is the other extreme of abstract subjectivity, when it is still -empty, or rather has made itself to be empty; such is pure formalism, -the abstract principle of the modern world. The Greeks stand between -both these extremes in the happy medium; this therefore is the medium -of beauty, seeing that it is both natural and spiritual, but yet -that the spiritual still remains the governing, determining subject. -Mind immersed in nature is in substantial unity with it, and in so -far as it is consciousness, it is essentially sensuous perception: -as subjective consciousness it is certainly form-giving though it is -devoid of measure. For the Greeks, the substantial unity of nature and -spirit was a fundamental principle, and thus being in the possession -and knowledge of this, yet not being overwhelmed in it, but having -retired into themselves, they have avoided the extreme of formal -subjectivity, and are still in unity with themselves. Thus it is a -free subject which still possesses that original unity in content, -essence and substratum, and fashions its object into beauty. The stage -reached by Greek consciousness is the stage of beauty. For beauty is -the ideal; it is the thought which is derived from Mind, but in such a -way that the spiritual individuality is not yet explicit as abstract -subjectivity that has then in itself to perfect its existence into a -world of thought. What is natural and sensuous still pertains to this -subjectivity, but yet the natural form has not equal dignity and rank -with the other, nor is it predominant as is the case in the East. -The principle of the spiritual now stands first in rank, and natural -existence has no further value for itself, in its existent forms, -being the mere expression of the Mind shining through, and having been -reduced to be the vehicle and form of its existence. Mind, however, -has not yet got itself as a medium whereby it can represent itself in -itself, and from which it can form its world. - -Thus free morality could and necessarily did find a place in Greece, -for the spiritual substance of freedom was here the principle of -morals, laws and constitutions. Because the natural element is, -however, still contained in it, the form taken by the morality of -the state is still affected by what is natural; the states are -small individuals in their natural condition, which could not unite -themselves into one whole. Since the universal does not exist in -independent freedom, that which is spiritual still is limited. In -the Greek world what is potentially and actually eternal is realized -and brought to consciousness through Thought; but in such a way that -subjectivity confronts it in a determination which is still accidental, -because it is still essentially related to what is natural; and in this -we find the reason as promised above, for the fact that in Greece the -few alone are free. - -The measureless quality of substance in the East is brought, by -means of the Greek mind, into what is measurable and limited; it -is clearness, aim, limitation of forms, the reduction of what is -measureless, and of infinite splendour and riches, to determinateness -and individuality. The riches of the Greek world consist only of an -infinite quantity of beautiful, lovely and pleasing individualities -in the serenity which pervades all existence; those who are greatest -amongst the Greeks are the individualities, the connoisseurs in art, -poetry, song, science, integrity and virtue. If the serenity of the -Greeks, their beautiful gods, statues, and temples, as well as their -serious work, their institutions and acts, may seem—compared to the -splendour and sublimity, the colossal forms of oriental imagination, -the Egyptian buildings of Eastern kingdoms—to be like child’s play, -this is the case yet more with the thought that comes into existence -here. Such thought puts a limit on this wealth of individualities as on -the oriental greatness, and reduces it into its one simple soul, which, -however, is in itself the first source of the opulence of a higher -ideal world, of the world of Thought. - -“From out of thy passions, oh, man,” exclaimed an ancient, “thou -hast derived the materials for thy gods,” just as the Easterns, and -especially the Indians, did from the elements, powers and forms of -Nature. One may add, “out of Thought thou takest the element and -material for God.” Thus Thought is the ground from which God comes -forth, but it is not Thought in its commencement that constitutes the -first principle from which all culture must be grasped. It is quite the -other way. In the beginning, thought comes forth as altogether poor, -abstract, and of a content which is meagre in comparison to that given -to his subject by the oriental; for as immediate, the beginning is -just in the form of nature, and this it shares with what is oriental. -Because it thus reduces the content of the East to determinations which -are altogether poor, these thoughts are scarcely worth observation on -our part, since they are not yet proper thoughts, neither being in the -form of, or determined as thought, but belonging really to Nature. -Thus Thought is the Absolute, though not as Thought. That is, we have -always two things to distinguish, the universal or the Notion, and -the reality of this universal, for the question here arises as to -whether the reality is itself Thought or Nature. We find in the fact -that reality at first has still the immediate form and is only Thought -potentially, the reason for commencing with the Greeks and from the -natural philosophy of the Ionic school. - -As regards the external and historical condition of Greece at this -time, Greek philosophy commences in the sixth century before Christ in -the time of Cyrus, and in the period of decline in the Ionic republics -in Asia Minor. Just because this world of beauty which raised itself -into a higher kind of culture went to pieces, Philosophy arose. Crœsus -and the Lydians first brought Ionic freedom into jeopardy; later on the -Persians were those who destroyed it altogether, so that the greater -part of the inhabitants sought other spots and created colonies, more -particularly in the West. At the time of the decline in Ionic towns, -the other Greece ceased to be under its ancient lines of kings; the -Pelopideans and the other, and for the most part foreign, princely -races had passed away. Greece had in many ways come into touch with -the outside world and the Greek inhabitants likewise sought within -themselves for a bond of fellowship. The patriarchal life was past, and -in many states it came to be a necessity that they should constitute -themselves as free, organized and regulated by law. Many individuals -come into prominence who were no more rulers of their fellow-citizens -by descent, but who were by means of talent, power of imagination and -scientific knowledge, marked out and reverenced, and such individuals -came into many different relations with their fellows. Part of them -became advisers, but their advice was frequently not followed; part -of them were hated and despised by their fellow-citizens, and they -drew back from public affairs; others became violent, if not fierce -governors of the other citizens, and others again finally became the -administrators of liberty. - -_The Seven Sages_. Amongst these men just characterized, the seven -sages—in modern times excluded from the history of Philosophy—take -their place. In as far as they may be reckoned as milestones in the -history of Philosophy, something about their character should, in the -commencement of Philosophy, be shortly said. They came into prominence, -partly as taking part in the battles of the Ionic towns, partly as -expatriated, and partly as individuals of distinction in Greece. The -names of the seven are given differently: usually, however, as Thales, -Solon, Periander, Cleobulus, Chilon, Bias, Pittacus. Hermippus in -Diogenes Laertius (1, 42) specifies seventeen, and, amongst these, -various people pick out seven in various ways. According to Diogenes -Laertius (1, 41) Dicæarchus, who came still earlier in history, only -names four, and these are placed amongst the seven by all; they are -Thales, Bias, Pittacus and Solon. Besides these, Myson, Anacharsis, -Acusilaus, Epimenides, Pherecydes, &c., are mentioned. Dicæarchus -in Diogenes (1, 40), says of them that they are neither wise men -(_σοφούς_) nor philosophers, but men of understanding (_συνετξύς_) and -law-givers; this judgment has become the universal one and is held -to be just. They come in a period of transition amongst the Greeks—a -transition from a patriarchal system of kings into one of law or force. -The fame of the wisdom of these men depends, on the one hand, on the -fact that they grasped the practical essence of consciousness, or the -consciousness of universal morality as it is in and for itself, giving -expression to it in the form of moral maxims and in part in civil laws, -making these actual in the state; on the other hand it depends on -their having, in theoretic form, expressed the same in witty sayings. -Some of these sayings could not merely be regarded as thoughtful or -good reflections, but in so far, as philosophic and speculative; they -have a comprehensive, universal significance ascribed to them, which, -however, does not explain them. These men have not really made science -and Philosophy their aim; it is expressly said of Thales that it was -in the latter part of his life that he first took to Philosophy. What -had relation to politics appeared most frequently; they were practical -men, men of affairs, but not in our sense of the word; with us -practical activity devotes itself to a special line of administration -or to a particular business, or to economics, &c. They lived in -democratic states and thus shared the responsibilities of the general -administration and rule. They were not statesmen like the great Greek -personalities, like Miltiades, Themistocles, Pericles and Demosthenes, -but they were statesmen in a time when safety, preservation and, -indeed, the whole well-being, disposition and well nigh the very -foundation of civic life were in question; and certainly when this was -so with the foundations of legally established institutions. - -Thales and Bias thus appear as the representatives of the Ionic -towns. Herodotus (I. 169-171) speaks of both, and says of Thales -that he advised even before the overthrow of the Ionians (apparently -through Crœsus), that they should constitute a supreme council (_ἓν -βουλευτήριον_) in Teos, in the centre of the Ionian people, and thus -make a federal state with a capital and principal federal town, so that -they might still remain separate nations (_δῆμοι_) as before. However, -they did not follow this advice, and this isolated and weakened them, -and the result was their conquest; it has always been a difficult thing -for the Greeks to give up their individuality. Later on, when Harpagus, -the general of Cyrus who accomplished their overthrow, pressed in upon -them, the Ionians took no better the most excellent advice of Bias of -Priene, given them at the decisive moment when they were assembled at -Panionium, “to go in a common fleet to Sardinia, there to found an -Ionic state. By so doing they would escape servitude, be happy, and, -inhabiting the largest island, subdue the others. But if they remained -in Ionia there was no hope of liberty to be seen for them.” Herodotus -gives his corroboration to this advice—“If they had followed him they -would have been the happiest of Greeks.” Such things take place, but -through force and not voluntarily. - -We find the other sages under similar conditions. Solon was an -administrator in Athens, and thereby became famous; few men have -attained the honourable position of being a law-giver. Solon shares it -with Moses, Lycurgus, Zaleucus, Numa, &c., alone. No individuals can be -found amongst Teutonic peoples who possess the distinction of being the -law-givers of their people. Nowadays there can be law-givers no longer; -legal institutions and regulations are in modern times always ready to -hand, and the little that can still be done by means of the law-giver -and by law-making assemblies is simply the further modification of -details or making very insignificant additions. What is dealt with is -the compilation, wording and perfecting of the particular only; and -yet neither Solon and Lycurgus did more than respectively bring the -Ionic mind and the Doric character—being that which had been given -them and which was implicitly present—into the form of consciousness, -and obviate the temporary inconvenience of disorder through effective -laws. Solon was thus not a perfect statesman; this is manifest from -the sequel of his history. A constitution which allowed Pisistratus -in Solon’s own time to raise himself into the Tyranny, showing itself -to be so destitute of strength and organization that it could not -prevent its own overthrow, (and by what a power!) manifests some inward -want. This may seem strange, for a constitution must be able to afford -resistance to such an attack. But let us see what Pisistratus did. - -What the so-called tyrants really were, is most clearly shown by the -relation borne by Solon to Pisistratus. When orderly institutions and -laws were necessary to the Greeks, we find law-givers and regents of -states appearing, who laid down laws, and ruled accordingly. The law, -as universal, seemed and still seems now to the individual to be -force, inasmuch as he does not have regard to or comprehend the law: -it applies first to all the people, and then only, to the individual; -it is essential first of all to use constraint until the individual -attains discernment, and law to him becomes his law, and ceases to be -something foreign. Most of the law-givers and administrators of states -undertook themselves to constrain the people and to be their tyrants. -In states where they did not undertake it, it had to be done by other -individuals, for it was essential. According to Diogenes Laertius’ -account (I. 48-50), we find Solon—whom his friends advised to secure -the mastery for himself since the people held to him (_προσεῖχον_), and -would have liked to see him become tyrant—repulse them, and try to -prevent any such occurrence, when he became suspicious of Pisistratus’ -intentions. What he did when he remarked upon the attitude of -Pisistratus, was to come into the assembly of the people, and tell them -the design of Pisistratus, accoutred in armour and shield; this was -then unusual, for Thucydides (1, 6) makes it a distinguishing feature -between Greeks and Barbarians, that the former, and pre-eminently the -Athenians, put aside their arms in time of peace. He said, “Men of -Athens, I am wiser than some and braver than others: I am wiser than -those who do not see the deceit of Pisistratus, braver than those -who certainly see it, but say nothing from fear.” As he could not do -anything, he left Athens. Pisistratus is said to have then written a -most honourable letter to Solon in his absence, which Diogenes (I. -53, 54) has preserved for us, inviting him to return to Athens, and -live with him as a free citizen. “Not only am I not the only one of -the Greeks to have seized the tyranny, but I have not taken anything -which was not my due, for I am of the race of Codrus. I have only taken -back to myself what the Athenians swore they would preserve to Codrus -and his race, and yet took from them. Moreover I am doing no evil -toward gods and men, but as thou hast given laws to the Athenians, I -take care (_ἐπιτροπῶ_) that in civil life they shall carry them out -(_πολιτεύειν_.) His son Hippias did the same. And these relations are -carried out better than they would be in a democracy, for I allow -nobody to do evil (_ὑβρίζειν_), and as Tyrant, I lay claim to no more -(_πλεῖόν τι φέρομαι_) than such consideration and respect and specified -gifts (_τὰ ῥητὰ γέρα_) as would have been offered to the kings in -earlier times. Every Athenian gives the tenth part of his revenue, -not to me, but towards the cost of the public offering, and besides -for the commonwealth, and for use in case of war. I am not angry that -thou hast disclosed my project. For thou didst it more out of love to -the people than hate against me, and because thou didst not know how I -would conduct my rule. For if thou hadst known this, thou wouldst have -submitted to it willingly, and wouldst not have taken flight;” and so -he goes on. Solon, in the answer given by Diogenes, (I. 66, 67) says, -that he “has not a personal grudge against Pisistratus, and he must -call him the best of tyrants; but to turn back does not befit him. For -he made equality of rights essential in the Athenian constitution, and -himself refused the tyranny. By his return he would condone what was -done by Pisistratus.” The rule of Pisistratus accustomed the Athenians -to the laws of Solon, and brought them into usage, so that after this -usage came to be general, supremacy was superfluous; his sons were -hence driven out of Athens, and for the first time the constitution of -Solon upheld itself. Solon undoubtedly gave the laws, but it is another -thing to make such regulations effectual in the manners, habits and -life of a people. What was separate in Solon and Pisistratus, we find -united in Periander in Corinth, and Pittacus in Mitilene. - -This may be enough about the outward life of the seven sages. They are -also famed for the wisdom of the sayings which have been preserved to -us; these sayings seem in great measure, however, to be superficial -and hackneyed. The reason for this is found in the fact that, to -our reflection, general propositions are quite usual; much in the -Proverbs of Solomon seems to us to be superficial and commonplace -for the same reason. But it is quite another thing to bring to the -ordinary conception for the first time this same universal in the -form of universality. Many distichs are ascribed to Solon which we -still retain; their object is to express in maxims general obligations -towards the gods, the family and the country. Diogenes (I. 58) tells us -that Solon said: “Laws are like a spider’s web; the small are caught, -the great tear it up: speech is the image of action,” &c. Such sayings -are not philosophy, but general reflections, the expression of moral -duties, maxims, necessary determinations. The wisdom of the sages is -of this kind; many sayings are insignificant, but many seem to be more -insignificant than they are. For instance, Chilon says: “Stand surety, -and evil awaits thee” (_ἐγγύα, πάρα δ̓ ἄτα_). On the one hand this is -quite a common rule of life and prudence, but the sceptics gave to -this proposition a much higher universal significance, which is also -accredited to Chilon. This sense is, “Ally thyself closely to any -particular thing, and unhappiness will fall upon thee.” The sceptics -adduced this proposition independently, as demonstrating the principle -of scepticism, which is that nothing is finite and definite in and for -itself, being only a fleeting, vacillating phase which does not last. -Cleobulus says, _μέτρον ἄριστον_, another _μηδὲν ἄγαν_, and this has -likewise a universal significance which is that limitation, the _πέρας_ -of Plato as opposed to the _ἄπειρον_—-the self-determined as opposed -to undetermined—is what is best; and thus it is that in Being limit or -measure is the highest determination. - -One of the most celebrated sayings is that of Solon in his conversation -with Crœsus, which Herodotus (I. 30-33) has in his own way given us -very fully. The result arrived at is this:—“Nobody is to be esteemed -happy before his death.” But the noteworthy point in this narrative -is that from it we can get a better idea of the standpoint of Greek -reflection in the time of Solon. We see that happiness is put forward -as the highest aim, that which is most to be desired and which is the -end of man; before Kant, morality, as eudæmonism, was based on the -determination of happiness. In Solon’s sayings there is an advance over -the sensuous enjoyment which is merely pleasant to the feelings. Let us -ask what happiness is and what there is within it for reflection, and -we find that it certainly carries with it a certain satisfaction to the -individual, of whatever sort it be—whether obtained through physical -enjoyment or spiritual—the means of obtaining which lie in men’s own -hands. But the fact is further to be observed that not every sensuous, -immediate pleasure can be laid hold of, for happiness contains a -reflection on the circumstances as a whole, in which we have the -principle to which the principle of isolated enjoyment must give way. -Eudæmonism signifies happiness as a condition for the whole of life; -it sets up a totality of enjoyment which is a universal and a rule -for individual enjoyment, in that it does not allow it to give way to -what is momentary, but restrains desires and sets a universal standard -before one’s eyes. If we contrast it with Indian philosophy, we find -eudæmonism to be antagonistic to it. There the liberation of the soul -from what is corporeal, the perfect abstraction, the necessity that the -soul shall, in its simplicity, be at home with itself, is the final -end of man. With the Greeks the opposite is the case; the satisfaction -there is also satisfaction of the soul, but it is not attained through -flight, abstraction, withdrawal within self, but through satisfaction -in the present, concrete satisfaction in relation to the surroundings. -The stage of reflection that we reach in happiness, stands midway -between mere desire and the other extreme, which is right as right and -duty as duty. In happiness, the individual enjoyment has disappeared; -the form of universality is there, but the universal does not yet come -forth on its own account, and this is the issue of the conversation -between Crœsus and Solon. Man as thinking, is not solely engrossed -with present enjoyment, but also with the means for obtaining that to -come. Crœsus points out to him these means, but Solon still objects -to the statement of the question of Crœsus. For in order that any one -should be conceived of as happy, we must await his death, for happiness -depends upon his condition to the end, and upon the fact that his -death should be a pious one and be consistent with his higher destiny. -Because the life of Crœsus had not yet expired, Solon could not deem -him happy. And the history of Crœsus bears evidence that no momentary -state deserves the name of happiness. This edifying history holds in -its embrace the whole standpoint of the reflection of that time. - -_Division of the Subject_. In the consideration of Greek philosophy we -have now to distinguish further three important periods:—in the first -place the period from Thales to Aristotle; secondly, Greek philosophy -in the Roman world; thirdly, the Neo-platonic philosophy. - -1. We begin with thought, as it is in a quite abstract, natural or -sensuous form, and we proceed from this to the Idea as determined. This -first period shows the beginning of philosophic thought, and goes on to -its development and perfection as a totality of knowledge in itself; -this takes place in Aristotle as representing the unity of what has -come before. In Plato there is just such a union of what came earlier, -but it is not worked out, for he only represents the Idea generally. -The Neo-platonists have been called eclectics, and Plato was said to -have brought about the unity; they were not, however, eclectics, but -they had a conscious insight into the necessity for uniting these -philosophies. - -2. After the concrete Idea was reached, it came forth as if in -opposites, perfecting and developing itself. The second period is that -in which science breaks itself up into different systems. A one-sided -principle is carried through the whole conception of the world; each -side is in itself formed into a totality, and stands in the relation -of one extreme to another. The philosophical systems of Stoicism -and Epicureanism are such; scepticism forms the negative to their -dogmatism, while the other philosophies disappear. - -3. The third period is the affirmative, the withdrawal of the -opposition into an ideal world or a world of thought, a divine world. -This is the Idea developed into totality, which yet lacks subjectivity -as the infinite being-for-self. - - - - -SECTION ONE - -FIRST PERIOD, FROM THALES TO ARISTOTLE - - -IN this first period we shall again make three divisions:— - -1. The first extends from Thales to Anaxagoras, from abstract -thought which is in immediate determinateness to the thought of the -self-determining Thought. Here a beginning is made with the absolutely -simple, in which the earliest methods of determination manifest -themselves as attempts, until the time of Anaxagoras; he determines -the true as the _νοῦς_, and as active thought which no longer is in a -determinate character, but which is self-determining. - -2. The second division comprises the Sophists, Socrates, and the -followers of Socrates. Here the self-determining thought is conceived -of as present and concrete in me; that constitutes the principle of -subjectivity if not also of infinite subjectivity, for thought first -shows itself here only partly as abstract principle and partly as -contingent subjectivity. - -3. The third division, which deals with Plato and Aristotle, is found -in Greek science where objective thought, the Idea, forms itself into -a whole. The concrete, in itself determining Thought, is, with Plato, -the still abstract Idea, but in the form of universality; while with -Aristotle that Idea was conceived of as the self-determining, or in the -determination of its efficacy or activity. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -PERIOD I.—DIVISION I.—THALES TO ANAXAGORAS - - -SINCE we possess only traditions and fragments of this epoch, we may -speak here of the sources of these. - -1. The first source is found in Plato, who makes copious reference to -the older philosophers. For the reason that he makes the earlier and -apparently independent philosophies, which are not so far apart when -once their Notion is definitely grasped, into concrete moments of one -Idea, Plato’s philosophy often seems to be merely a clearer statement -of the doctrines of the older philosophers, and hence it draws upon -itself the reproach of plagiarism. Plato was willing to spend much -money in procuring the writings of the older philosophers, and, from -his profound study of these, his conclusions have much weight. But -because in his writings he never himself appeared as teacher, but -always represented other people in his dialogues as the philosophers, a -distinction never has been made between what really belonged to them in -history and what was added by him through the further development which -he effected in their thoughts. In the Parmenides, for instance, we -have the Eleatic philosophy, and yet the working out of this doctrine -belongs peculiarly to Plato. - -2. Aristotle is our most abundant authority; he studied the older -philosophers expressly and most thoroughly, and he has, in the -beginning of his Metaphysics especially, and also to a large extent -elsewhere, dealt with them, in historical order: he is as philosophic -as erudite, and we may rely upon him. We can do no better in Greek -philosophy than study the first book of his Metaphysics. When the -would-be-wise man depreciates Aristotle, and asserts that he has not -correctly apprehended Plato, it may be retorted that as he associated -with Plato himself, with his deep and comprehensive mind, perhaps no -one knew him better. - -3. Cicero’s name may also occur to us here—although he certainly is -but a troubled spring—since he undoubtedly gives us much information; -yet because he was lacking in philosophic spirit, he understood -Philosophy rather as if it were a matter of history merely. He does -not seem to have himself studied its first sources, and even avows -that, for instance, he never understood Heraclitus; and because -this old and deep philosophy did not interest him, he did not give -himself the trouble to study it. His information bears principally -on later philosophers—the Stoics, Epicureans, the new Academy, and -the Peripatetics. He saw what was ancient through their medium, -and, generally speaking, through a medium of reasoning and not of -speculation. - -4. Sextus Empiricus, a later sceptic, has importance through his -writings, _Hypotyposes Pyrrhonicæ_ and _adversus Mathematicos_. -Because, as a sceptic, he both combated the dogmatic philosophy and -also adduced other philosophers as testifying to scepticism (so that -the greater part of his writings is filled with the tenets of other -philosophers), he is the most abundant source we have for the history -of ancient philosophy, and he has retained for our use many valuable -fragments. - -5. The book of Diogenes Laertius (_De vitis_, &c., Philoss. lib. -x., ed. Meibom. c. notis Menagii, Amstel. 1692) is an important -compilation, and yet it brings forward copious evidence without much -discrimination. A philosophic spirit cannot be ascribed to it; it -rambles about amongst bad anecdotes extraneous to the matter in hand. -For the lives of philosophers, and here and there for their tenets, it -is useful. - -6. Finally, we must speak of Simplicius, a later Greek, from Cilicia, -living under Justinian, in the middle of the sixth century. He is the -most learned and acute of the Greek commentators of Aristotle, and of -his writings there is much still unpublished: to him we certainly owe -our thanks. - -I need give no more references, for they may be found without trouble -in any compendium. In the progress of Greek philosophy men were -formerly accustomed to follow the order that showed, according to -ordinary ideas, an external connection, and which is found in one -philosopher having had another as his teacher—this connection is one -which might show him to be partly derived from Thales and partly from -Pythagoras. But such a connection is in part defective in itself, and -in part it is merely external. The one set of philosophic sects, or -of philosophers classed together, which is considered as belonging to -a system—that which proceeds from Thales—pursues its course in time -and mind far separate from the other. But, in truth, no such series -ever does exist in this isolation, nor would it do so even though the -individuals were consecutive and had been externally connected as -teacher and taught, which never is the case; mind follows quite another -order. These successive series are interwoven in spirit just as much as -in their particular content. - -We come across Thales first amongst the Ionic people, to whom the -Athenians belonged, or from whom the Ionians of Asia Minor, as a whole, -derived their origin. The Ionic race appears earlier in Peloponnesus, -but seems to have been removed from thence. It is, however, not known -what nations belonged to it, for, according to Herodotus (I. 143), the -other Ionians, and even the Athenians, laid aside the name. According -to Thucydides (I. 2 and 12), the Ionic colonies in Asia Minor and the -islands proceeded principally from Athens, because the Athenians, -on account of the over-population of Attica, migrated there. We find -the greatest activity in Greek life on the coasts of Asia Minor, in -the Greek islands, and then towards the west of Magna Græcia; we see -amongst these people, through their internal political activity and -their intercourse with foreigners, the existence of a diversity and -variety in their relations, whereby narrowness of vision is done away -with, and the universal rises in its place. These two places, Ionia and -Greater Greece, are thus the two localities where this first period -in the history of Philosophy plays its part until the time when, that -period being ended, Philosophy plants itself in Greece proper, and -there makes its home. Those spots were also the seat of early commerce -and of an early culture, while Greece itself, so far as these are -concerned, followed later. - -We must thus remark that the character of the two sides into which -these philosophies divide, the philosophy of Asia Minor in the east -and that of Grecian Italy in the west, partakes of the character of -the geographical distinction. On the Asia Minor side, and also in -the islands, we find Thales, Anaximander, Anaximenes, Heraclitus, -Leucippus, Democritus, Anaxagoras, and Diogenes from Crete. On the -other side are the inhabitants of Italy: Pythagoras from Samos, who -lived in Italy, however; Xenophanes, Parmenides, Zeno, Empedocles; -and several of the Sophists also lived in Italy. Anaxagoras was the -first to come to Athens, and thus his science takes a middle place -between both extremes, and Athens was made its centre. The geographical -distinction makes its appearance in the manifestation of Thought, -in the fact that, with the Orientals a sensuous, material side is -dominant, and in the west, Thought, on the contrary, prevails, because -it is constituted into the principle in the form of thought. Those -philosophers who turned to the east knew the absolute in a real -determination of nature, while towards Italy there is the ideal -determination of the absolute. These explanations will be sufficient -for us here; but Empedocles, whom we find in Sicily, is somewhat of -a natural philosopher, while Gorgias, the Sicilian sophist, remains -faithful to the ideal side. - -We now have to consider further:—1, The Ionians, viz. Thales, -Anaximander, Anaximenes; 2, Pythagoras and his followers; 3, the -Eleatics, viz. Xenophanes, Parmenides, &c.; 4, Heraclitus; 5, -Empedocles, Leucippus and Democritus; 6, Anaxagoras. We have to trace -and point out the progression of this philosophy also. The first and -altogether abstract determinations are found with Thales and the -other Ionians; they grasped the universal in the form of a natural -determination, as water and air. Progression must thus take place by -leaving behind the merely natural determination; and we find that this -is so with the Pythagoreans. They say that number is the substance or -the essence of things; number is not sensuous, nor is it pure thought, -but it is a non-sensuous object of sense. It was with the Eleatics -that pure thought appeared, and that its forcible liberation from the -sensuous form and the form of number came to pass; and thus from them -proceeds the dialectic movement of thought, which negates the definite -particular in order to show that it is not the many but only the one -that is true. Heraclitus declares the Absolute to be this very process, -which, according to the Eleatics, was still subjective; he arrived at -objective consciousness, since in it the Absolute is that which moves -or changes. Empedocles, Leucippus, and Democritus, on the contrary, -rather go to the opposite extreme, to the simple, material, stationary -principle, to the substratum which underlies the process; and thus this -last, as being movement, is distinguished from it. With Anaxagoras it -is the moving, self-determining thought itself that is then known as -existence, and this is a great step forward. - - -A. THE IONIC PHILOSOPHY. - -Here we have the earlier Ionic philosophy, which we desire to treat as -shortly as possible; and this is so much the easier, that the thought -contained in it is very abstract and barren. Other philosophers than -Thales, Anaximander, and Anaximenes, only come under our consideration -as names. We have no more than half a dozen passages in the whole -of the early Ionic philosophy, and that makes it an easy study. Yet -learning prides itself most upon the ancients, for we may be most -learned about that of which we know the least. - - -1. _Thales._ - -With Thales we, properly speaking, first begin the history of -Philosophy. The life of Thales occurred at the time when the Ionic -towns were under the dominion of Crœsus. Through his overthrow (Ol. -58, 1; 548 B.C.), an appearance of freedom was produced, yet the most -of these towns were conquered by the Persians, and Thales survived the -catastrophe only a few years. He was born at Miletus; his family is, -by Diogenes (I. 22, 37), stated to be the Phœnician one of Thelides, -and the date of his birth, according to the best calculation, is placed -in the first year of the 35th Olympiad (640 B.C.), but according to -Meiners it was a couple of Olympiads later (38th Olympiad, 629 B.C.). -Thales lived as a statesman partly with Crœsus and partly in Miletus. -Herodotus quotes him several times, and tells (I. 75) that, according -to the narratives of the Greeks, when Crœsus went to battle against -Cyrus and had difficulty in passing over the river Halys, Thales, who -accompanied the army, diverted the river by a trench, which he made -in the form of a crescent behind the camp, so that it could then be -forded. Diogenes (I. 25) says further of him as regards his relations -to his country, that he restrained the men of Miletus from allying -themselves with Crœsus when he went against Cyrus, and that hence, -after the conquest of Crœsus, when the other Ionic States were subdued -by the Persians, the inhabitants of Miletus alone remained undisturbed. -Diogenes records, moreover (I. 23), that he soon withdrew his attention -from the affairs of the State and devoted himself entirely to science. - -Voyages to Phœnicia are recorded of him, which, however, rest on vague -tradition; but that he was in Egypt in his old age seems undoubted.[19] -There he was said to have learned geometry, but this would appear -not to have been much, judging from the anecdote, which Diogenes (I. -24, 27) retails from a certain Hieronymus. It was to the effect that -Thales taught the Egyptians to measure the height of their pyramids -by shadow—by taking the relation borne by the height of a man to his -shadow. The terms of the proportion are: as the shadow of a man is to -the height of a man, so is the shadow of a pyramid to its height. If -this were something new to the Egyptians, they must have been very far -back in the theory of geometry. Herodotus tells (I. 74), moreover, -that Thales foretold an eclipse of the sun that happened exactly on -the day of the battle between the Medians and Lydians, and that he -ascribed the rising of the Nile to the contrary Etesian winds, which -drove back the waters.[20] We have some further isolated instances -of, and anecdotes about his astronomical knowledge and works.[21] “In -gazing at and making observations on the stars, he fell into a ditch, -and the people mocked him as one who had knowledge of heavenly objects -and yet could not see what lay at his own feet.” The people laugh at -such things, and boast that philosophers cannot tell them about such -matters; but they do not understand that philosophers laugh at them, -for they do not fall into a ditch just because they lie in one for -all time, and because they cannot see what exists above them. He also -showed, according to Diogenes (I. 26), that a wise man, if he wishes, -can easily acquire riches. It is more important that he fixed that the -year, as solar year, should have 365 days. The anecdote of the golden -tripod to be given to the wisest man, is recorded by Diogenes (I. -27-33); and it carries with it considerable weight, because he combines -all the different versions of the story. The tripod was given to Thales -or to Bias; Thales gave it to some one else, and thus it went through -a circle until it again came to Thales; the latter, or else Solon, -decided that Apollo was wisest, and sent it to Didyma or to Delphi. -Thales died, according to Diogenes (I. 38), aged seventy-eight or -ninety, in the 58th Olympiad; according to Tennemann (vol. i. p. 414), -it was in Olympiad 59, 2 (543 B.C.), when Pythagoras came to Crotona. -Diogenes relates that he died at one of the games, overcome by heat and -thirst. - -We have no writings by Thales, and we do not know whether he was in -the habit of writing. Diogenes Laertius (I. 23, 34, 35) speaks of two -hundred verses on astronomy, and some maxims, such as “It is not the -many words that have most meaning.” - -As to his philosophy, he is universally recognized as the first natural -philosopher, but all one knows of him is little, and yet we seem to -know the most of what there is. For since we find that the further -philosophic progress of which his speculative idea was capable, and the -understanding of his propositions, which they alone could have, make -their first appearance and form particular epochs with the philosophers -succeeding him, who may be recognized thereby, this development -ascribed to Thales never took place with him at all. Thus if it is the -case that a number of his other reflections have been lost, they cannot -have had any particular speculative value; and his philosophy does not -show itself to be an imperfect system from want of information about -it, but because the first philosophy cannot be a system. - -We must listen to Aristotle as regards these ancient philosophers, -for he speaks most sympathetically of them. In the passage of most -importance (Metaph. I. 3), he says: “Since it is clear that we must -acquire the science of first causes (_ἐξ ἀρχῆς αἰτίν_), seeing that -we say that a person knows a thing when he becomes acquainted with -its cause, there are, we must recollect, four causes—Being and Form -first (for the ‘why’ is finally led back to the Notion, but yet the -first ‘why’ is a cause and principle); matter and substratum, second; -the cause whence comes the beginning of movement, third; and fourth -the cause which is opposed to this, the aim in view and the good (for -that is the end of every origination). Hence we would make mention of -those who have undertaken the investigation of Being before us, and -have speculated regarding the Truth, for they openly advance certain -principles and first causes. If we take them under our consideration, -it will be of this advantage, so far as our present investigation -goes, that we shall either find other kinds of causes or be enabled -to have so much the more confidence in those just named. Most of the -earliest philosophers have placed the principles of everything in -something in the form of matter (_ἐν ὕλης εἴδει_), for, that from which -everything existent comes, and out of which it takes its origin as its -first source, and into which it finally sinks, as substance (_οὐσία_), -ever remains the same and only changes in its particular qualities -(_πάθεσι_); and this is called the element (_στοιχεῖον_) and this the -principle of all that exists” (the absolute prius). “On this account -they maintain that nothing arises or passes away, because the same -nature always remains. For instance, we say that, absolutely speaking, -Socrates neither originates if he becomes beautiful or musical, nor -does he pass away if he loses these qualities, because the subject (_τὸ -ὑποκείμενον_), Socrates, remains the same. And so it is with all else. -For there must be one nature, or more than one, from which all else -arises, because it maintains its existence” (_σωζομένης ἐκείνης_), -that means that in its change there is no reality or truth. “All do not -coincide as to the number of this principle or as to its description -(_εἶδος_); Thales, the founder of this philosophy,” (which recognizes -something material as the principle and substance of all that is), -“says that it is water. Hence he likewise asserts the earth to be -founded on water.” Water is thus the _ὑποκείμενον_, the first ground, -and, according to Seneca’s statement (Quæst. Nat. vi. 6), it seems to -him to be not so much the inside of the earth, as what encloses it -which is the universal existence; for “Thales considered that the whole -earth has water as its support (_subjecto humore_), and that it swims -thereon.” - -We might first of all expect some explanation of the application of -these principles, as, for example, how it is to be proved that water is -the universal substance, and in what way particular forms are deduced -from it. But as to this we must say that of Thales in particular, -we know nothing more than his principle, which is that water is the -god over all. No more do we know anything further of Anaximander, -Anaximenes and Diogenes than their principles. Aristotle brings forward -a conjecture as to how Thales derived everything directly out of water, -“Perhaps (_ἴσως_) the conclusions of Thales have been brought about -from the reflection that it was evident that all nourishment is moist, -and warmth itself comes out of moisture and thereby life continues. -But that from which anything generates is the principle of all things. -This was one reason for holding this theory, and another reason is -contained in the fact that all germs are moist in character, and water -is the principle of what is moist.” It is necessary to remark that -the circumstances introduced by Aristotle with a “perhaps” which are -supposed to have brought about the conclusions of Thales, making water -the absolute essence of everything, are not adduced as the grounds -acknowledged by Thales. And furthermore, they can hardly be called -grounds, for what Aristotle does is rather to establish, as we would -say from actuality, that the latter corresponds to the universal -idea of water. His successors, as for instance Pseudo-Plutarch (De -plac. phil. I. 3), have taken Thales’ assertion as positive and not -hypothetical; Tiedmann (_Geist der spec. Phil._ vol. I. p. 36) remarks -with great reason that Plutarch omits the “perhaps.” For Plutarch -says, “Thales suggests (_στοχάζεται_) that everything takes its origin -from water and resolves itself into the same, because as the germs of -all that live have moisture as the principle of life, all else might -likewise (_εἰκός_) take its principle from moisture; for all plants -draw their nourishment, and thus bear fruit, from water, and if they -are without it, fade away; and even the fires of sun, and stars and -world are fed through the evaporation of water.” Aristotle is contented -with simply showing in regard to moisture that, at least, it is -everywhere to be found. Since Plutarch gives more definite grounds for -holding that water is the simple essence of things, we must see whether -things, in so far as they are simple essence, are water, (_α_) The germ -of the animal, of moist nature, is undoubtedly the animal as the simple -actual, or as the essence of its actuality, or undeveloped actuality. -(_β_) If, with plants, water may be regarded as for their nourishment, -nourishment is still only the being of a thing as formless substance -that first becomes individualized by individuality, and thus succeeds -in obtaining form. (_γ_) To make sun, moon and the whole world arise -through evaporation, like the food of plants, certainly approximates to -the idea of the ancients, who did not allow the sun and moon to have -obtained independence as we do. - -“There are also some,” continues Aristotle, “who hold that all the -ancients who, at the first and long before the present generation, -made theology their study, understood Nature thus. They made Oceanus -and Tethys the producers of all origination (_τῆς γενέσεως_), and -water, which by the poets is called Styx, the oath of the gods. For -what is most ancient is most revered, and the oath is that most held in -reverence.” This old tradition has within it speculative significance. -If anything cannot be proved or is devoid of objective form, such as -we have in respect of payment in a discharge, or in witnesses who have -seen the transaction, the oath, the confirmation of myself as object, -expresses the fact that my assurance is absolute truth. Now since, by -way of confirmation, men swear by what is best, by what is absolutely -certain, and the gods swore by the subterranean water, it follows that -the essence of pure thought, the inmost being, the reality in which -consciousness finds its truth, is water; I, so to speak, express this -clear certainty of myself as object, as God. - -1. The closer consideration of this principle in its bearings would -have no interest. For since the whole philosophy of Thales lies in -the fact that water is this principle, the only point of interest can -be to ask how far that principle is important and speculative. Thales -comprehends essence as devoid of form. While the sensuous certitude -of each thing in its individuality is not questioned, this objective -actuality is now to be raised into the Notion that reflects itself -into itself and is itself to be set forth as Notion; in commencement -this is seen in the world’s being manifested as water, or as a simple -universal. Fluid is, in its Notion, life, and hence it is water itself, -spiritually expressed; in the so-called grounds or reasons, on the -contrary, water has the form of existent universal. We certainly -grant this universal activity of water, and for that reason call it -an element, a physical universal power; but while we find it thus to -be the universal of activity, we also find it to be this actual, not -everywhere, but in proximity to other elements—earth, air and fire. -Water thus has not got a sensuous universality, but a speculative one -merely; to be speculative universality, however, would necessitate its -being Notion and having what is sensuous removed. Here we have the -strife between sensuous universality and universality of the Notion. -The real essence of nature has to be defined, that is, nature has to -be expressed as the simple essence of thought. Now simple essence, the -Notion of the universal, is that which is devoid of form, but this -water as it is, comes into the determination of form, and is thus, in -relation to others, a particular existence just like everything that -is natural. Yet as regards the other elements, water is determined as -formless and simple, while the earth is that which has points, air is -the element of all change, and fire evidently changes into itself. -Now if the need of unity impels us to recognize for separate things a -universal, water, although it has the drawback of being a particular -thing, can easily be utilized as the One, both on account of its -neutrality, and because it is more material than air. - -The proposition of Thales, that water is the Absolute, or as the -ancients say, the principle, is the beginning of Philosophy, because -with it the consciousness is arrived at that essence, truth, that which -is alone in and for itself, are one. A departure from what is in our -sensuous perception here takes place; man recedes from this immediate -existence. We must be able to forget that we are accustomed to a rich -concrete world of thought; with us the very child learns, “There is -one God in Heaven, invisible.” Such determinations are not yet present -here; the world of Thought must first be formed and there is as yet no -pure unity. Man has nature before him as water, air, stars, the arch -of the heavens; and the horizon of his ideas is limited to this. The -imagination has, indeed, its gods, but its content still is natural; -the Greeks had considered sun, mountains, earth, sea, rivers, &c., -as independent powers, revered them as gods, and elevated them by -the imagination to activity, movement, consciousness and will. What -there is besides, like the conceptions of Homer, for instance, is -something in which thought could not find satisfaction; it produces -mere images of the imagination, endlessly endowed with animation and -form, but destitute of simple unity. It must undoubtedly be said that -in this unconsciousness of an intellectual world, one must acknowledge -that there is a great robustness of mind evinced in not granting this -plenitude of existence to the natural world, but in reducing it to -a simple substance, which, as the ever enduring principle, neither -originates nor disappears, while the gods have a Theogony and are -manifold and changing. This wild, endlessly varied imagination of -Homer is set at rest by the proposition that existence is water; this -conflict of an endless quantity of principles, all these ideas that -a particular object is an independent truth, a self-sufficient power -over others existing in its own right, are taken away, and it is shown -likewise that there is only one universal, the universal self-existent, -the simple unimaginative perception, the thought that is one and one -alone. - -This universal stands in direct relationship to the particular -and to the existence of the world as manifested. The first thing -implied in what has been said, is that the particular existence -has no independence, is not true in and for itself, but is only an -accidental modification. But the affirmative point of view is that all -other things proceed from the one, that the one remains thereby the -substance from which all other things proceed, and it is only through -a determination which is accidental and external that the particular -existence has its being. It is similarly the case that all particular -existence is transient, that is, it loses the form of particular and -again becomes the universal, water. The simple proposition of Thales -therefore, is Philosophy, because in it water, though sensuous, is not -looked at in its particularity as opposed to other natural things, but -as Thought in which everything is resolved and comprehended. Thus we -approach the divorce of the absolute from the finite; but it is not -to be thought that the unity stands above, and that down here we have -the finite world. This idea is often found in the common conception -of God—where permanence is attributed to the world and where men -often represent two kinds of actuality to themselves, a sensuous and a -supersensuous world of equal standing. The philosophic point of view is -that the one is alone the truly actual, and here we must take actual in -its higher significance, because we call everything actual in common -life. The second circumstance to be remembered is that with the ancient -philosophers, the principle has a definite and, at first, a physical -form. To us this does not appear to be philosophic but only physical; -in this case, however, matter has philosophic significance. Thales’ -theory is thus a natural philosophy, because this universal essence -is determined as real; consequently the Absolute is determined as the -unity of thought and Being. - -2. Now if we have this undifferentiated principle predominating, the -question arises as to the determination of this first principle. The -transition from universal to particular at once becomes essential, and -it begins with the determination of activity; the necessity for such -arises here. That which is to be a veritable principle must not have -a one-sided, particular form, but in it the difference must itself -be absolute, while other principles are only special kinds of forms. -The fact that the Absolute is what determines itself is already more -concrete; we have the activity and the higher self-consciousness of the -spiritual principle, by which the form has worked itself into being -absolute form, the totality of form. Since it is most profound, this -comes latest; what has first to be done is merely to look at things as -determined. - -Form is lacking to water as conceived by Thales. How is this accorded -to it? The method is stated (and stated by Aristotle, but not directly -of Thales), in which particular forms have arisen out of water; it -is said to be through a process of condensation and rarefaction -(_πυκνότητι καὶ μανότητι_), or, as it may be better put, through -greater or less intensity. Tennemann (vol. I. p. 59) in reference to -this, cites from Aristotle, _De gen. et corrupt._ I. 1, where there -is no mention of condensation and rarefaction as regards Thales, and -further, _De cælo_, III. 5, where it is only said that those who uphold -water or air, or something finer than water or coarser than air, define -difference as density and rarity, but nothing is said of its being -Thales who gave expression to this distinction. Tiedmann (vol. I. p. -38) quotes yet other authorities; it was, however, later on, that this -distinction was first ascribed to Thales.[22] Thus much is made out, -that for the first time in this natural philosophy as in the modern, -that which is essential in form is really the quantitative difference -in its existence. This merely quantitative difference, however, which, -as the increasing and decreasing density of water, constitutes its -only form-determination, is an external expression of the absolute -difference; it is an unessential distinction set up through another and -is not the inner difference of the Notion in itself; it is therefore -not worth while to spend more time over it. - -Difference as regards the Notion has no physical significance, -but differences or the simple duality of form in the sides of its -opposition, must be comprehended as universally in the Notion. On this -account a sensuous interpretation must not be given to the material, -that is to particular determinations, as when it is definitely said -that rare water is air, rare air, fiery ether, thick water, mud, which -then becomes earth; according to this, air would be the rarefaction of -the first water, ether the rarefaction of air, and earth and mud the -sediment of water. As sensuous difference or change, the division here -appears as something manifested for consciousness; the moderns have -experimented in making thicker and thinner what to the senses is the -same. - -Change has consequently a double sense; one with reference to existence -and another with reference to the Notion. When change is considered -by the ancients, it is usually supposed to have to do with a change -in what exists, and thus, for instance, inquiry would be made as to -whether water can be changed through chemical action, such as heat, -distillation, &c., into earth; finite chemistry is confined to this. -But what is meant in all ancient philosophies is change as regards -the Notion. That is to say, water does not become converted into air -or space and time in retorts, &c. But in every philosophic idea, this -transition of one quality into another takes place, _i.e._ this inward -connection is shown in the Notion, according to which no one thing can -subsist independently and without the other, for the life of nature -has its subsistence in the fact that one thing is necessarily related -to the other. We certainly are accustomed to believe that if water -were taken away, it would indeed fare badly with plants and animals, -but that stones would still remain; or that of colours, blue could -be abstracted without harming in the least yellow or red. As regards -merely empirical existence, it may easily be shown that each quality -exists on its own account, but in the Notion they only are, through one -another, and by virtue of an inward necessity. We certainly see this -also in living matter, where things happen in another way, for here -the Notion comes into existence; thus if, for example, we abstract the -heart, the lungs and all else collapse. And in the same way all nature -exists only in the unity of all its parts, just as the brain can exist -only in unity with the other organs. - -3. If the form is, however, only expressed in both its sides as -condensation and rarefaction, it is not in and for itself, for to be -this it must be grasped as the _absolute Notion_, and as an endlessly -forming unity. What is said on this point by Aristotle (De Anima, I. -2, also 5) is this: “Thales seems, according to what is said of him, -to consider the soul as something having movement, for he says of -the loadstone that it has a soul, since it moves the iron.” Diogenes -Laertius (I. 24) adds amber to this, from which we see that even Thales -knew about electricity, although another explanation of it is that -_ἤλεκτρον_ was besides a metal. Aldobrandini says of this passage in -Diogenes, that it is a stone which is so hostile to poison that when -touched by such it immediately hisses. The above remark by Aristotle -is perverted by Diogenes to such an extent that he says: “Thales has -likewise ascribed a soul to what is lifeless.” However, this is not the -question, for the point is how he thought of absolute form, and whether -he expressed the Idea generally as soul so that absolute essence should -be the unity of simple essence and form. - -Diogenes certainly says further of Thales (I. 27), “The world is -animated and full of demons,” and Plutarch (De plac. phil. I. 7) -says, “He called God the Intelligence (_νοῦς_) of the world.” But all -the ancients, and particularly Aristotle, ascribe this expression -unanimously to Anaxagoras as the one who first said that the _νοῦς_ -is the principle of things. Thus it does not conduce to the further -determination of form according to Thales, to find in Cicero (De Nat. -Deor. I. 10) this passage: “Thales says that water is the beginning -of everything, but God is the Mind which forms all that is, out of -water.” Thales may certainly have spoken of God, but Cicero has -added the statement that he comprehended him as the _νοῦς_ which -formed everything out of water. Tiedmann (vol. I. p. 42) declares the -passage to be possibly corrupt, since Cicero later on (c. 11) says -of Anaxagoras that “he first maintained the order of things to have -been brought about through the infinite power of Mind.” However, the -Epicurean, in whose mouth these words are put, speaks “with confidence -only fearing that he should appear to have any doubts” (c. 8) both -previously and subsequently of other philosophers rather foolishly, so -that this description is given merely as a jest. Aristotle understands -historic accuracy better, and therefore we must follow him. But to -those who make it their business to find everywhere the conception of -the creation of the world by God, that passage in Cicero is a great -source of delight, and it is a much disputed point whether Thales is -to be counted amongst those who accepted the existence of a God. The -Theism of Thales is maintained by Plouquet, whilst others would have -him to be an atheist or polytheist, because he says that everything is -full of demons. However, this question as to whether Thales believed -in God does not concern us here, for acceptation, faith, popular -religion are not in question; we only have to do with the philosophic -determination of absolute existence. And if Thales did speak of God as -constituting everything out of this same water, that would not give us -any further information about this existence; we should have spoken -unphilosophically of Thales because we should have used an empty word -without inquiring about its speculative significance. Similarly the -word world-soul is useless, because its being is not thereby expressed. - -Thus all these further, as also later, assertions do not justify us in -maintaining that Thales comprehended form in the absolute in a definite -manner; on the contrary, the rest of the history of philosophical -development refutes this view. We see that form certainly seems to -be shown forth in existence, but as yet this unity is no further -developed. The idea that the magnet has a soul is indeed always better -than saying that it has the power of attraction; for power is a quality -which is considered as a predicate separable from matter, while soul -is movement in unison with matter in its essence. An idea such as -this of Thales stands isolated, however, and has no further relation -to his absolute thought. Thus, in fact, the philosophy of Thales is -comprised in the following simple elements: (_a_) It has constituted -an abstraction in order to comprehend nature in a simple sensuous -essence. (_b_) It has brought forth the Notion of ground or principle; -that is, it has defined water to be the infinite Notion, the simple -essence of thought, without determining it further as the difference of -quantity. That is the limited significance of this principle of Thales. - - -2. _Anaximander._ - -Anaximander was also of Miletus, and he was a friend of Thales. “The -latter,” says Cicero (Acad. Quaest. IV. 37), “could not convince him -that everything consisted of water.” Anaximander’s father was called -Praxiades; the date of his birth is not quite certain; according to -Tennemann (vol. I. p. 413), it is put in Olympiad 42, 3 (610 B.C.), -while Diogenes Laertius (II. I, 2) says, taking his information -from Apollodorus, an Athenian, that in Ol. 58, 2 (547 B.C.), he was -sixty-four years old, and that he died soon after, that is to say about -the date of Thales’ death. And taking for granted that he died in his -ninetieth year, Thales must have been nearly twenty-eight years older -than Anaximander. It is related of Anaximander that he lived in Samos -with the tyrant Polycrates, where were Pythagoras and Anacreon also. -Themistius, according to Brucker (Pt. I. p. 478), says of him that -he first put his philosophic thoughts into writing, but this is also -recorded of others, as for example, of Pherecydes, who was older than -he. Anaximander is said to have written about nature, the fixed stars, -the sphere, besides other matters; he further produced something like a -map, showing the boundary (_πρίμετρον_) of land and sea; he also made -other mathematical inventions, such as a sun-dial that he put up in -Lacedæmon, and instruments by which the course of the sun was shown, -and the equinox determined; a chart of the heavens was likewise made by -him. - -His philosophical reflections are not comprehensive, and do not extend -as far as to determination. Diogenes says in the passage quoted -before: “He adduced the Infinite” (_τὸ ἄπειρον_, the undetermined), -“as principle and element; he neither determined it as air or water or -any such thing.” There are, however, few attributes of this Infinite -given. (_α_.) “It is the principle of all becoming and passing away; -at long intervals infinite worlds or gods rise out of it, and again -they pass away into the same.” This has quite an oriental tone. “He -gives as a reason that the principle is to be determined as the -Infinite, the fact that it does not need material for continuous -origination. It contains everything in itself and rules over all: it -is divine, immortal, and never passes away.”[23] (_β_.) Out of the -one, Anaximander separates the opposites which are contained in it, -as do Empedocles and Anaxagoras; thus everything in this medley is -certainly there, but undetermined.[24] That is, everything is really -contained therein in possibility (_δυνάμει_), “so that,” says Aristotle -(Metaphys. XI. 2), “it is not only that everything arises accidentally -out of what is not, but everything also arises from what is, although -it is from incipient being which is not yet in actuality.” Diogenes -Laertius adds (II. 1): “The parts of the Infinite change, but it itself -is unchangeable.” (_γ_.) Lastly, it is said that the infinitude is in -size and not in number, and Anaximander differs thus from Anaxagoras, -Empedocles and the other atomists, who maintain the absolute discretion -of the infinite, while Anaximander upholds its absolute continuity.[25] -Aristotle (Metaphys. I. 8) speaks also of a principle which is neither -water nor air, but is “thicker than air and thinner than water.” Many -have connected this idea with Anaximander, and it is possible that it -belongs to him. - -The advance made by the determination of the principle as infinite in -comprehensiveness rests in the fact that absolute essence no longer is -a simple universal, but one which negates the finite. At the same time, -viewed from the material side, Anaximander removes the individuality -of the element of water; his objective principle does not appear to -be material, and it may be understood as Thought. But it is clear -that he did not mean anything else than matter generally, universal -matter.[26] Plutarch reproaches Anaximander “for not saying what (_τι_) -his infinite is, whether air, water or earth.” But a definite quality -such as one of these is transient; matter determined as infinitude -means the motion of positing definite forms, and again abolishing the -separation. True and infinite Being is to be shown in this and not in -negative absence of limit. This universality and negation of the finite -is, however, our operation only: in describing matter as infinite, -Anaximander does not seem to have said that this is its infinitude. - -He has said further (and in this, according to Theophrastus, he agrees -with Anaxagoras), “In the infinite the like separates itself from the -unlike and allies itself to the like; thus what in the whole was gold -becomes gold, what was earth, earth, &c., so that properly nothing -originates, seeing that it was already there.”[27] These, however, are -poor determinations, which only show the necessity of the transition -from the undetermined to the determined; for this still takes place -here in an unsatisfying way. As to the further question of how the -infinite determines the opposite in its separation, it seems that the -theory of the quantitative distinction of condensation and rarefaction -was held by Anaximander as well as by Thales. Those who come later -designate the process of separation from the Infinite as development. -Anaximander supposes man to develop from a fish, which abandoned water -for the land.[28] Development comes also into prominence in recent -times, but as a mere succession in time—a formula in the use of which -men often imagine that they are saying something brilliant; but there -is no real necessity, no thought, and above all, no Notion contained in -it. - -But in later records the idea of warmth, as being the disintegration of -form, and that of cold, is ascribed to Anaximander by Stobæus (Eclog. -Phys. c. 24, p. 500); this Aristotle (Metaphys. I. 5) first ascribed -to Parmenides. Eusebius (De præp. Evang. I. 8), out of a lost work of -Plutarch, gives us something from Anaximander’s Cosmogony which is -dark, and which, indeed, Eusebius himself did not rightly understand. -Its sense is approximately this: “Out of the Infinite, infinite -heavenly spheres and infinite worlds have been set apart; but they -carry within them their own destruction, because they only are through -constant dividing off.” That is, since the Infinite is the principle, -separation is the positing of a difference, i.e. of a determination or -something finite. “The earth has the form of a cylinder, the height -of which is the third part of the breadth. Both of the eternally -productive principles of warmth and cold separate themselves in the -creation of this earth, and a fiery sphere is formed round the air -encircling the earth, like the bark around a tree. As this broke up, -and the pieces were compressed into circles, sun, moon, and stars -were formed.” Hence Anaximander, according to Stobæus (Ecl. Phys. 25, -p. 510), likewise called the stars “wheel-shaped with fire-filled -wrappings of air.” This Cosmogony is as good as the geological -hypothesis of the earth-crust which burst open, or as Buffon’s -explosion of the sun, which beginning, on the other hand, with the sun, -makes the planets to be stones projected from it. While the ancients -confined the stars to our atmosphere, and made the sun first proceed -from the earth, we make the sun to be the substance and birthplace of -the earth, and separate the stars entirely from any further connection -with us, because for us, like the gods worshipped by the Epicureans, -they are at rest. In the process of origination, the sun, indeed, -descends as the universal, but in nature it is that which comes later; -thus in truth the earth is the totality, and the sun but an abstract -moment. - - -3. _Anaximenes._ - -Anaximenes still remains as having made his appearance between the -55th and 58th Olympiads (560-548 B.C.). He was likewise of Miletus, a -contemporary and friend of Anaximander; he has little to distinguish -him, and very little is known about him. Diogenes Laertius says neither -with consideration nor consistency (II. 3): “He was born, according -to Apollodorus in the 63rd Olympiad, and died in the year Sardis was -conquered” (by Cyrus, Olympiad 58th). - -In place of the undetermined matter of Anaximander, he brings forward -a definite natural element; hence the absolute is in a real form, -but instead of the water of Thales, that form is air. He found that -for matter a sensuous being was indeed essential, and air has the -additional advantage of being more devoid of form; it is less corporeal -than water, for we do not see it, but feel it first in movement. -Plutarch (De plac. phil. I. 3) says: “Out of it everything comes forth, -and into it everything is again resolved.” According to Cicero (De Nat. -Deor. I. 10), “he defined it as immeasurable, infinite, and in constant -motion.” Diogenes Laertius expresses this in the passage already -quoted: “The principle is air and the infinite” (_οὖτος ἀρχὴν ἀέρα εἶπε -καὶ τὸ ἄπειρον_) as if there were two principles; however, _ἀρχὴν καὶ -ἄπειρον_ may be taken together as subject, and _ἀέρα_ regarded as the -predicate in the statement. For Simplicius, in dealing with the Physics -of Aristotle, expressly says (p. 6, a) “that the first principle was to -him one and infinite in nature as it was to Anaximander, but it was not -indefinite as with the latter, but determined, that is, it was air,” -which, however, he seems to have understood as endowed with soul. - -Plutarch characterizes Anaximenes’ mode of representation which makes -everything proceed from air—later on it was called ether—and resolve -itself therein, better thus: “As our soul, which is air, holds us -together (_συγρατεῖ_), one spirit (_πνεῦμα_) and air together likewise -hold (_περιέχει_) the whole world together; spirit and air are -synonymous.” Anaximenes shows very clearly the nature of his essence -in the soul, and he thus points out what may be called the transition -of natural philosophy into the philosophy of consciousness, or the -surrender of the objective form of principle. The nature of this -principle has hitherto been determined in a manner which is foreign -and negative to consciousness; both its reality, water or air, and the -infinite are a “beyond” to consciousness. But soul is the universal -medium; it is a collection of conceptions which pass away and come -forth, while the unity and continuity never cease. It is active as -well as passive, from its unity severing asunder the conceptions and -sublating them, and it is present to itself in its infinitude, so that -negative signification and positive come into unison. Speaking more -precisely, this idea of the nature of the origin of things is that of -Anaxagoras, the pupil of Anaximenes. - -Pherecydes has also to be mentioned as the teacher of Pythagoras; he -is of Syros, one of the Cyclades islands. He is said to have drawn -water from a spring, and to have learned therefrom that an earthquake -would take place in three days; he is also said to have predicted of -a ship in full sail that it would go down, and it sank in a moment. -Theopompus in Diogenes Laertius (I. 116), relates of this Pherecydes -that “he first wrote to the Greeks about Nature and the gods” (which -was before said of Anaximander). His writings are said to have been in -prose, and from what is related of them it is clear that it must have -been a theogony of which he wrote. The first words, still preserved -to us, are: “Jupiter and Time and what is terrestrial (_χθών_) were -from eternity (_εἰς ἀεί_); the name of earthly (_χθονίῃ_) was given -to the terrestrial sphere when Zeus granted to it gifts.”[29] How it -goes on is not known, but this cannot be deemed a great loss. Hermias -tells us only this besides:[30] “He maintained Zeus or Fire (_αἰθέρα_), -Earth and Chronos or Time as principles—fire as active, earth as -passive, and time as that in which everything originates.” Diogenes of -Apollonia, Hippasus, and Archelaus are also called Ionic philosophers, -but we know nothing more of them than their names, and that they gave -their adherence to one principle or the other. - -We shall leave these now and go on to Pythagoras, who was a -contemporary of Anaximander; but the continuity of the development of -the principle of physical philosophy necessitated our taking Anaximenes -with him. We see that, as Aristotle said, they placed the first -principle in a form of matter—in air and water first, and then, if -we may so define Anaximander’s matter, in an essence finer than water -and coarser than air. Heraclitus, of whom we have soon to speak, first -called it fire. “But no one,” as Aristotle (Metaph. I. 8) remarks, -“called earth the principle, because it appears to be the most complex -element” (_διὰ τὴν μεγαλομέρειαν_); for it seems to be an aggregate of -many units. Water, on the contrary, is the one, and it is transparent; -it manifests in sensuous guise the form of unity with itself, and this -is also so with air, fire, matter, &c. The principle has to be one, -and hence must have inherent unity with itself; if it shows a manifold -nature as does the earth, it is not one with itself, but manifold. This -is what we have to say about the early Ionic Philosophy. The importance -of these poor abstract thoughts lies (_a_) in the comprehension of a -universal substance in everything, and (_b_) in the fact that it is -formless, and not encumbered by sensuous ideas. - -No one recognized better the deficiencies in this philosophy than -did Aristotle in the work already quoted. Two points appear in his -criticism of these three modes of determining the absolute: “Those who -maintain the original principle to be matter fall short in many ways. -In the first place, they merely give the corporeal element and not the -incorporeal, for there also is such.” In treating of nature in order -to show its essence, it is necessary to deal with it in its entirety, -and everything found in it must be considered. That is certainly but an -empirical instance. Aristotle maintains the incorporeal to be a form of -things opposed to the material, and indicates that the absolute must -not be determined in a one-sided manner; because the principle of these -philosophers is material only, they do not manifest the incorporeal -side, nor is the object shown to be Notion. Matter is indeed itself -immaterial as this reflection into consciousness; but such philosophers -do not know that what they express is an existence of consciousness. -Thus the first great defect here rests in the fact that the universal -is expressed in a particular form. - -Secondly, Aristotle says (Metaph. I. 3): “From this it may be seen -that first cause has only been by all these expressed in the form of -matter. But because they proceeded thus, the thing itself opened out -their way for them, and forced them into further investigation. For -whether origin and decay are derived from one or more, the question -alike arises, ‘How does it happen and what is the cause of it?’ For -the fundamental substance (_τὸ ὑποκείμενον_) does not make itself to -change, just as neither wood nor metal are themselves the cause of -change; wood neither forms a bed nor does brass a statue, but something -else is the cause of the change. To investigate this, however, is -to investigate the other principle, which, as we would say, is the -Principle of Motion.” This criticism holds good even now, where the -Absolute is represented as the one fixed substance. Aristotle says -that change is not conceivable out of matter as such, or out of water -not itself having motion; he reproaches the older philosophers for -the fact that they have not investigated the principle of motion for -which men care most. Further, object is altogether absent; there is no -determination of activity. Hence Aristotle says in the former passage: -“In that they undertake to give the cause of origin and decay, they in -fact remove the cause of movement. Because they make the principle to -be a simple body (earth being excepted), they do not comprehend the -mutual origination and decay whereby the one arises out of the other: -I am here referring to water, air, fire, and earth. This origination -is to be shown as separation or as union, and hence the contradiction -comes about that one in time comes earlier than the other. That is, -because this kind of origination is the method which they have adopted, -the way taken is from the simple universal, through the particular, to -the individual as what comes latest. Water, air, and fire are, however, -universal. Fire seems to be most suitable for this element, seeing that -it is the most subtle. Thus those who made it to be the principle, most -adequately gave expression to this method (_λόγῳ_) of origination; and -others thought very similarly. For else why should no one have made the -earth an element, in conformity with the popular idea? Hesiod says that -it was the original body—so ancient and so common was this idea. But -what in Becoming comes later, is the first in nature.” However, these -philosophers did not understand this so, because they were ruled by the -process of Becoming only, without again sublating it, or knowing that -first formal universal as such, and manifesting the third, the totality -or unity of matter and form, as essence. Here, we see, the Absolute is -not yet the self-determining, the Notion turned back into itself, but -only a dead abstraction; the moderns were the first, says Aristotle, -(Metaph. I. 6; III. 3) to understand the fundamental principle more in -the form of genus. - -We are able to follow the three moments in the Ionic philosophy: -(_α_) The original essence is water; (_β_) Anaximander’s infinite is -descriptive of movement, simple going out of and coming back into the -simple, universal aspects of form—condensation and rarefaction; (_γ_) -the air is compared to the soul. It is now requisite that what is -viewed as reality should be brought into the Notion; in so doing we see -that the moments of division, condensation, and rarefaction are not in -any way antagonistic to the Notion. This transition to Pythagoras, or -the manifestation of the real side as the ideal, is Thought breaking -free from what is sensuous, and, therefore, it is a separation between -the intelligible and the real. - - -B. PYTHAGORAS AND THE PYTHAGOREANS. - -The later Neo-Pythagoreans have written many extensive biographies -of Pythagoras, and are especially diffuse as regards the Pythagorean -brotherhood. But it must be taken into consideration that these often -distorted statements must not be regarded as historical. The life of -Pythagoras thus first comes to us in history through the medium of the -ideas belonging to the first centuries after Christ, and more or less -in the style in which the life of Christ is written, on the ground of -ordinary actuality, and not in a poetic atmosphere; it appears to be -the intermingling of many marvellous and extravagant tales, and to -take its origin in part from eastern ideas and in part from western. -In acknowledging the remarkable nature of his life and genius and of -the life which he inculcated on his followers, it was added that his -dealings were not with right things, and that he was a magician and -one who had intercourse with higher beings. All the ideas of magic, -that medley of unnatural and natural, the mysteries which pervade -a clouded, miserable imagination, and the wild ideas of distorted -brains, have attached themselves to him. - -However corrupt the history of his life, his philosophy is as much so. -Everything engendered by Christian melancholy and love of allegory -has been identified with it. The treatment of Plato in Christian -times has quite a different character. Numbers have been much used -as the expression of ideas, and this on the one hand has a semblance -of profundity. For the fact that another significance than that -immediately presented is implied in them, is evident at once; but how -much there is within them is neither known by him who speaks nor by -him, who seeks to understand; it is like the witches’ rhyme (one time -one) in Goethe’s “Faust.” The less clear the thoughts, the deeper they -appear; what is most essential, but most difficult, the expression -of oneself in definite conceptions, is omitted. Thus Pythagoras’ -philosophy, since much has been added to it by those who wrote of it, -may similarly appear as the mysterious product of minds as shallow -and empty as they are dark. Fortunately, however, we have a special -knowledge of the theoretic, speculative side of it, and that, indeed, -from Aristotle and Sextus Empiricus, who have taken considerable -trouble with it. Although later Pythagoreans disparage Aristotle on -account of his exposition, he has a place above any such disparagement, -and therefore to them no attention must be given. - -In later times a quantity of writings were disseminated and foisted -upon Pythagoras. Diogenes Laertius (VIII. 6, 7) mentions many which -were by him, and others which were set down to him in order to obtain -authority for them. But in the first place we have no writings by -Pythagoras, and secondly it is doubtful whether any ever did exist. -We have quotations from these in unsatisfactory fragments, not from -Pythagoras, but from Pythagoreans. It cannot be decisively determined -which developments and interpretations belonged to the ancients and -which to the moderns; yet with Pythagoras and the ancient Pythagoreans -the determinations were not worked out in so concrete a way as later. - -As to the life of Pythagoras, we hear from Diogenes Laertius (VIII. -1-3, 45) that he flourished about the 60th Olympiad (540 B.C.). His -birth is usually placed in the 49th or 50th Olympiad (584 B.C.); by -Larcher in Tennemann (Vol. I., pp. 413, 414), much earlier—in the -43rd Olympiad (43, 1, i.e. 608 B.C.). He was thus contemporaneous with -Thales and Anaximander. If Thales’ birth were in the 38th Olympiad -and that of Pythagoras in the 43rd, Pythagoras was only twenty-one -years younger than he; he either only differed by a couple of years -from Anaximander (Ol. 42, 3) in age, or the latter was twenty-six -years older. Anaximenes was from twenty to twenty-five years younger -than Pythagoras. His birthplace was the Island of Samos, and hence he -belonged to the Greeks of Asia Minor, which place we have hitherto -found to be the seat of philosophy. Pythagoras is said by Herodotus -(IV., 93 to 96) to have been the son of Mnesarchus, with whom Zalmoxis -served as slave in Samos; Zalmoxis obtained freedom and riches, became -ruler of the Getæ, and asserted that he and his people would not die. -He built a subterranean habitation and there withdrew himself from -his subjects; after four years he re-appeared;[31] hence the Getans -believed in immortality. Herodotus thinks, however, that Zalmoxis was -undoubtedly much older than Pythagoras. - -His youth was spent at the court of Polycrates, under whose rule Samos -was brought, not only to wealth, but also to the possession of culture -and art. In this prosperous period, according to Herodotus (III., 39), -it possessed a fleet of a hundred ships. His father was an artist or -engraver, but reports vary as to this, as also as to his country, some -saying that his family was of Tyrrhenian origin and did not go to Samos -till after Pythagoras’ birth. That may be as it will, for his youth -was spent in Samos and he must hence have been naturalized there, and -to it he belongs. He soon journeyed to the main land of Asia Minor -and is said there to have become acquainted with Thales. From thence -he travelled to Phœnicia and Egypt, as Iamblichus (III., 13, 14) says -in his biography of Pythagoras. With both countries Asia Minor had -many links, commercial and political, and it is related that he was -recommended by Polycrates to King Amasis, who, according to Herodotus -(II. 154), attracted many Greeks to the country, and had Greek troops -and colonies. The narratives of further journeys into the interior -of Asia, to the Persian magicians and Indians, seem to be altogether -fabulous, although travelling, then as now, was considered to be a -means of culture. As Pythagoras travelled with a scientific purpose, it -is said that he had himself initiated into nearly all the mysteries of -Greeks and of Barbarians, and thus he obtained admission into the order -or caste of the Egyptian priesthood. - -These mysteries that we meet with amongst the Greeks, and which are -held to be the sources of much wisdom, appear in their religion to have -stood in the relationship of doctrine to worship. This last existed in -offerings and solemn festivals only, but to ordinary conceptions, to -a consciousness of these conceptions, there is no transition visible -unless they were preserved in poems as traditions. The doctrines -themselves, or the act of bringing the actual home to the conception, -seems to have been confined to the mysteries; we find it to be the -case, however, that it is not only the ideas as in our teaching, but -also the body that is laid claim to—that there was brought home to man -by sending him to wander amongst his fellow-men, both the abandonment -of his sensuous consciousness and the purification and sanctification -of the body. Of philosophic matter, however, there is as little openly -declared as possible, and just as we know the system of freemasonry, -there is no secret in those mysteries. - -His alliance with the Egyptian priesthood had a most important -influence upon Pythagoras, not through the derivation of profound -speculative wisdom therefrom, but by the idea obtained through it of -the realization of the moral consciousness of man; the individual, he -learned, must attend to himself, if inwardly and to the outer world -he is to be meritorious and to bring himself, morally formed and -fashioned, into actuality. This is a conception which he subsequently -carried out, and it is as interesting a matter as his speculative -philosophy. Just as the priests constituted a particular rank and -were educated for it, they also had a special rule, which was binding -throughout the whole moral life. From Egypt Pythagoras thus without -doubt brought the idea of his Order, which was a regular community -brought together for purposes of scientific and moral culture, which -endured during the whole of life. Egypt at that time was regarded as -a highly cultured country, and it was so when compared with Greece; -this is shown even in the differences of caste which assumes a division -amongst the great branches of life and work, such as the industrial, -scientific and religious. But beyond this, we need not seek great -scientific knowledge amongst the Egyptians, nor think that Pythagoras -got his science there. Aristotle (Metaph. I.) only says that “in Egypt -mathematical sciences first commenced, for there the nation of priests -had leisure.”[32] - -Pythagoras stayed a long time in Egypt, and returned from thence -to Samos; but he found the internal affairs of his own country in -confusion, and left it soon after. According to Herodotus’ account -(III. 45-47), Polycrates had—not as tyrant—banished many citizens -from Samos, who sought and found support amongst the Lacedæmonians, and -a civil war had broken out. The Spartans had, at an earlier period, -given assistance to the others, for, as Thucydides says (I. 18), to -them thanks were generally ascribed for having abolished the rule of -the few, and caused a reversion to the system of giving public power to -the people; later on they did the opposite, abolishing democracy and -introducing aristocracy. Pythagoras’ family was necessarily involved in -these unpleasant relations, and a condition of internal strife was not -congenial to Pythagoras, seeing that he no longer took an interest in -political life, and that he saw in it an unsuitable soil for carrying -out his plans. He traversed Greece, and betook himself from thence to -Italy, in the lower parts of which Greek colonies from various states -and for various motives had settled, and there flourished as important -trading towns, rich in people and possessions. - -In Crotona he settled down, and lived in independence, neither as -a statesman, warrior, nor political law-giver to the people, so -far as external life was concerned, but as a public teacher, with -the provision that his teaching should not be taken up with mere -conviction, but should also regulate the whole moral life of the -individual. Diogenes Laertius says that he first gave himself the name -_φιλόσοφος_, instead of _σοφός_; and men called this modesty, as if he -thereby expressed, not the possession of wisdom, but only the struggle -towards it, as towards an end which cannot be attained.[33] But _σοφός_ -at the same time means a wise man, who is also practical, and that -not in his own interest only, for that requires no wisdom, seeing -that every sincere and moral man does what is best from his own point -of view. Thus _φιλόσοφος_ signifies more particularly the opposite -to participation in practical matters, that is in public affairs. -Philosophy is thus not the love of wisdom, as of something which one -sets oneself to acquire; it is no unfulfilled desire. _Φιλόσοφος_ -means a man whose relation to wisdom is that of making it his object; -this relationship is contemplation, and not mere Being; but it must -be consciously that men apply themselves to this. The man who likes -wine (_φίλοινος_) is certainly to be distinguished from the man who is -full of wine, or a drunkard. Then does _φίλοινος_ signify only a futile -aspiration for wine? - -What Pythagoras contrived and effected in Italy is told us by later -eulogists, rather than by historians. In the history of Pythagoras by -Malchus (this was the Syrian name of Porphyry) many strange things -are related, and with the Neo-Platonists the contrast between their -deep insight and their belief in the miraculous is surprising. For -instance, seeing that the later biographers of Pythagoras had already -related a quantity of marvels, they now proceeded to add yet more to -these with reference to his appearance in Italy. It appears that they -were exerting themselves to place him, as they afterwards did with -Apollonius of Tyana, in opposition to Christ. For the wonders which -they tell of him seem partly to be an amplification of those in the -New Testament, and in part they are altogether absurd. For instance, -they make Pythagoras begin his career in Italy with a miracle. When he -landed in the Bay of Tarentum, at Crotona, he encountered fishermen on -the way to the town who had caught nothing. He called upon them to draw -their nets once more, and foretold the number of fishes that would be -found in them. The fishermen, marvelling at this prophecy, promised -him that if it came true they would do whatever he desired. It came to -pass as he said, and Pythagoras then desired them to throw the fishes -alive back into the sea, for the Pythagoreans ate no flesh. And it is -further related as a miracle which then took place, that none of the -fishes whilst they were out of the water died during the counting. This -is the kind of miracle that is recorded, and the stories with which -his biographers fill his life are of the same silly nature. They then -make him effect such a general impression upon the mind of Italy, that -all the towns reformed upon their luxurious and depraved customs, and -the tyrants partly gave up their powers voluntarily, and partly they -were driven out. They thereby, however, commit such historical errors -as to make Charondas and Zaleucus, who lived long before Pythagoras, -his disciples; and similarly to ascribe the expulsion and death of the -tyrant Phalaris to him, and to his action.[34] - -Apart from these fables, there remains as an historic fact, the great -work which he accomplished, and this he did chiefly by establishing -a school, and by the great influence of his order upon the principal -part of the Greco-Italian states, or rather by means of the rule -which was exercised in these states through this order, which lasted -for a very long period of time. It is related of him that he was a -very handsome man, and of a majestic appearance, which captivated as -much as it commanded respect. With this natural dignity, nobility of -manners, and the calm propriety of his demeanour, he united external -peculiarities, through which he seemed a remarkable and mysterious -being. He wore a white linen garment, and refrained from partaking of -certain foods.[35] Particular personality, as also the externalities of -dress and the like, are no longer of importance; men let themselves be -guided by general custom and fashion, since it is a matter outside of -and indifferent to them not to have their own will here; for we hand -over the contingent to the contingent, and only follow the external -rationality that consists in identity and universality. To this outward -personality there was added great eloquence and profound perception; -not only did he undertake to impart this to his individual friends, but -he proceeded to bring a general influence to bear on public culture, -both in regard to understanding and to the whole manner of life and -morals. He not merely instructed his friends, but associated them in a -particular life in order to constitute them into persons and make them -skilful in business and eminent in morals. The Institute of Pythagoras -grew into a league, which included all men and all life in its embrace; -for it was an elaborately fashioned piece of work, and excellently -plastic in design. - -Of the regulations of Pythagoras’ league, we have descriptions from -his successors, more especially from the Neo-Platonists, who are -particularly diffuse as regards its laws. The league had, on the -whole, the character of a voluntary priesthood, or a monastic order -of modern times. Whoever wished to be received was proved in respect -of his education and obedience, and information was collected about -his conduct, inclinations, and occupations. The members were subject -to a special training, in which a difference was made amongst those -received, in that some were exoteric and some esoteric. These last were -initiated into the highest branches of science, and since political -operations were not excluded from the order, they were also engaged -in active politics; the former had to go through a novitiate of five -years. Each member must have surrendered his means to the order, but he -received them again on retiring, and in the probationary period silence -was enjoined (_ἐχεμυθία_).[36] - -This obligation to cease from idle talk may be called an essential -condition for all culture and learning; with it men must begin if -they wish to comprehend the thoughts of others and relinquish their -own ideas. We are in the habit of saying that the understanding is -cultivated through questioning, objecting and replying, &c., but, in -fact, it is not thus formed, but made from without. What is inward -in man is by culture got at and developed; hence though he remains -silent, he is none the poorer in thought or denser of mind. He rather -acquires thereby the power of apprehension, and comes to know that his -ideas and objections are valueless; and as he learns that such ideas -are valueless, he ceases to have them. Now the fact that in Pythagoras -there is a separation between those in the course of preparation and -those initiated, as also that silence is particularly enjoined, seems -most certainly to indicate that in his brotherhood both were formal -elements and not merely as present in the nature of things, as might -occur spontaneously in the individual without any special law or the -application of any particular consideration. But here it is important -to remark that Pythagoras may be regarded as the first instructor -in Greece who introduced the teachings of science; neither Thales, -who was earlier than he, nor his contemporary Anaximander taught -scientifically, but only imparted their ideas to their friends. There -were, generally speaking, no sciences at that time; there was neither a -science of philosophy, mathematics, jurisprudence or anything else, but -merely isolated propositions and facts respecting these subjects. What -was taught was the use of arms, theorems, music, the singing of Homer’s -or Hesiod’s songs, tripod chants, &c., or other arts. This teaching -is accomplished in quite another way. Now if we said that Pythagoras -had introduced the teaching of science amongst a people who, though -like the Greeks, untaught therein, were not stupid but most lively, -cultured and loquacious, the external conditions of such teaching might -in so far be given as follows:—(_α_) He would distinguish amongst -those who as yet had no idea of the process of learning a science, so -that those who first began should be excluded from that which was to -be imparted to those further on; and (_β_) he would make them leave -the unscientific mode of speaking of such matters, or their idle -prattle, alone, and for the first time study science. But the fact -that this action both appeared to be formal and likewise required to -be made such, was, on account of its unwonted character, a necessary -one, just because the followers of Pythagoras were not only numerous, -necessitating a definite form and order, but also, generally speaking, -they lived continually together. Thus a particular form was natural to -Pythagoras, because it was the very first time that a teacher in Greece -arrived at a totality, or a new principle, through the cultivation of -the intelligence, mind and will. This common life had not only the -educational side and that founded on the exercise of physical ingenuity -or skill, but included also that of the moral culture of practical men. -But even now everything relating to morality appears and is or becomes -altogether formal, or rather this is so in as far as it is consciously -thought of as in this relation, for to be formal is to be universal, -that which is opposed to the individual. It appears so particularly -to him who compares the universal and the individual and consciously -reflects over both, but this difference disappears for those living -therein, to whom it is ordinary habit. - -Finally, we have sufficient and full accounts of the outward forms -observed by the Pythagoreans in their common life and also of their -discipline. For much of this, however, we are indebted to the -impressions of later writers. In the league, a life regulated in -all respects was advocated. First of all, it is told us, that the -members made themselves known by a similar dress—the white linen of -Pythagoras. They had a very strict order for each day, of which each -hour had its work. The morning, directly after rising, was set aside -for recalling to memory the history of the previous day, because what -is to be done in the day depends chiefly on the previous day; similarly -the most constant self-examination was made the duty of the evening -in order to find whether the deeds done in the day were right or -wrong. True culture is not the vanity of directing so much attention to -oneself and occupying oneself with oneself as an individual, but the -self-oblivion that absorbs oneself in the matter in hand and in the -universal; it is this consideration of the thing in hand that is alone -essential, while that dangerous, useless, anxious state does away with -freedom. They had also to learn by heart from Homer and from Hesiod; -and all through the day they occupied themselves much with music—one -of the principal parts of Greek education and culture.[37] Gymnastic -exercises in wrestling, racing, throwing, and so on, were with them -also enforced by rule. They dined together, and here, too, they had -peculiar customs, but of these the accounts are different. Honey and -bread were made their principal food, and water the principal, and -indeed only, drink; they must thus have entirely refrained from eating -meat as being associated with metempsychosis. A distinction was also -made regarding vegetables—beans, for example, being forbidden. On -account of this respect for beans, they were much derided, yet in the -subsequent destruction of the political league, several Pythagoreans, -being pursued, preferred to die than to damage a field of beans.[38] - -The order, the moral discipline which characterized them, the common -intercourse of men, did not, however, endure long; for even in -Pythagoras’ life-time the affairs of his league must have become -involved, since he found enemies who forcibly overthrew him. He drew -down upon him, it is said, the envy of others, and was accused of -thinking differently from what he seemed to indicate, and thus of -having an _arrière pensée_. The real fact of the case was that the -individual belonged, not entirely to his town, but also to another. -In this catastrophe, Pythagoras himself, according to Tennemann (Vol. -I. p. 414), met his death in the 69th Olympiad (504, B.C.) in a -rising of the people against these aristocrats; but it is uncertain -whether it happened in Crotona or in Metapontum, or in a war between -the Syracusans and the Agrigentines. There is also much difference of -opinion about the age of Pythagoras, for it is given sometimes as 80, -and sometimes as 104.[39] For the rest, the unity of the Pythagorean -school, the friendship of the members, and the connecting bond of -culture have even in later times remained, but not in the formal -character of a league, because what is external must pass away. The -history of Magna Græcia is in general little known, but even in -Plato’s[40] time we find Pythagoreans appearing at the head of states -or as a political power. - -The Pythagorean brotherhood had no relation with Greek public and -religious life, and therefore could not endure for long: in Egypt and -in Asia exclusiveness and priestly influence have their home, but -Greece, in its freedom, could not let the Eastern separation of caste -exist. Freedom here is the principle of civic life, but still it is -not yet determined as principle in the relations of public and private -law. With us the individual is free since all are alike before the law; -diversity in customs, in political relations and opinions may thus -exist, and must indeed so do in organic states. In democratic Greece, -on the contrary, manners, the external mode of life, necessarily -preserved a certain similarity, and the stamp of similarity remained -impressed on these wider spheres; for the exceptional condition of the -Pythagoreans, who could not take their part as free citizens, but were -dependent on the plans and ends of a combination and led an exclusive -religious life, there was no place in Greece. The preservation of the -mysteries certainly belonged to the Eumolpidæ, and other special forms -of worship to other particular families, but they were not regarded -in a political sense as of fixed and definite castes, but as priests -usually are, politicians, citizens, men like their fellows; nor, as -with the Christians, was the separation of religious persons driven to -the extreme of monastic rule. In ordinary civic life in Greece, no one -could prosper or maintain his position who held peculiar principles, -or even secrets, and differed in outward modes of life and clothing; -for what evidently united and distinguished them was their community -of principles and life—whether anything was good for the commonwealth -or not, was by them publicly and openly discussed. The Greeks are -above having particular clothing, maintaining special customs of -washing, rising, practising music, and distinguishing between pure and -impure foods. This, they say, is partly the affair of the particular -individual and of his personal freedom, and has no common end in view, -and partly it is a general custom and usage for everybody alike. - -What is most important to us is the Pythagorean philosophy—not -the philosophy of Pythagoras so much as that of the Pythagoreans, -as Aristotle and Sextus express it. The two must certainly be -distinguished, and from comparing what is given out as Pythagorean -doctrine, many anomalies and discrepancies become evident, as we shall -see. Plato bears the blame of having destroyed Pythagorean philosophy -through absorbing what is Pythagorean in it into his own. But the -Pythagorean philosophy itself developed to a point which left it -quite other than what at first it was. We hear of many followers of -Pythagoras in history who have arrived at this or that conclusion, -such as Alcmæon and Philolaus; and we see in many cases the simple -undeveloped form contrasted with the further stages of development in -which thought comes forth in definiteness and power. We need, however, -go no further into the historical side of the distinction, for we -can only consider the Pythagorean philosophy generally; similarly -we must separate what is known to belong to the Neo-Platonists and -Neo-Pythagoreans, and for this end we have sources to draw from which -are earlier than this period, namely the express statements found in -Aristotle and Sextus. - -The Pythagorean philosophy forms the transition from realistic to -intellectual philosophy. The Ionic school said that essence or -principle is a definite material. The next conclusion is (_α_) -that the absolute is not grasped in natural form, but as a thought -determination. (_β_) Then it follows that determinations must -be posited while the beginning was altogether undetermined. The -Pythagorean philosophy has done both. - -1. _The System of Numbers_. Thus the original and simple proposition -of the Pythagorean philosophy is, according to Aristotle (Metaph. I. -5), “that number is the reality of things, and the constitution of the -whole universe in its determinations is an harmonious system of numbers -and of their relations.” In what sense is this statement to be taken? -The fundamental determination of number is its being a measure; if we -say that everything is quantitatively or qualitatively determined, -the size and measure is only one aspect or characteristic which is -present in everything, but the meaning here is that number itself is -the essence and the substance of things, and not alone their form. -What first strikes us as surprising is the boldness of such language, -which at once sets aside everything which to the ordinary idea is real -and true, doing away with sensuous existence and making it to be the -creation of thought. Existence is expressed as something which is not -sensuous, and thus what to the senses and to old ideas is altogether -foreign, is raised into and expressed as substance and as true Being. -But at the same time the necessity is shown for making number to be -likewise Notion, to manifest it as the activity of its unity with -Being, for to us number does not seem to be in immediate unity with the -Notion. - -Now although this principle appears to us to be fanciful and wild, we -find in it that number is not merely something sensuous, therefore it -brings determination with it, universal distinctions and antitheses. -The ancients had a very good knowledge of these. Aristotle (Metaph. -I. 6) says of Plato: “He maintained that the mathematical elements in -things are found outside of what is merely sensuous, and of ideas, -being between both; it differs from what is sensuous in that it -is eternal and unchangeable, and from ideas, in that it possesses -multiplicity, and hence each can resemble and be similar to another, -while each idea is for itself one alone.” That is, number can be -repeated; thus it is not sensuous, and still not yet thought. In -the life of Pythagoras, this is further said by Malchus (46, 47): -“Pythagoras propounded philosophy in this wise in order to loose -thought from its fetters. Without thought nothing true can be discerned -or known; thought hears and sees everything in itself, the rest is lame -and blind. To obtain his end, Pythagoras makes use of mathematics, -since this stands midway between what is sensuous and thought, as a -kind of preliminary to what is in and for itself.” Malchus quotes -further (48, 53) a passage from an early writer, Moderatus: “Because -the Pythagoreans could not clearly express the absolute and the first -principles through thought, they made use of numbers, of mathematics, -because in this form determinations could be easily expressed.” For -instance, similarity could be expressed as one, dissimilarity as two. -“This mode of teaching through the use of numbers, whilst it was the -first philosophy, is superseded on account of its mysterious nature. -Plato, Speusippus, Aristotle, &c., have stolen the fruits of their work -from the Pythagoreans by making a simple use of their principle.” In -this passage a perfect knowledge of numbers is evident. - -The enigmatic character of the determination through number is what -most engages our attention. The numbers of arithmetic answers to -thought-determinations, for number has the “one” as element and -principle; the one, however, is a category of being-for-self, and -thus of identity with self, in that it excludes all else and is -indifferent to what is “other.” The further determinations of number -are only further combinations and repetitions of the one, which all -through remains fixed and external; number, thus, is the most utterly -dead, notionless continuity possible; it is an entirely external and -mechanical process, which is without necessity. Hence number is not -immediate Notion, but only a beginning of thought, and a beginning in -the worst possible way; it is the Notion in its extremest externality, -in quantitative form, and in that of indifferent distinction. In so -far, the one has within itself both the principle of thought and -that of materiality, or the determination of the sensuous. In order -that anything should have the form of Notion, it must immediately in -itself, as determined, relate itself to its opposite, just as positive -is related to negative; and in this simple movement of the Notion we -find the ideality of differences and negation of independence to be -the chief determination. On the other hand, in the number three, for -instance, there are always three units, of which each is independent; -and this is what constitutes both their defect and their enigmatic -character. For since the essence of the Notion is innate, numbers are -the most worthless instruments for expressing Notion-determinations. - -Now the Pythagoreans did not accept numbers in this indifferent way, -but as Notion. “At least they say that phenomena must be composed of -simple elements, and it would be contrary to the nature of things if -the principle of the universe pertained to sensuous phenomena. The -elements and principles are thus not only intangible and invisible, but -altogether incorporeal.”[41] But how they have come to make numbers -the original principle or the absolute Notion, is better shown from -what Aristotle says in his Metaphysics (I. 5), although he is shorter -than he would have been, because he alleges that elsewhere (infra., p. -214) he has spoken of it. “In numbers they thought that they perceived -much greater similitude to what is and what takes place than in fire, -water, or earth; since a certain property of numbers (_τοιονδὶ πάθος_) -is justice, so is it with (_τοιονδὶ_) the soul and understanding; -another property is opportunity, and so on. Since they further saw the -conditions and relations of what is harmonious present in numbers, and -since numbers are at the basis of all natural things, they considered -numbers to be the elements of everything, and the whole heavens to -be a harmony and number.” In the Pythagoreans we see the necessity -for one enduring universal idea as a thought-determination. Aristotle -(Met. XII. 4), speaking of ideas, says: “According to Heraclitus, -everything sensuous flows on, and thus there cannot be a science of the -sensuous; from this conviction the doctrine of ideas sprang. Socrates -is the first to define the universal through inductive methods; the -Pythagoreans formerly concerned themselves merely with a few matters -of which they derived the notions from numbers—as, for example, with -what opportuneness, or right, or marriage are.” It is impossible to -discern what interest this in itself can have; the only thing which -is necessary for us as regards the Pythagoreans, is to recognize any -indications of the Idea, in which there may be a progressive principle. - -This is the whole of the Pythagorean philosophy taken generally. We now -have to come to closer quarters, and to consider the determinations, -or universal significance. In the Pythagorean system numbers seem -partly to be themselves allied to categories—that is, to be at -once the thought-determinations of unity, of opposition and of the -unity of these two moments. In part, the Pythagoreans from the -very first gave forth universal ideal determinations of numbers as -principles, and recognized, as Aristotle remarks (Metaph. I. 5), as -the absolute principles of things, not so much immediate numbers in -their arithmetic differences, as the principles of number, _i.e._ their -rational differences. The first determination is unity generally, the -next duality or opposition. It is most important to trace back the -infinitely manifold nature of the forms and determinations of finality -to their universal thoughts as the most simple principles of all -determination. These are not differences of one thing from another, -but universal and essential differences within themselves. Empirical -objects distinguish themselves by outward form; this piece of paper -can be distinguished from another, shades are different in colour, -men are separated by differences of temperament and individuality. -But these determinations are not essential differences; they are -certainly essential for the definite particularity of the things, -but the whole particularity defined is not an existence which is in -and for itself essential, for it is the universal alone which is the -self-contained and the substantial. Pythagoras began to seek these -first determinations of unity, multiplicity, opposition, &c. With him -they are for the most part numbers; but the Pythagoreans did not remain -content with this, for they gave them the more concrete determinations, -which really belong to their successors. Necessary progression and -proof are not to be sought for here; comprehension, the development -of duality out of unity are wanting. Universal determinations are -only found and established in a quite dogmatic form, and hence the -determinations are dry, destitute of process or dialectic, and -stationary. - -a. The Pythagoreans say that the first simple Notion is unity -(_μονάς_); not the discrete, multifarious, arithmetic one, but identity -as continuity and positivity, the entirely universal essence. They -further say, according to Sextus (adv. Math. X. 260, 261): “All -numbers come under the Notion of the one; for duality is one duality -and triplicity is equally a ‘one,’ but the number ten is the one chief -number. This moved Pythagoras to assert unity to be the principle of -things, because, through partaking of it, each is called one.” That -is to say, the pure contemplation of the implicit being of a thing -is the one, the being like self; to all else it is not implicit, -but a relationship to what is other. Things, however, are much more -determined than being merely this dry “one.” The Pythagoreans have -expressed this remarkable relationship of the entirely abstract one -to the concrete existence of things through “simulation” (_μίμησις_). -The same difficulty which they here encounter is also found in Plato’s -Ideas; since they stand over against the concrete as species, the -relation of concrete to universal is naturally an important point. -Aristotle (Metaph. I. 6) ascribes the expression “participation” -(_μέθεξις_) to Plato, who took it in place of the Pythagorean -expression “simulation.” Simulation is a figurative, childish way of -putting the relationship; participation is undoubtedly more definite. -But Aristotle says, with justice, that both are insufficient; that -Plato has not here arrived at any further development, but has only -substituted another name. “To say that ideas are prototypes and that -other things participate in them is empty talk and a poetic metaphor; -for what is the active principle that looks upon the ideas?” (Metaph. -I. 9). Simulation and participation are nothing more than other names -for relation; to give names is easy, but it is another thing to -comprehend. - -b. What comes next is the opposition, the duality (_δυάς_), the -distinction, the particular; such determinations have value even now in -Philosophy; Pythagoras merely brought them first to consciousness. Now, -as this unity relates to multiplicity, or this being-like-self to being -another, different applications are possible, and the Pythagoreans -have expressed themselves variously as to the forms which this first -opposition takes. - -(_α_) They said, according to Aristotle (Metaph. I. 5): “The elements -of number are the even and the odd; the latter is the finite” (or -principle of limitation) “and the former is the infinite; thus the -unity proceeds from both and out of this again comes number.” The -elements of immediate number are not yet themselves numbers: the -opposition of these elements first appears in arithmetical form rather -than as thought. But the one is as yet no number, because as yet it is -not quantity; unity and quantity belong to number. Theon of Smyrna[42] -says: “Aristotle gives, in his writings on the Pythagoreans, the reason -why, in their view, the one partakes of the nature of even and odd; -that is, one, posited as even, makes odd; as odd, it makes even. This -is what it could not do unless it partook of both natures, for which -reason they also called the one, even-odd” (_ἀρτιοπέριττον_). - -(_β_) If we follow the absolute Idea in this first mode, the opposition -will also be called the undetermined duality (_ἀόριστος δυάς_). Sextus -speaks more definitely (adv. Math. X. 261, 262) as follows: “Unity, -thought of in its identity with itself (_κατ̓ αὐτότητα ἑαυτῆς_), is -unity; if this adds itself to itself as something different (_καθ̓ -ἑτερότητα_), undetermined duality results, because no one of the -determined or otherwise limited numbers is this duality, but all are -known through their participation in it, as has been said of unity. -There are, according to this, two principles in things; the first -unity, through participation in which all number-units are units, -and also undetermined duality through participation in which all -determined dualities are dualities.” Duality is just as essential a -moment in the Notion as is unity. Comparing them with one another, we -may either consider the unity to be form and duality matter, or the -other way; and both appear in different modes. (_αα_) Unity, as the -being-like-self, is the formless; but in duality, as the unlike, there -comes division or form. (_ββ_) If, on the other hand, we take form -as the simple activity of absolute form, the one is what determines; -and duality as the potentiality of multiplicity, or as multiplicity -not posited, is matter. Aristotle (Met. I. 6) says that it is -characteristic of Plato that “he makes out of matter many, but with him -the form originates only once; whereas out of one matter only one table -proceeds, whoever brings form to matter, in spite of its unity, makes -many tables.” He also ascribes this to Plato, that “instead of showing -the undetermined to be simple (_ἀντὶ τοῦ ἀπείρου ὡς ἑνός_), he made of -it a duality—the great and small.” - -(_γ_) Further consideration of this opposition, in which Pythagoreans -differ from one another, shows us the imperfect beginning of a table -of categories which were then brought forward by them, as later on by -Aristotle. Hence the latter was reproached for having borrowed these -thought-determinations from them; and it certainly was the case that -the Pythagoreans first made the opposite to be an essential moment in -the absolute. They further determined the abstract and simple Notions, -although it was in an inadequate way, since their table presents a -mixture of antitheses in the ordinary idea and the Notion, without -following these up more fully. Aristotle (Met. I. 5) ascribes these -determinations either to Pythagoras himself, or else to Alcmæon “who -flourished in the time of Pythagoras’ old age,” so that “either Alcmæon -took them from the Pythagoreans or the latter took them from him.” Of -these antitheses or co-ordinates to which all things are traced, ten -are given, for, according to the Pythagoreans, ten is a number of great -significance:— - - 1. The finite and the infinite. - 2. The odd and the even. - 3. The one and the many. - 4. The right and the left. - 5. The male and the female. - 6. The quiescent and the moving. - 7. The straight and the crooked. - 8. Light and darkness. - 9. Good and evil. - 10. The square and the parallelogram. - -This is certainly an attempt towards a development of the Idea of -speculative philosophy in itself, _i.e._ in Notions; but the attempt -does not seem to have gone further than this simple enumeration. -It is very important that at first only a collection of general -thought-determinations should be made, as was done by Aristotle; but -what we here see with the Pythagoreans is only a rude beginning of the -further determination of antitheses, without order and sense, and very -similar to the Indian enumeration of principles and substances. - -(_δ_) We find the further progress of these determinations in Sextus -(adv. Math. X. 262-277), when he speaks about an exposition of the -later Pythagoreans. It is a very good and well considered account of -the Pythagorean theories, which has some thought in it. The exposition -follows these lines: “The fact that these two principles are the -principles of the whole, is shown by the Pythagoreans in manifold ways.” - -א. “There are three methods of thinking things; firstly, in accordance -with diversity, secondly, with opposition, and thirdly, according -to relation. (_αα_) What is considered in its mere diversity, is -considered for itself; this is the case with those subjects in which -each relates only to itself, such as horse, plant, earth, air, water -and fire. Such matters are thought of as detached and not in relation -to others.” This is the determination of identity with self or of -independence. (_ββ_) “In reference to opposition, the one is determined -as evidently contrasting with the other; we have examples of this in -good and evil, right and wrong, sacred and profane, rest and movement, -&c. (_γγ_) According to relation (_πρός τι_), we have the object -which is determined in accordance with its relationship to others, -such as right and left, over and under, double and half. One is only -comprehensible from the other; for I cannot tell which is my left -excepting by my right.” Each of these relations in its opposition, -is likewise set up for itself in a position of independence. “The -difference between relationship and opposition is that in opposition -the coming into existence of the ‘one’ is at the expense of the -‘other,’ and conversely. If motion is taken away, rest commences; if -motion begins, rest ceases; if health is taken away, sickness begins, -and conversely. In a condition of relationship, on the contrary, both -take their rise, and both similarly cease together; if the right -is removed, so also is the left; the double goes and the half is -destroyed.” What is here taken away is taken not only as regards its -opposition, but also in its existence. “A second difference is that -what is in opposition has no middle; for example, between sickness and -health, life and death, rest and motion, there is no third. Relativity, -on the contrary, has a middle, for between larger and smaller there -is the like; and between too large and too small the right size is -the medium.” Pure opposition passes through nullity to opposition; -immediate extremes, on the other hand, subsist in a third or middle -state, but in such a case no longer as opposed. This exposition shows -a certain regard for universal, logical determinations, which now and -always have the greatest possible importance, and are moments in all -conceptions and in everything that is. The nature of these opposites -is, indeed, not considered here, but it is of importance that they -should be brought to consciousness. - -ב. “Now since these three represent three different genera, the -subjects and the two-fold opposite, there must be a higher genus over -each of them which takes the first place, since the genus comes before -its subordinate kinds. If the universal is taken away, so is the kind; -on the other hand, if the kind, not the genus, for the former depends -on the latter, but not the contrary way.” (_αα_) “The Pythagoreans have -declared the one to be the highest genus of what is considered as in -and for itself” (of subjects in their diversity); this is, properly -speaking, nothing more than translating the determinations of the -Notion into numbers. (_ββ_) “What is in opposition has, they say, as -its genus the like and the unlike; rest is the like, for it is capable -of nothing more and nothing less; but movement is the unlike. Thus -what is according to nature is like itself; it is a point which is not -capable of being intensified (_ἀνεπίτατος_); what is opposed to it is -unlike. Health is like, sickness is unlike. (_γγ_) The genus of that -which is in an indifferent relationship is excess and want, the more -and the less;” in this we have the quantitative relation just as we -formerly had the qualitative. - -ג. We now come for the first time to the two opposites: “These three -genera of what is for itself, in opposition and in relationship, -must now come under”—yet simpler, higher—“genera,” _i.e._ -thought-determinations. “Similarity reduces itself to the determination -of unity.” The genus of the subjects is the very being on its own -account. “Dissimilarity, however, consists of excess and want, but both -of these come under undetermined duality;” they are the undetermined -opposition, opposition generally. “Thus from all these relationships -the first unity and the undetermined duality proceed;” the Pythagoreans -said that such are found to be the universal modes of things. “From -these, there first comes the ‘one’ of numbers and the ‘two’ of numbers; -from the first unity, the one; from the unity and the undetermined -duality the two; for twice the one is two. The other numbers take their -origin in a similar way, for the unity over moves forward, and the -undetermined duality generates the two.” This transition of qualitative -into quantitative opposition is not clear. “Hence underlying these -principles, unity is the active principle” or form, “but the two is -the passive matter; and just as they make numbers arise from them, so -do they make the system of the world and that which is contained in -it.” The nature of these determinations is to be found in transition -and in movement. The deeper significance of this reflection rests in -the connection of universal thought-determinations with arithmetic -numbers—in subordinating these and making the universal genus first. - -Before I say anything of the further sequence of these numbers, it -must be remarked that they, as we see them represented here, are pure -Notions. (_α_) The absolute, simple essence divides itself into unity -and multiplicity, of which the one sublates the other, and at the same -time it has its existence in the opposition. (_β_) The opposition has -at the same time subsistence, and in this is found the manifold nature -of equivalent things. (_γ_) The return of absolute essence into itself -is the negative unity of the individual subject and of the universal -or positive. This is, in fact, the pure speculative Idea of absolute -existence; it is this movement: with Plato the Idea is nothing else. -The speculative makes its appearance here as speculative; whoever does -not know the speculative, does not believe that in indicating simple -Notions such as these, absolute essence is expressed. One, many, like, -unlike, more or less, are trivial, empty, dry moments; that there -should be contained in them absolute essence, the riches and the -organization of the natural, as of the spiritual world, does not seem -possible to him who, accustomed to ordinary ideas, has not gone back -from sensuous existence into thought. It does not seem to such a one -that God is, in a speculative sense, expressed thereby—that what is -most sublime can be put in those common words, what is deepest, in -what is so well known, self-evident and open, and what is richest, in -the poverty of these abstractions. - -It is at first in opposition to common reality that this idea of -reality as the manifold of simple essence, has in itself its opposition -and the subsistence of the same; this essential, simple Notion of -reality is elevation into thought, but it is not flight from what is -real, but the expression of the real itself in its essence. We here -find the Reason which expresses its essence; and absolute reality is -unity immediately in itself. Thus it is pre-eminently in relation -to this reality that the difficulties of those who do not think -speculatively have become so intense. What is its relation to common -reality? What has taken place is just what happens with the Platonic -Ideas, which approximate very closely to these numbers, or rather -to pure Notions. That is to say, the first question is, “Numbers, -where are they? Dispersed through space, dwelling in independence in -the heaven of ideas? They are not things immediately in themselves, -for a thing, a substance, is something quite other than a number: -a body bears no similarity to it.” To this we may answer that the -Pythagoreans did not signify anything like that which we understand -by prototypes—as if ideas, as the laws and relations of things, -were present in a creative consciousness as thoughts in the divine -understanding, separated from things as are the thoughts of an artist -from his work. Still less did they mean only subjective thoughts in our -consciousness, for we use the absolute antithesis as the explanation of -the existence of qualities in things, but what determines is the real -substance of what exists, so that each thing is essentially just its -having in it unity, duality, as also their antithesis and connection. -Aristotle (Met. I. 5, 6) puts it clearly thus: “It is characteristic of -the Pythagoreans that they did not maintain the finite and the infinite -and the One, to be, like fire, earth, &c., different natures or to have -another reality than things; for the Infinite and the abstract One -are to them, the substance of the things of which they are predicated. -Hence too, they said, Number is the essence of all things. Thus they -do not separate numbers from things, but consider them to be things -themselves. Number to them is the principle and matter of things, as -also their qualities and forces;” hence it is thought as substance, or -the thing as it is in the reality of thought. - -These abstract determinations then became more concretely determined, -especially by the later philosophers, in their speculations regarding -God. We may instance Iamblichus, for example, in the work _θεολογούμενα -ἀριθμητικῆς_, ascribed to him by Porphyry and Nicomachus. Those -philosophers sought to raise the character of popular religion, for -they inserted such thought-determinations as these into religious -conceptions. By Monas they understood nothing other than God; they also -call it Mind, the Hermaphrodite (which contains both determinations, -odd as well as even), and likewise substance, reason, chaos (because it -is undetermined), Tartarus, Jupiter, and Form. They called the duad by -similar names, such as matter, and then the principle of the unlike, -strife, that which begets, Isis, &c. - -c. The triad (_τριάς_) has now become a most important number, -seeing that in it the monad has reached reality and perfection. The -monad proceeds through the duad, and again brought into unity with -this undetermined manifold, it is the triad. Unity and multiplicity -are present in the triad in the worst possible way—as an external -combination; but however abstractly this is understood, the triad -is still a profound form. The triad then is held to be the first -perfect form in the universal. Aristotle (De Cœlo I. 1) puts this -very clearly: “The corporeal has no dimension outside of the Three; -hence the Pythagoreans also say that the all and everything is -determined through triplicity,” that is, it has absolute form. “For -the number of the whole has end, middle, and beginning; and this -is the triad.” Nevertheless there is something superficial in the -wish to bring everything under it, as is done in the systematization -of the more modern natural philosophy. “Therefore we, too, taking -this determination from nature, make use of it in the worship of the -gods, so that we believe them to have been properly apostrophized -only when we have called upon them three times in prayer. Two we call -both, but not all; we speak first of three as all. What is determined -through three is the first totality (_πᾶν_); what is in triple form -is perfectly divided. Some is merely in one, other is only in two, -but this is All.” What is perfect, or has reality, is its identity, -opposition and unity, like number generally; but in triplicity this -is actual, because it has beginning, middle, and end. Each thing is -simple as beginning; it is other or manifold as middle, and its end -is the return of its other nature into unity or mind; if we take this -triplicity from a thing, we negate it and make of it an abstract -construction of thought. - -It is now comprehensible that Christians sought and found the Trinity -in this threefold nature. It has often been made a superficial reason -for objecting to them; sometimes the idea of the Trinity as it was -present to the ancients, was considered as above reason, as a secret, -and hence, too high; sometimes it was deemed too absurd. But from the -one cause or from the other, they did not wish to bring it into closer -relation to reason. If there is a meaning in this Trinity, we must try -to understand it. It would be an anomalous thing if there were nothing -in what has for two thousand years been the holiest Christian idea; if -it were too holy to be brought down to the level of reason, or were -something now quite obsolete, so that it would be contrary to good -taste and sense to try to find a meaning in it. It is the Notion of the -Trinity alone of which we can speak, and not of the idea of Father and -Son, for we am not dealing with these natural relationships. - -d. The Four (_τετράς_) is the triad but more developed, and hence with -the Pythagoreans it held a high position. That the tetrad should be -considered to be thus complete, reminds one of the four elements, the -physical and the chemical, the four continents, &c. In nature four -is found to be present everywhere, and hence this number is even now -equally esteemed in natural philosophy. As the square of two, the -fourfold is the perfection of the two-fold in as far as it—only having -itself as determination, i.e. being multiplied with itself—returns -into identity with itself. But in the triad the tetrad is in so far -contained, as that the former is the unity, the other-being, and -the union of both these moments, and thus, since the difference, as -posited, is a double, if we count it, four moments result. To make this -clearer, the tetrad is comprehended as the _τετρακτύς_, the efficient, -active four (from _τέτταρα_ and _ἄγω_); and afterwards this is by the -Pythagoreans made the most notable number. In the fragments of a poem -of Empedocles, who originally was a Pythagorean, it is shown in what -high regard this tetraktus, as represented by Pythagoras, was held: - - “If thou dost this, - It will lead thee in the path of holy piety. I swear it - By the one who to our spirit has given the Tetraktus, - Which has in it eternal nature’s source and root.”[43] - -e. From this the Pythagoreans proceed to the ten, another form of this -tetrad. As the four is the perfect form of three, this fourfold, thus -perfected and developed so that all its moments shall be accepted as -real differences, is the number ten (_δεκάς_), the real tetrad. Sextus -(adv. Math. IV. 3; VII. 94, 95) says: “Tetraktus means the number -which, comprising within itself the four first numbers, forms the most -perfect number, that is the number ten; for one and two and three and -four make ten. When we come to ten, we again consider it as a unity -and begin once more from the beginning. The tetraktus, it is said, -has the source and root of eternal nature within itself, because it -is the Logos of the universe, of the spiritual and of the corporeal.” -It is an important work of thought to show the moments not merely to -be four units, but complete numbers; but the reality in which the -determinations are laid hold of, is here, however, only the external -and superficial one of number; there is no Notion present although -the tetraktus does not mean number so much as idea. One of the later -philosophers, Proclus, (in Timæum, p. 269) says, in a Pythagorean -hymn:— - - “The divine number goes on,”... - “Till from the still unprofaned sanctuary of the Monad - It reaches to the holy Tetrad, which creates the mother of all that - is; - Which received all within itself, or formed the ancient bounds of all, - Incapable of turning or of wearying; men call it the holy Dekad.” - -What we find about the progression of the other numbers is more -indefinite and unsatisfying, and the Notion loses itself in them. Up to -five there may certainly be a kind of thought in numbers, but from six -onwards they are merely arbitrary determinations. - -2. _Application of the System to the Universe_. This simple idea and -the simple reality contained therein, must now, however, be further -developed in order to come to reality as it is when put together and -expanded. The question now meets us as to how, in this relation, the -Pythagoreans passed from abstract logical determinations to forms which -indicate the concrete use of numbers. In what pertains to space or -music, determinations of objects formed by the Pythagoreans through -numbers, still bear a somewhat closer relation to the thing, but when -they enter the region of the concrete in nature and in mind, numbers -become purely formal and empty. - -a. To show how the Pythagoreans constructed out of numbers the -system of the world, Sextus instances (adv. Math. X. 277-283), space -relations, and undoubtedly we have in them to do with such ideal -principles, for numbers are, in fact, perfect determinations of -abstract space. That is to say, if we begin with the point, the first -negation of vacuity, “the point corresponds to unity; it is indivisible -and the principle of lines, as the unity is that of numbers. While -the point exists as the monad or One, the line expresses the duad or -Two, for both become comprehensible through transition; the line is -the pure relationship of two points and is without breadth. Surface -results from the threefold; but the solid figure or body belongs to -the fourfold, and in it there are three dimensions present. Others say -that body consists of one point” (_i.e._ its essence is one point), -“for the flowing point makes the line, the flowing line, however, makes -surface, and this surface makes body. They distinguish themselves from -the first mentioned, in that the former make numbers primarily proceed -from the monad and the undetermined duad, and then points and lines, -plane surfaces and solid figures, from numbers, while they construct -all from one point.” To the first, distinction is opposition or form -set forth as duality; the others have form as activity. “Thus what is -corporeal is formed under the directing influence of numbers, but from -them also proceed the definite bodies, water, air, fire, and the whole -universe generally, which they declare to be harmonious. This harmony -is one which again consists of numeral relations only, which constitute -the various concords of the absolute harmony.” - -We must here remark that the progression from the point to actual space -also has the signification of occupation of space, for “according to -their fundamental tenets and teaching,” says Aristotle (Metaph. I. 8), -“they speak of sensuously perceptible bodies in nowise differently -from those which are mathematical.” Since lines and surfaces are only -abstract moments in space, external construction likewise proceeds from -here very well. On the other hand, the transition from the occupation -of space generally to what is determined, to water, earth, &c., is -quite another thing and is more difficult; or rather the Pythagoreans -have not taken this step, for the universe itself has, with them, -the speculative, simple form, which is found in the fact of being -represented as a system of number-relations. But with all this, the -physical is not yet determined. - -b. Another application or exhibition of the essential nature of the -determination of numbers is to be found in the relations of music, -and it is more especially in their case that number constitutes -the determining factor. The differences here show themselves as -various relations of numbers, and this mode of determining what is -musical is the only one. The relation borne by tones to one another -is founded on quantitative differences whereby harmonies may be -formed, in distinction to others by which discords are constituted. -The Pythagoreans, according to Porphyry (De vita Pyth. 30), treated -music as something soul-instructing and scholastic [Psychagogisches -und Pädagogisches]. Pythagoras was the first to discern that musical -relations, these audible differences, are mathematically determinable, -that what we hear as consonance and dissonance is a mathematical -arrangement. The subjective, and, in the case of hearing, simple -feeling which, however, exists inherently in relation, Pythagoras has -justified to the understanding, and he attained his object by means -of fixed determinations. For to him the discovery of the fundamental -tones of harmony are ascribed, and these rest on the most simple -number-relations. Iamblichus (De vita Pyth. XXVI. 115) says that -Pythagoras, in passing by the workshop of a smith, observed the strokes -that gave forth a particular chord; he then took into consideration -the weight of the hammer giving forth a certain harmony, and from that -determined mathematically the tone as related thereto.[44] And finally -he applied the same, and experimented in strings, by which means there -were three different relations presented to him—Diapason, Diapente, -and Diatessaron. It is known that the tone of a string, or, in the wind -instrument, of its equivalent, the column of air in a reed, depends on -three conditions; on its length, on its thickness, and on the amount -of tension. Now if we have two strings of equal thickness and length, -a difference in tension brings about a difference in sound. If we want -to know what tone any string has, we have only to consider its tension, -and this may be measured by the weight depending from the string, -by means of which it is extended. Pythagoras here found that if one -string were weighted with twelve pounds, and another with six (_λόγος -διπλάσιος_, 1 : 2) it would produce the musical chord of the octave -(_διὰ πασῶν_); the proportion of 8 : 12, or of 2 : 3 (_λόγος ἡμιόλιος_) -would give the chord of the fifth (_διὰ πέντε_); the proportion of 9 -: 12, or 3 : 4 (_λόγος ἐπίτριτος_), the fourth (_διὰ τεσσάρων_).[45] -A different number of vibrations in like times determines the height -and depth of the tone, and this number is likewise proportionate to -the weight, if thickness and length are equal. In the first case, the -more distended string makes as many vibrations again as the other; -in the second case, it makes three vibrations for the other’s two, -and so it goes on. Here number is the real factor which determines -the difference, for tone, as the vibration of a body, is only a -quantitatively determined quiver or movement, that is, a determination -made through space and time. For there can be no determination for the -difference excepting that of number or the amount of vibrations in one -time; and hence a determination made through numbers is nowhere more -in place than here. There certainly are also qualitative differences, -such as those existing between the tones of metals and catgut strings, -and between the human voice and wind instruments; but the peculiar -musical relation borne by the tone of one instrument to another, in -which harmony is to be found, is a relationship of numbers. - -From this point the Pythagoreans enter into further applications of -the theory of music, in which we cannot follow them. The _à priori_ -law of progression, and the necessity of movement in number-relations, -is a matter which is entirely dark; minds confused may wander about at -will, for everywhere ideas are hinted at, and superficial harmonies -present themselves and disappear again. But in all that treats of the -further construction of the universe as a numerical system, we have -the whole extent of the confusion and turbidity of thought belonging -to the later Pythagoreans. We cannot say how much pains they took -to express philosophic thought in a system of numbers, and also to -understand the expressions given utterance to by others, and to put in -them all the meaning possible. When they determined the physical and -the moral universe by means of numbers, everything came into indefinite -and insipid relationships in which the Notion disappeared. In this -matter, however, so far as the older Pythagoreans are concerned, we -are acquainted with the main principles only. Plato exemplifies to us -the conception of the universe as a system of numbers, but Cicero and -the ancients always call these numbers the Platonic, and it does not -appear that they were ascribed to the Pythagoreans. It was thus later -on that this came to be said; even in Cicero’s time they had become -proverbially dark, and there is but little after all that is really old. - -c. The Pythagoreans further constructed the heavenly bodies of the -visible universe by means of numbers, and here we see at once the -barrenness and abstraction present in the determination of numbers. -Aristotle says (Met. I. 5), “Because they defined numbers to be -the principles of all nature, they brought under numbers and their -relationships all determinations and all sections, both of the heavens -and of all nature; and where anything did not altogether conform, they -sought to supply the deficiency in order to bring about a harmony. -For instance, as the Ten or dekad appeared to them to be the perfect -number, or that which embraces the whole essence of numbers, they -said that the spheres moving in the heavens must be ten; but as only -nine of these are visible, they made out a tenth, the Antichthone -(_ἀντίχθονα_).” These nine are, first the milky way, or the fixed -stars, and after that the seven stars which were then all held to be -planets: Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Mercury, the Sun, Moon, and in -the last and ninth place, the Earth. The tenth is thus the Antichthone, -and in regard to this it must remain uncertain whether the Pythagoreans -considered it to be the side of the Earth which is turned away, or as -quite another body. - -Aristotle says, in reference to the specially physical character of -these spheres (De cœlo II. 13 and 9), “Fire was by the Pythagoreans -placed in the middle, but the Earth was made a star that moved around -this central body in a circle.” This circle is, then, a sphere, which, -as the most perfect of figures, corresponds to the dekad. We here -find a certain similarity to our ideas of the solar system, but the -Pythagoreans did not believe the fire to be the sun. “They thus,” says -Aristotle, “rely, not on sensuous appearance, but on reasons,” just as -we form conclusions in accordance with reasons as opposed to sensuous -appearances; and indeed this comes to us still as the first example of -things being in themselves different from what they appear. “This fire, -that which is in the centre, they called Jupiter’s place of watch. -Now these ten spheres make, like all that is in motion, a tone; but -each makes a different one, according to the difference in its size -and velocity. This is determined by means of the different distances, -which bear an harmonious relationship to one another, in accordance -with musical intervals; by this means an harmonious sound arises in the -moving spheres”—a universal chorus. - -We must acknowledge the grandeur of this idea of determining everything -in the system of the heavenly spheres through number-relations which -have a necessary connection amongst themselves, and have to be -conceived of as thus necessarily related; it is a system of relations -which must also form the basis and essence of what can be heard, or -music. We have, comprehended here in thought, a system of the universe; -the solar system is alone rational to us, for the other stars are -devoid of interest. To say that there is music in the spheres, and -that these movements are tones, may seem just as comprehensible to us -as to say that the sun is still and the earth moves, although both are -opposed to the dictates of sense. For, seeing that we do not see the -movement, it may be that we do not hear the notes. And there is little -difficulty in imagining a universal silence in these vast spheres, -since we do not hear the chorus, but it is more difficult to give a -reason for not hearing this music. The Pythagoreans say, according to -the last quoted passage of Aristotle, that we do not hear it because -we live in it, like the smith who gets accustomed to the blows of -his hammer. Since it belongs to our substance and is identical with -ourselves, nothing else, such as silence, by which we might know -the other, comes into relationship with us, for we are conceived of -as entirely within the movement. But the movement does not become a -tone, in the first place, because pure space and time, the elements in -movement, can only raise themselves into a proper voice, unstimulated -from without, in an animate body, and movement first reaches this -definite, characteristic individuality in the animal proper; and, in -the next place, because the heavenly bodies are not related to one -another as bodies whose sound requires for its production, contact, -friction, or shock, in response to which, and as the negation of its -particularity its own momentary individuality resounds in elasticity; -for heavenly bodies are independent of one another, and have only a -general, non-individual, free motion. - -We may thus set aside sound; the music of the spheres is indeed a -wonderful conception, but it is devoid of any real interest for us. -If we retain the conception that motion, as measure, is a necessarily -connected system of numbers, as the only rational part of the theory, -we must maintain that nothing further has transpired to the present -day. In a certain way, indeed, we have made an advance upon Pythagoras. -We have learned from Kepler about laws, about eccentricity, and the -relation of distances to the times of revolution, but no amount of -mathematics has as yet been able to give us the laws of progression -in the harmony through which the distances are determined. We know -empirical numbers well enough, but everything has the semblance of -accident and not of necessity. We are acquainted with an approximate -rule of distances, and thus have correctly foretold the existence -of planets where Ceres, Vesta, Pallas, &c., were afterwards -discovered—that is, between Mars and Jupiter. But astronomy has not as -yet found in it a consistent sequence in which there is rationality; -on the other hand, it even looks with disdain on the appearance of -regularity presented by this sequence, which is, however, on its own -account, a most important matter, and one which should not be forgotten. - -d. The Pythagoreans also applied their principle to the Soul, and -thus determined what is spiritual as number. Aristotle (De anim. I. -2) goes on to tell that they thought that solar corpuscles are soul, -others, that it is what moves them; they adopted this idea because -the corpuscles are ever moving, even in perfect stillness, and hence -they must have motion of their own. This does not signify much, but -it is evident from it that the determination of self-movement was -sought for in the soul. The Pythagoreans made a further application -of number-conceptions to the soul after another form, which Aristotle -describes in the same place as follows:—“Thought is the one, knowledge -or science is the two, for it comes alone out of the one. The number -of the plane is popular idea, opinion; the number of the corporeal -is sensuous feeling. Everything is judged of either by thought, or -science, or opinion, or feeling.” In these ideas, which we must, -however, ascribe to later Pythagoreans, we may undoubtedly find some -adequacy, for while thought is pure universality, knowledge deals with -something “other,” since it gives itself a determination and a content; -but feeling is the most developed in its determinateness. “Now because -the soul moves itself, it is the self-moving number,” yet we never find -it said that it is connected with the monad. - -This is a simple relationship to number-determinations. Aristotle -instances (De anim. I. 3) one more intricate from Timæus: “The soul -moves itself, and hence also the body because it is bound up with body; -it consists of elements and is divided according to harmonic numbers, -and hence it has feeling and an immediately indwelling (_σύμφυτον_) -harmony. In order that the whole may have an harmonious movement, -Timæus has bent the straight line of harmony (_εὐθυωρίαν_) into a -circle, and again divided off from the whole circle two circles, -which are doubly connected; and the one of these circles is again -divided into seven circles, so that the movements of the soul may -resemble those of the heavens.” The more definite significance of these -ideas Aristotle unfortunately has not given; they contain a profound -knowledge of the harmony of the whole, but yet they are forms which -themselves remain dark, because they are clumsy and unsuitable. There -is always a forcible turning and twisting, a struggle with the material -part of the representation, as there is in mythical and distorted -forms: nothing has the pliability of thought but thought itself. It -is remarkable that the Pythagoreans have grasped the soul as a system -which is a counterpart of the system of the heavens. In Plato’s Timæus -this same idea is more definitely brought forward. Plato also gives -further number-relations, but not their significance as well; even to -the present day no one has been able to make any particular sense out -of them. An arrangement of numbers such as this is easy, but to give to -it a real significance is difficult, and, when done, it always must be -arbitrary. - -There is still something worthy of attention in what is said by the -Pythagoreans in reference to the soul, and this is their doctrine -of the transmigration of souls. Cicero (Tusc. Quæst. I. 16) says: -“Pherecydes, the teacher of Pythagoras, first said that the souls -of men were immortal.” The doctrine of the transmigration of souls -extends even to India, and, without doubt, Pythagoras took it from -the Egyptians; indeed Herodotus (II. 123) expressly says so. After he -speaks of the mythical ideas of the Egyptians as to the lower world, -he continues: “The Egyptians were the first to say that the soul of -man is immortal, and that, when the body disappears, it goes into -another living being; and when it has gone through all the animals of -land and sea, and likewise birds, it again takes the body of a man, -the period being completed in 3000 years.” Diogenes Laertius says in -this connection (VIII. 14) that the soul, according to Pythagoras, goes -through a circle. “These ideas,” proceeds Herodotus, “are also found -amongst the Greeks; there are some who, earlier or later, have made -use of this particular doctrine, and have spoken of it as if it were -their own; I know their names very well, but I will not mention them.” -He undoubtedly meant Pythagoras and his followers. In the sequel, -much that is given utterance to is fictitious: “Pythagoras himself -is said to have stated that his former personality was known to him. -Hermes granted him a knowledge of his circumstances before his birth. -He lived as the son of Hermes, Æthalides, and then in the Trojan -war as Euphorbus, the son of Panthous, who killed Patroclus, and was -killed by Menelaus; in the third place he was Hermotimus; fourthly, -Pyrrhus, a fisherman of Delos; in all he lived 207 years. Euphorbus’ -shield was offered up to Apollo by Menelaus, and Pythagoras went to the -temple and, from the mouldering shield, showed the existence of signs, -hitherto not known of, by which it was recognized.”[46] We shall not -treat further of these very various and foolish stories. - -As in the case of the brotherhood copied from the Egyptian priesthood, -so must we here set aside this oriental and un-Greek idea of the -transmigration of souls. Both were too far removed from the Greek -spirit to have had a place and a development there. With the Greeks, -the consciousness of a higher, freer individuality has become too -strong to allow any permanence to the idea of metempsychosis, according -to which, man, this independent and self-sufficing Being, takes the -form of a beast. They have, indeed, the conception of men as becoming -springs of water, trees, animals, &c., but the idea of degradation -which comes as a consequence of sin, lies at its root. Aristotle (De -anim. I. 3) shortly and in his own manner deals with and annihilates -this idea of the Pythagoreans. “They do not say for what reason soul -dwells in body, nor how the latter is related to it. For owing to -their unity of nature when one acts the other suffers: one moves and -the other is moved, but none of this happens in what is mutually -contingent. According to the Pythagorean myths any soul takes to any -body, which is much like making architects take to flutes. For crafts -must necessarily have tools and soul body; but each tool must have -its proper form and kind.” It is implied in the transmigration of -souls that the organization of the body is something accidental to -the human soul; this refutation by Aristotle is complete. The eternal -idea of metempsychosis had philosophic interest only as the inner -Notion permeating all these forms, the oriental unity which appears in -everything; we have not got this signification here, or at best we have -but a glimmering of it. If we say that the particular soul is, as a -definite thing, to wander about throughout all, we find firstly, that -the soul is not a thing such as Leibnitz’ Monad, which, like a bubble -in the cup of coffee, is possibly a sentient, thinking soul; in the -second place an empty identity of the soul-thing such as this has no -interest in relation to immortality. - -3. _Practical Philosophy_. As regards the practical philosophy of -Pythagoras, which is closely connected with what has gone before, there -is but little that is philosophic known to us. Aristotle (Magn. Moral. -I. 1) says of him that “he first sought to speak of virtue, but not in -the right way, for, because he deduced the virtues from numbers, he -could not form of them any proper theory.” The Pythagoreans adopted ten -virtues as well as ten heavenly spheres. Justice, amongst others, is -described as the number which is like itself in like manner (_ἴσακις -ἴσος_); it is an even number, which remains even when multiplied with -itself. Justice is pre-eminently what remains like itself; but this -is an altogether abstract determination, which applies to much that -is, and which does not exhaust the concrete, thus remaining quite -indeterminate. - -Under the name of the “Golden words,” we have a collection of -hexameters which are a succession of moral reflections, but which are -rightly ascribed to later Pythagoreans. They are old, well-known, moral -maxims, which are expressed in a simple and dignified way, but which -do not contain anything remarkable. They begin with the direction “to -honour the immortal gods as they are by law established,” and further, -“Honour the oath and then the illustrious heroes;” elsewhere they go -on to direct “honour to be paid to parents and to relatives,” &c.[47] -Such matter does not deserve to be regarded as philosophy, although it -is of importance in the process of development. - -The transition from the form of outward morals to morality as existent, -is more important. As in Thales’ time, law-givers and administrators -of states were preeminent in possessing a physical philosophy, so we -see that with Pythagoras practical philosophy is advocated as the means -of constituting a moral life. There we have the speculative Idea, -the absolute essence, in its reality, and in a definite, sensuous -existence; and similarly the moral life is submerged in actuality -as the universal spirit of a people, and as their laws and rule. In -Pythagoras, on the contrary, we have the reality of absolute essence -raised, in speculation, out of sensuous reality, and expressed, though -still imperfectly, as the essence of thought. Morality is likewise -partly raised out of actuality as ordinarily known; it is certainly a -moral disposition of all actuality, but as a brotherhood, and not as -the life of a people. The Pythagorean League is an arbitrary existence -and not a part of the constitution recognized by public sanction; and -in his person Pythagoras isolated himself as teacher, as he also did -his followers. The universal consciousness, the spirit of a people, is -the substance of which the accident is the individual consciousness; -the speculative is thus the fact that pure, universal law is absolute, -individual consciousness, so that this last, because it draws therefrom -its growth and nourishment, becomes universal self-consciousness. These -two sides do not, however, come to us in the form of the opposition; -it is first of all in morality that there is properly this Notion of -the absolute individuality of consciousness which does everything on -its own account. But we see that it was really present to the mind -of Pythagoras that the substance of morality is the universal, from -an example in Diogenes Laertius (VIII. 16). “A Pythagorean answered -to the question of a father who inquired as to the best education he -could give his son, that it should be that which would make him the -citizen of a well-regulated State.” This answer is great and true; to -the great principle of living in the spirit of one’s people, all other -circumstances are subordinate. Nowadays men try to keep education free -from the spirit of the times, but they cannot withdraw themselves -from this supreme power, the State, for even if they try to separate -themselves, they unconsciously remain beneath this universal. The -speculative meaning of the practical philosophy of Pythagoras thus is, -that in this signification, the individual consciousness shall obtain -a moral reality in the brotherhood. But as number is a middle thing -between the sensuous and Notion, the Pythagorean brotherhood is a -middle between universal, actual morality and maintaining that in true -morality the individual, as an individual, is responsible for his own -behaviour; this morality ceases to be universal spirit. If we wish to -see practical philosophy reappear, we shall find it; but, on the whole, -we shall not see it become really speculative until very recent times. - -We may satisfy ourselves with this as giving us an idea of the -Pythagorean system. I will, however, shortly give the principal -points of the criticism which Aristotle (Met. I. 8) makes upon the -Pythagorean number-form. He says justly, in the first place: “If only -the limited and the unlimited, the even and odd are made fundamental -ideas, the Pythagoreans do not explain how movement arises, and how, -without movement and change there can be coming into being and passing -away, or the conditions and activities of heavenly objects.” This -defect is significant; arithmetical numbers are dry forms and barren -principles in which life and movement are deficient. Aristotle says -secondly, “From number no other corporeal determinations, such as -weight and lightness, are conceivable;” or number thus cannot pass -into what is concrete. “They say that there is no number outside of -those in the heavenly spheres.” For instance, a heavenly sphere and -a virtue, or a natural manifestation in the earth, are determined as -one and the same number. Each of the first numbers may be exhibited -in each thing or quality; but in so far as number is made to express -a further determination, this quite abstract, quantitative difference -becomes altogether formal; it is as if the plant were five because it -has five stamens. This is just as superficial as are determination -through elements or through particular portions of the globe; it is a -method as formal as that by which men now try to apply the categories -of electricity, magnetism, galvanism, compression and expansion, of -manly and of womanly, to everything. It is a purely empty system of -determination where reality should be dealt with. - -To Pythagoras and his disciples there are, moreover, many scientific -conclusions and discoveries ascribed, which, however, do not concern us -at all. Thus, according to Diogenes Laertius (VIII. 14, 27), he is said -to have known that the morning and evening star is the same, and that -the moon derives her light from the sun. We have already mentioned what -he says of music. But what is best known is the Pythagorean Theorem; -it really is the main proposition in geometry, and cannot be regarded -like any other theorem. According to Diogenes, (VIII. 12), Pythagoras, -on discovering the theorem, sacrificed a hecatomb, so important did he -think it; and it may indeed seem remarkable that his joy should have -gone so far as to ordain a great feast to which rich men and all the -people were invited. It was worth the trouble; it was a rejoicing, a -feast of spiritual cognition—at the cost of the oxen. - -Other ideas which are brought forward by the Pythagoreans casually and -without any connection, have no philosophic interest, and need only -be mentioned. Aristotle, for instance, says (Phys. IV. 6) that “the -Pythagoreans believed in an empty space which the heavens inspire, and -an empty space which separates natural things and brings about the -distinction between continuous and discrete; it first exists in numbers -and makes them to be different.” Diogenes Laertius (VIII. 26-28) says -much more, all of which is dull; this is like the later writers, -who, generally speaking, take up what is external and devoid of any -intellectual meaning. “The air which encircles the earth is immovable” -(_ἄσειστον_, at least through itself) “and diseased, and all that is -in it is mortal; but what is highest is in continual movement, pure -and healthy, and in it everything is immortal—divine. Sun, moon and -the other stars are gods, for in them warmth has predominance and is -the cause of life. Man is related to the gods because he participates -in warmth, and hence God cares for us. A ray penetrates from the sun -through the thick and cold ether and gives life to everything; they -call air, cold ether, the sea and moisture, thick ether. The soul is a -detached portion of ether.” - - -C. THE ELEATIC SCHOOL. - -The Pythagorean philosophy has not yet got the speculative form of -expression for the Notion. Numbers are not pure Notion, but Notion in -the form of ordinary idea or sensuous perception, and hence a mixture -of both. This expression of absolute essence in what is a pure Notion -or something thought, and the movement of the Notion or of Thought, -is that which we find must come next, and this we discover in the -Eleatic school. In it we see thought becoming free for itself; and in -that which the Eleatics express as absolute essence, we see Thought -grasp itself in purity, and the movement of Thought in Notions. In -the physical philosophy we saw movement represented as an objective -movement, as an origination and passing away. The Pythagoreans -similarly did not reflect upon these Notions, and also treated their -essence, Number, as fleeting. But since alteration is now grasped in -its highest abstraction as Nothing, this objective movement changes -into a subjective one, comes over to the side of consciousness, and -existence becomes the unmoved. We here find the beginning of dialectic, -_i.e._ simply the pure movement of thought in Notions; likewise we -see the opposition of thought to outward appearance or sensuous -Being, or of that which is implicit to the being-for-another of this -implicitness, and in the objective existence we see the contradiction -which it has in itself, or dialectic proper. When we reflect in -anticipation on how the course of pure thought must be formed, we -find (_α_) that pure thought (pure Being, the One) manifests itself -immediately in its rigid isolation and self-identity, and everything -else as null; (_β_) that the hitherto timid thought—which after it -is strengthened, ascribes value to the “other” and constitutes itself -therefrom—shows that it then grasps the other in its simplicity and -even in so doing shows its nullity; (_γ_) finally, Thought manifests -the other in the manifold nature of its determinations. We shall see -this in the development and culture of the Eleatics in history. These -Eleatic propositions still have interest for Philosophy, and are -moments which must necessarily there appear. - -Xenophanes, Parmenides, Melissus and Zeno are to be reckoned as -belonging to this school. Xenophanes may be regarded as the founder -of it; Parmenides is supposed to have been his pupil, and Melissus, -and especially Zeno, are called the pupils of Parmenides. In fact, -they are to be taken together as forming the Eleatic school; later on -it lost the name, being then called Sophistic, and its locality was -transferred to Greece proper. What Xenophanes began, Parmenides and -Melissus developed further, and similarly Zeno perfected what these -two taught. Aristotle (Metaph. I. 5) characterizes the first three -thus: “Parmenides seems to comprehend the one as Notion (_κατὰ τὸν -λόγον_), Melissus as matter (_κατὰ τὴν ὕλην_); hence the former says -that it is limited (_πεπερασμένον_) and the latter that it is unlimited -(_ἄπειρον_). But Xenophanes, who was the first of them to express the -theory of the One, made the matter no plainer (_διεσαφήνισεν_), nor did -he deal with either of these aspects (_φύσεως_), but looking into the -heavens”—as we say, into the blue—“said, God is the One. Xenophanes -and Melissus are on the whole less civilized (_μικρὸν ἀγροικότεροι_); -Parmenides, however, is more acute (_μᾶλλον βλέπων_).” There is less to -say of Xenophanes and Melissus, and what has come to us from the latter -in particular—in fragments and derived from the sayings of others—is -still in a state of ferment, and in his case there is least knowledge -obtainable. On the whole, philosophic utterances and Notions are still -poor, and it was in Zeno that Philosophy first attained to a purer -expression of itself. - - -1. XENOPHANES. - -The period at which he lived is clear enough, and as this suffices, -it is a matter of indifference that the year of his birth and of his -death is unknown. According to Diogenes Laertius (IX. 18), he was -contemporary with Anaximander and Pythagoras. Of his circumstances -further than this, it is only known that he, for reasons which are -unknown, escaped from his native town, Colophon, in Asia Minor, to -Magna Græcia, and resided for the most part at Zancle, (now Messina) -and Catana (still called Catania) in Sicily. I find it nowhere said -by the ancients that he lived at Elea, although all recent writers on -the history of Philosophy repeat it, one after the other. Tennemann, -in particular, says (Vol. I. pp. 151 and 414), that about the 61st -Olympiad (536 B.C.), he repaired from Colophon to Elea. Diogenes -Laertius (IX. 20), however, only says that he flourished about the 60th -Olympiad and that he made two thousand verses on the colonization of -Elea, from which it might be easily concluded that he was also born -at Elea. Strabo says this in the beginning of his sixth book—when -describing Elea—of Parmenides and Zeno only, and these he called -Pythagoreans; hence, according to Cicero (Acad. Quæst. IV. 42) the -Eleatic school took its name from these two. Xenophanes was nearly a -hundred years old, and lived to see the Median wars: it is said that he -became so poor that he had not the means of having his children buried, -and was obliged to do so with his own hands. Some say that he had no -teacher; others name Archelaus, which is a chronological error. - -He wrote a book “On Nature,” the general subject and title of -Philosophy at that time; some verses have been preserved to us which so -far show no powers of reasoning. Professor Brandis of Bonn collected -them together, with the fragments of Parmenides and Melissus, under -the title “Commentationum Eleaticarum, P. 1,” Altonæ, 1813. The older -philosophers wrote in verse, for prose comes much later on; on account -of the awkward and confused mode of expression in Xenophanes’ poems, -Cicero calls them (Acad. Quæst. IV. 23): _minus boni versus_. - -As to his philosophy, Xenophanes in the first place maintained absolute -existence to be the one, and likewise called this God. “The all is -One and God is implanted in all things; He is unchangeable, without -beginning, middle or end.”[48] In some verses by Xenophanes found in -Clemens of Alexandria (Strom. V. 14, p. 714, ed. Potter), it is said: - - “One God is greatest amongst gods and men. - Neither like unto mortals in spirit or in form;” - -and in Sextus Empiricus (adv. Math. IX. 144): - - “He sees everywhere, thinks everywhere, and hears everywhere,” - -to which words Diogenes Laertius (IX, 19) adds: “Thought and reason -are everything and eternal.” By this Xenophanes denied the truth of the -conceptions of origination and of passing away, of change, movement, -&c., seeing that they merely belong to sensuous perception. “He found,” -says Tennemann (Vol. I. p. 156) “all origination to be inconceivable:” -the One as the immediate product of pure thought, is, in its immediacy, -Being. - -For us the determination of Being is already known and trivial, but -if we know about Being, the One, we place this, as a particular -determination, in a line with all the rest. Here, on the contrary, it -signifies that all else has no reality and is only a semblance. We -must forget our own ideas; we know of God as Spirit. But, because the -Greeks only had before them the sensuous world, these gods of their -imagination, and found in them no satisfaction, they rejected all -as being untrue, and thus came to pure thought. This is a wonderful -advance, and thought thus becomes for the first time free for itself in -the Eleatic school. Being, the One of the Eleatic school, is just this -immersion in the abyss of the abstract identity of the understanding. -Just as this comes first, so it also comes last, as that to which the -understanding comes back, and this is proved in recent times when God -is grasped only as the highest Being. If we say of God that this the -highest Being is outside of and over us, we can know nothing more of -it but that it is, and thus it is the undetermined; for if we knew of -determinations, this would be to possess knowledge. The truth then -simply is that God is the One, not in the sense that there is one God -(this is another determination), but only that He is identical with -Himself; in this there is no other determination, any more than in the -utterance of the Eleatic school. Modern thought has, indeed, passed -through a longer path, not only through what is sensuous, but also -through philosophic ideas and predicates of God, to this all negating -abstraction; but the content, the result arrived at is the same. - -With this the dialectic reasoning of the Eleatics is closely connected -in respect that they have also proved that nothing can originate or -pass away. This deduction is to be found in Aristotle’s work, De -Xenophane, Zenone et Gorgia, c. 3. “It is impossible, he says,[49] that -if anything is, it arises (and he even applies this to the Godhead); -for it must arise either from the like or from the unlike. But both are -equally impossible: for it is no more probable that the like should be -engendered from the like, than that it should engender it, for the like -must have determinations identical with one another.” In acknowledging -similarity, the distinction between begetting and begotten falls away. -“Just as little can unlike arise from unlike, for if from the weaker -the stronger takes its rise; or from the smaller, the greater; or from -the worse, the better: or if, conversely, the worse proceeds from the -better, non-being would result from Being: this is impossible, and thus -God is eternal.” The same thing has been expressed as Pantheism or -Spinozaism, which rests on the proposition _ex nihilo fit nihil_. The -unity of God is further proved by Xenophanes: “If God is the mightiest, -He must be One; for were He two or more, He would not have dominion -over the others, but, not having dominion over the others, He could not -be God. Thus were there several, they would be relatively more powerful -or weaker, and thus they would not be gods, for God’s nature is to have -nothing mightier than He. Were they equal, God would no longer possess -the quality of being the mightiest, for the like is neither worse nor -better than the like”—or it does not differ therefrom. “Hence if -God is, and is such as this, He is only one; He could not, were there -several, do what He willed. Since He is one, He is everywhere alike. -He hears, sees and has also the other senses everywhere, for were this -not the case, the parts of God would be one more powerful than the -other, which is impossible. Since God is everywhere alike, He has a -spherical form, for He is not here thus and elsewhere different, but is -everywhere the same. Since He is eternal and one and spherical in form, -He is neither unlimited nor limited. To be unlimited is non-being; -for that has neither middle, beginning, end, nor part; and what is -unlimited corresponds to this description. But whatever non-being is, -Being is not. Mutual limitation would take place if there were several, -but since there is only One, it is not limited. The one does not move -itself, nor is it unmoved; to be unmoved is non-being, for to it none -other comes, nor does it go into another; but to be moved must mean to -be several, for one must move into another. Thus the One neither rests -nor is it moved, for it is neither non-being nor is it many. In all -this God is thus indicated; He is eternal and One, like Himself and -spherical, neither unlimited nor limited, neither at rest nor moved.” -From this result, that nothing can arise from the like or from the -unlike, Aristotle (De Xenophane, Zenone et Gorgia c. 4) draws this -conclusion: “that either there is nothing excepting God, or all else is -eternal.” - -We here see a dialectic which may be called metaphysical reasoning, in -which the principle of identity is fundamental. “The nothing is like -nothing and does not pass into Being or conversely; thus nothing can -originate from like.” This, the oldest mode of argument, holds its -place even to the present day, as, for example, in the so-called proof -of the unity of God. This proceeding consists of making presuppositions -such as the power of God, and from them drawing conclusions and denying -the existence of predicates; that is the usual course in our mode of -reasoning. In respect of determinations, it must be remarked that -they, as being negative, are all kept apart from the positive and -merely real being. We reach this abstraction by a more ordinary way, -and do not require a dialectic such as that of the Eleatic school: we -say God is unchangeable, change concerns finite things alone (which -we represent as an empirical proposition); on the one hand we thus -have finite things and change, and on the other, unchangeableness in -this abstract absolute unity with itself. It is the same separation, -only that we also allow the finite to be Being, which the Eleatics -deny. Or else we too proceed from finite things to kinds and genera, -leaving the negative out bit by bit; and the highest order of all is -God, who, as the highest Being, is affirmative only, but devoid of any -determination. Or we pass from what is finite to the infinite, for we -say that the finite as limited must have its basis in the infinite. -In all these different forms which are quite familiar to us, there is -the same difficult question which exists in reference to the Eleatic -thought. Whence comes determination and how is it to be grasped—how -is it in the one, leaving the finite aside, and also how does the -infinite pass out into the finite? The Eleatics in their reflections -were distinguished from this our ordinary reflecting thought, in that -they went speculatively to work (the speculative element being that -change does not exist at all) and that they thus showed that, as Being -was presupposed, change in itself is contradictory and inconceivable. -For from the one, from Being, the determination of the negative, of -the manifold, is withdrawn. Thus while we, in our conception, allow -the actuality of the finite world, the Eleatics are more consistent, -in that they proceeded to say that only the One exists and that the -negative does not exist at all;—a consequence which, if it necessarily -arouses in us surprise, still none the less remains a great abstraction. - -Sceptics saw in this the point of view of the uncertainty of all -things, and Sextus several times[50] quotes verses such as these:— - - “No man at any time knew clearly and truly; nor will he ever know - What of the gods I say, as also of the universe. - For what he thinks to speak most perfectly - He knows that not at all; his own opinions cleave to all.” - -Sextus, generalizing, explains this in the first passage thus: “Let us -imagine that in a house in which are many valuables, there were those -who sought for gold by night; in such a case everyone would think that -he had found the gold, but would not know certainly whether he actually -had found it. Thus philosophers come into this world as into a great -house to seek the truth, but were they to reach it, they could not tell -whether they really had attained to it.” The indefinite expressions -of Xenophanes might also merely mean that none knows that which he -(Xenophanes) here makes known. In the second passage Sextus puts it -thus: “Xenophanes does not make all knowledge void, but only the -scientific and infallible; opinionative knowledge is, however, left. He -expresses this in saying that opinion cleaves to all. So that with him -the criterion is made to be opinion, i.e. the apparent, and not that -which is firm and sure; Parmenides, on the contrary, condemns opinion.” -But from his doctrine of the One, there follows the annihilation of -ordinary ideas, which is what he did in the foregoing dialectic; it -is evident, however, that nobody could know the truth which he hereby -utters. If a thought such as this passed through one’s head, one could -not tell that it was true, and in such a case it would only be an -opinion. - -We here find in Xenophanes a double consciousness; a pure consciousness -and consciousness of Being, and a consciousness of opinion. The former -was to him the consciousness of the divine, and it is the pure -dialectic, which is negatively related to all that is determined and -which annuls it. The manner in which he expresses himself towards the -sensuous world and finite thought-determinations is seen most clearly -in his allusions to the Greek mythological conceptions of the gods. He -says, amongst other things, according to Brandis (Comment. Eleat. P. I. -p. 68):— - - “Did beasts and lions only have hands, - Works of art thereby to bring forth, as do men, - They would, in creating divine forms, give to them - What in image and size belongs to themselves.” - -He also animadverts on the ideas of the gods held by Homer and Hesiod -in verses which Sextus (adv. Math. IX. 193) has preserved to us:— - - “Hesiod and Homer have attached to the gods - All that which brings shame and censure to men; - Stealing, adultery, and mutual deceit.” - -As, on the one hand, he defined absolute Being to be simple, making -that which is, however, break through and be immediately present in -it, on the other hand he philosophizes on appearances; in reference to -this certain fragments only are transmitted to us, and such physical -opinions as these can have no great interest. They are meant to have no -speculative significance any more than are those of our own physicists. -When he says in this connection - - “Out of the earth comes all, and returns to it again, - We all have come from earth and water alike, - Thus all that grows and takes its rise is only earth and water,”[51] - -this does not signify existence, physical principles, as did the water -of Thales. For Aristotle expressly says, that no one regarded the earth -as the absolute principle. - - -2. PARMINIDES. - -Parmenides is a striking figure in the Eleatic school, and he arrives -at more definite conceptions than does Xenophanes. He was, according -to Diogenes (IX. 21), born at Elea of a rich and honourable race. Of -his life, however, little is known; Aristotle only says (Met. I. 5) -from tradition that he was a scholar of Xenophanes. Sextus Empiricus -(adv. Math. VII. 111) calls him a friend (_γνώριμος_) of Xenophanes. -Diogenes Laertius further states: “He heard Anaximander and Xenophanes -also, but did not follow the latter” (which seems only to refer to -his place of abode), “but he lived with Aminias and Diochartes the -Pythagorean, attached himself to the latter, and by the former, and -not by Xenophanes, was prevailed upon to lead a quiet life.” That the -period in which his life falls comes between Xenophanes and Zeno—so -that he is contemporaneous with them, though younger than the former -and older than the latter—is ascertained. According to Diogenes (IX. -23) he flourished about the 69th Olympiad (504-501 B.C.). What is -most important is his journey to Athens with Zeno, where Plato makes -them talk with Socrates. This may be accepted generally, but what is -strictly historical in it cannot be ascertained. In the Thætetus Plato -makes Socrates reply to the invitation to examine the Eleatic system: -“For Melissus and the others who assert the All to be One at rest, -I have a certain respect; I have even more for Parmenides. For, to -speak in Homeric language, he seems to me both venerable and strong. -I knew him when he was an old man and I was still quite young, and I -heard wonderful things from him.”[52] And in the Platonic Dialogue -Parmenides (p. 127. Steph. p. 4. Bekk.) where, as is well known, the -conversation is carried on by Parmenides and Socrates, the historic -circumstances of this interview are related in detail. “Parmenides was -very old, had hair which was quite grey, was beautiful in countenance, -about sixty-five years old, and Zeno almost forty.” Tennemann (Vol. I. -p. 415) places the journey in the 80th Olympiad (460-457 B.C.). Thus -Socrates, since he was born in Olympiad 77, 4 (469 B.C.), would seem to -have been still too young to have carried on a dialogue such as Plato -describes, and the principal matter of this dialogue, which is written -in the spirit of the Eleatic school, belongs to Plato himself. Besides, -we know from Parmenides’ life, that he stood in high respect with his -fellow-citizens at Elea, whose prosperity must be chiefly ascribed to -the laws which Parmenides gave them.[53] We also find in the _πίναξ_ of -Cebes (towards the beginning) “a Parmenidian life” used synonymously -with a moral life. - -It must be remarked that here, where the Eleatic school is definitely -treated of, Plato does not speak of Xenophanes at all, but only of -Melissus and Parmenides. The fact that Plato, in one of his dialogues, -likewise accords the chief part to Parmenides, and puts in his mouth -the most lofty dialectic that ever was given, does not concern us here. -If with Xenophanes, by the proposition that out of nothing nothing -comes, origination and what depends upon or can be traced back to it is -denied, the opposition between Being and non-being makes its appearance -still more clearly with Parmenides, though still unconsciously. Sextus -Empiricus and Simplicius have preserved to us the most important -fragments from the poems of Parmenides; for Parmenides also propounded -his philosophy as a poem. The first long fragment in Sextus (adv. Math. -VII. 111) is an allegorical preface to his poem on Nature. This preface -is majestic; it is written after the manner of the times, and in it all -there is an energetic, impetuous soul which strives with Being to grasp -and to express it. We can show Parmenides’ philosophy best in his own -words. The introduction runs thus:— - - “Horses that bore me, impelled by their courage, - Brought me to the much-famed streets of the goddess - Who leads the wise man to every kind of knowledge. - Maidens point out the way. - The axle sings hot as the daughters of Helios quickly approach, - Leaving the dwelling of night, pressing on to the light, - With mighty hands raising the sheltering veil.” - -The maidens are, according to Sextus (adv. Math. VII. 112, 113), the -senses, and Helios’ daughters are more especially the eyes:— - - “These are the gates of the pathways of night and of day. - Now the heavenly maidens approach the great doors, - Whose lock double-turned the punishing Dice protects. - To this one soft words were by the maidens addressed - Subtly persuading her the barriers of oak from the gates, - Now to withdraw. Yet these, - Directly the yawning breadth of the doors was revealed, - Drove the horses and waggon, on through the gate. - The goddess received me in friendship, seized with her one hand my - right, - And turning towards me, she said: - ‘Oh, thou, who with guides all immortal and horses, - Camest here in my palace,—be welcome, young man. - For no evil fate has led thee into this path, - (Indeed it lies far from the ways of a man) - But Themis and Dice. Now shalt thou all things explore, - The heart never-flinching of the truth that persuades, - The transient opinions which are not to be trusted. - But from such paths keep the inquiring soul far away. - On this way let not the much followed custom - Cause thee to take the rash eye as thy guide, - Or the confused sounding ear and the tongue. Ponder considerately - With thy reason alone, the doctrine much and often examined, - Which I will proclaim. For there lacks but desire on your way.’” - -The goddess develops everything from the double knowledge (_α_) -of thought, of the truth, and (_β_) of opinion; these make up the -two parts of the poem. In another fragment taken from Simplicius’ -Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics (p. 25; 19 a) and from Proclus -on the Timæus (p. 29 b), we have the principal part of what is here -related preserved to us. “Understand,” says the goddess, “which are the -two roads of knowledge. The one which is only Being, and which is not -non-being, is the path of conviction, the truth is in it. The other -that is not Being, and which is necessarily non-being, is, I must tell -you, a path quite devoid of reason, for thou canst neither know, or -attain to, or express, non-being.” The nothing, in fact, turns into -something, since it is thought or is said: we say something, think -something, if we wish to think and say the nothing. “It is necessary -that saying and thinking should be Being; for Being is, but nothing is -not at all.” There the matter is stated in brief; and in this nothing, -falls negation generally, or in more concrete form, limitation, the -finite, restriction: _determinatio est negatio_ is Spinoza’s great -saying. Parmenides says, whatever form the negation may take, it -does not exist at all. To consider the nothing as the true is “the -way of error in which the ignorant and double-minded mortals wander. -Perplexity of mind sways the erring sense. Those who believe Being -and non-being to be the same, and then again not the same, are like -deaf and blind men surprised, like hordes confusedly driven.” The -error is to confuse them and to ascribe the same value to each, or to -distinguish them as if non-being were the limited generally. “Whichever -way is taken, it leads back to the point from which it started.” It is -a constantly self-contradictory and disintegrating movement. To human -ideas, now this is held to be reality and now its opposite, and then -again a mixture of both. - -Simplicius quotes further, in writing on Aristotle’s Physics (p. -17 a; 31, 19): “But the truth is only the ‘is’; this is neither -begotten of anything else, nor transient, entire, alone in its class -(_μουνογενές_), unmoved and without end; it neither was, nor will be, -but is at once the all. For what birth wouldst thou seek for it? How -and whence should it be augmented? That it should be from that which -is not, I shall allow thee neither to say nor to think, for neither -can it be said or thought that the ‘is’ is not. What necessity had -either later or earlier made it begin from the nothing? Thus must it -throughout only be or not be; nor will any force of conviction ever -make something else arise out of that which is not. Thus origination -has disappeared, and decease is incredible. Being is not separable, -for it is entirely like itself; it is nowhere more, else would it not -hold together, nor is it less, for everything is full of Being. The all -is one coherent whole, for Being flows into unison with Being: it is -unchangeable and rests securely in itself; the force of necessity holds -it within the bounds of limitation. It cannot hence be said that it is -imperfect; for it is without defect, while non-existence is wanting in -all.” This Being is not the undetermined (_ἄπειρον_) for it is kept -within the limits of necessity; we similarly find in Aristotle that -limitation is ascribed to Parmenides. The sense in which the expression -“limit” is to be taken is uncertain. According to Parmenides, however, -this absolute limitation is as _Δίκη_, absolute necessity clearly -determined in itself; and it is an important fact that he went beyond -the uncultured conception of the infinite. “Thought, and that on -account of which thought is, are the same. For not without that which -is, in which it expresses itself (_ἐν ᾦ πεφατισμένον ἐστίν_), wilt thou -find Thought, seeing that it is nothing and will be nothing outside of -that which is.” That is the main point. Thought produces itself, and -what is produced is a Thought. Thought is thus identical with Being, -for there is nothing beside Being, this great affirmation. Plotinus, -in quoting (V. Ennead. I. 8) this last fragment says: “Parmenides -adopted this point of view, inasmuch as he did not place Being in -sensuous things; identifying Being with Thought, he maintained it to be -unchangeable.” The Sophists concluded from this: “All is truth; there -is no error, for error is the non-existent, that which is not to be -thought.” - -Since in this an advance into the region of the ideal is observable, -Parmenides began Philosophy proper. A man now constitutes himself free -from all ideas and opinions, denies their truth, and says necessity -alone, Being, is the truth. This beginning is certainly still dim and -indefinite, and we cannot say much of what it involves; but to take -up this position certainly is to develop Philosophy proper, which has -not hitherto existed. The dialectic that the transient has no truth, -is implied in it, for if these determinations are taken as they are -usually understood, contradictions ensue. In Simplicius (in Arist. -Phys. p. 27 b.; 31 b.) we have further metaphorical images from -Parmenides. “Since the utmost limit of Being is perfect, it resembles -on every side the form of a well rounded sphere, which from its centre -extends in all directions equally, for it can be neither larger or -smaller in one part or another. There is no non-being which prevents it -from attaining to the like”—from coming into unity with itself—“and -there is no Being where it was devoid of Being, here more and there -less. Because the all is without defect, it is in all places in the -same way like itself in its determinations.” Plotinus in the passage -quoted says: “He compares Being with the spherical form, because it -comprehends all in itself, and Thought is not outside of this, but is -contained in it.” And Simplicius says: “We must not wonder at him, -for on account of the poetic form, he adopts a mythological fiction -(_πλάσματος_).” It immediately strikes us that the sphere is limited, -and furthermore in space, and hence another must be above it; but -then the Notion of the sphere is the similarity of withholding the -different, notwithstanding that even the undifferentiated must be -expressed; hence this image is inconsistent. - -Parmenides adds to this doctrine of the truth, the doctrine of human -opinions, the illusive system of the world. Simplicius, writing on -Aristotle’s Physics (p. 7 b; 39 a), tells us that he says: “Men have -two forms of opinion, one of which should not be, and in it they -are mistaken; they set them in opposition to one another in form -and symbol. The one, the ethereal fire of the flame, is quite fine, -identical with itself throughout, but not identical with the other, -for that is also for itself; on the other hand there is what belongs -to night, or thick and ponderous existence.” By the former, warmth, -softness, lightness is expressed, and by the latter, cold. “But since -everything is called light and night, and their qualities are suited -both to the one kind of things and the other, everything alike is -filled with light and dark night; both are alike since nothing exists -without both.” Aristotle (Met. I. 3 and 5), and the other historians, -likewise unanimously attribute to Parmenides the fact that he sets -forth two principles for the system of manifest things, warmth and -cold, through the union of which everything is. Light, fire, is the -active and animate; night, cold, is called the passive. - -Parmenides also speaks like a Pythagorean—he was called _ἀνὲρ -Πυθαγορεῖος_ by Strabo—in the following, and likewise mythological -conception: “There are circlets wound round one another, one of which -is of the rare element and the other of the dense, between which others -are to be found, composed of light and darkness mingled. Those which -are less are of impure fire, but those over them of night, through -which proceed the forces of the flames. That which holds this all -together, however, is something fixed, like a wall, under which there -is a fiery wreath, and the most central of the rare spheres again is -fiery. The most central of those mixed is the goddess that reigns over -all, the Divider (_κληροῦχος_), Dice and Necessity. For she is the -principle of all earthly produce and intermingling, which impels the -male to mix with the female, and conversely; she took Love to help -her, creating him first amongst the gods. The air is an exhalation -(_ἀναπνοή_) of the earth; the sun and the milky way, the breath of -fire; and the moon is air and fire mingled, &c.”[54] - -It still remains to us to explain the manner in which Parmenides -regarded sensation and thought, which may undoubtedly at first sight -seem to be materialistic. Theophrastus,[55] for example, remarks in -this regard: “Parmenides said nothing more than that there are two -elements. Knowledge is determined according to the preponderance of -the one or of the other; for, according as warmth or cold predominate, -thought varies; it becomes better and purer through warmth, and yet it -requires also a certain balance.” - - “For as in each man there still is in his dispersive limbs an - intermingling, - So is the understanding of man; for that - Which is thought by men, is the nature of the limbs, - Both in one and all; for thought is indeed the most.”[56] - -He thus takes sensation and thought to be the same, and makes -remembrance and oblivion to arise from these through mingling them, -but whether in the intermingling they take an equal place, whether -this is thought or not, and what condition this is, he leaves quite -undetermined. But that he ascribes sensation to the opposites in and -for themselves is clear, because he says: “The dead do not feel -light or warmth or hear voices, because the fire is out of them; -they feel cold, stillness and the opposite, however, and, speaking -generally, each existence has a certain knowledge.” In fact, this view -of Parmenides is really the opposite of materialism, for materialism -consists in putting together the soul from parts, or independent forces -(the wooden horse of the senses). - - -3. MELISSUS. - -There is little to tell about the life of Melissus. Diogenes Laertius -(IX. 24) calls him a disciple of Parmenides, but the discipleship is -uncertain; it is also said of him that he associated with Heraclitus. -He was born in Samos, like Pythagoras, and was besides a distinguished -statesman amongst his people. It is said by Plutarch (in Pericle, 26) -that, as admiral of the Samians, he gained in battle a victory over the -Athenians. He flourished about the 84th Olympiad (444 B.C.). - -In regard to his philosophy, too, there is little to say. Aristotle, -where he mentions him, places him always with Parmenides, as resembling -him in mode of thought. Simplicius, writing on Aristotle’s Physics -(p. 7 sqq.), has preserved several fragments of his prose writings on -Nature, which show the same kind of thoughts and arguments as we find -in Parmenides, but, in part, somewhat more developed. It was a question -whether the reasoning in which it is shown that change does not exist, -or contradicts itself, which, by Aristotle in his incomplete, and, in -some parts, most corrupt work on Xenophanes, Zeno, and Gorgias (c. 2.), -was ascribed to Xenophanes, did not really belong to Melissus.[57] - -Since the beginning, in which we are told whose reasoning it is, is -wanting, conjecture only applies it to Xenophanes. The writing begins -with the words “He says,” without any name being given. It thus depends -on the superscription alone whether Aristotle speaks of the philosophy -of Xenophanes or not, and it must be noticed that different hands have -put different superscriptions. Indeed, there is in this work (c. 2) an -opinion of Xenophanes mentioned in such a way that it appears as though -had what was previously quoted by Aristotle been by him ascribed to -Xenophanes, the expression would have been different. It is possible -that Zeno is meant, as the internal evidence abundantly shows. There -is in it a dialectic more developed in form, more real reflexion, than -from the verses could be expected, not from Xenophanes alone, but even -from Parmenides. For Aristotle expressly says that Xenophanes does not -yet determine with precision; thus the cultured reasoning contained in -Aristotle must certainly be denied to Xenophanes; at least, it is so -far certain that Xenophanes himself did not know how to express his -thoughts in a manner so orderly and precise as that found here. We find -it said:— - -“If anything is, it is eternal (_ἀΐδιον_).” Eternity is an awkward -word, for it immediately makes us think of time and mingle past and -future as an infinite length of time; but what is meant is that -_ἀΐδιον_ is the self-identical, supersensuous, unchangeable, pure -present, which is without any time-conception. It is, origination and -change are shut out; if it commences, it does so out of nothing or -out of Being. “It is impossible that anything should arise from the -nothing. If everything could have arisen, or could it merely not have -been everything eternally, it would equally have arisen out of nothing. -For, if everything had arisen, nothing would once have existed. If some -were alone the existent out of which the rest sprang, the one would be -more and greater. But the more and greater would thus have arisen out -of the nothing of itself, for in the less there is not its more, nor in -the smaller its greater.” - -Simplicius makes this note to the Physics of Aristotle (p. 22 b): “No -more can anything arise out of the existent, for the existent already -is, and thus does not first arise from the existent.” - -“As eternal, the existent also is unlimited, since it has no beginning -from which it came, nor end in which it ceases. The infinite all is -one, for, if there were two or more, they would limit one another,” -and thus have a beginning and end. The one would be the nothing of the -other and come forth from this nothing. “This one is like itself; for -if it were unlike it would no longer be the one that was posited, but -many. This one is likewise immovable, inasmuch as it does not move -itself, since it does not pass out into anything. In passing out, it -would require to do so into what is full or what is empty; it could -not be into the full, for that is an impossibility, and just as little -could it be into what is empty, for that is the nothing. The one, -therefore, is in this way devoid of pain or suffering, not changing in -position or form, or mingling with what is different. For all these -determinations involve the origination of non-being and passing away -of Being, which is impossible.” Thus here again the contradiction -which takes place when origination and passing away are spoken of, is -revealed. - -Now Melissus places opinion in opposition to this truth. The change -and multiplicity extinguished in Being appears on the other side, in -consciousness, as in what is opinionative; it is necessary to say this -if only the negative side, the removal of these moments, the Absolute -as destitute of predicate, is laid hold of. “In sensuous perception the -opposite is present for us; that is to say, a number of things, their -change, their origination and passing away, and their intermingling. -Thus that first knowledge must take its place beside this second, -which has as much certainty for ordinary consciousness as the first.” -Melissus does not seem to have decided for the one or the other, but, -oscillating between both, to have limited the knowledge of the truth to -the statement that, speaking generally, between two opposite modes of -presentation, the more probable opinion is to be preferred, but that -what is so preferred is only to be regarded as the stronger opinion, -and not as truth. This is what Aristotle says of him. - -Since Aristotle, in distinguishing his philosophy from the philosophy -of Parmenides, maintains that in the first place Parmenides seems -to understand the One as the principle of thought, and Melissus as -matter, we must remark that this distinction falls away in pure -existence, Being, or the One. Pure matter, as also pure thought (if -I am to speak of such a distinction), are not present to Parmenides -and Melissus, since they are abrogated; and it must only be in the -manner of his expression that one of them—according to Aristotle -(Phys. I. 2), on account of his clumsier mode of treatment (_μᾶλλον -φορτικός_)—could seem to have conceived of the other sense. If the -difference consisted secondly in the fact that Parmenides regarded the -one as limited and Melissus as unlimited, this limitation of the one -would, in effect, immediately contradict the philosophy of Parmenides; -for since limit is the non-being of Being, non-being would thus be -posited. But when Parmenides speaks of limit, we see that his poetic -language is not altogether exact; limit, however, as pure limit, is -just simple Being and absolute negativity, in which all else said and -set forth is sublated. Necessity, as this pure negativity and movement -within itself, although impassive thought, is absolutely bound to -its opposite. In the third place it may be said that Parmenides set -forth a concomitant philosophy of opinion or reality, to which Being -as existence for thought was thus more opposed than was the case with -Melissus. - - -4. ZENO. - -What specially characterizes Zeno is the dialectic which, properly -speaking, begins with him; he is the master of the Eleatic school in -whom its pure thought arrives at the movement of the Notion in itself -and becomes the pure soul of science. That is to say, in the Eleatics -hitherto considered, we only have the proposition: “The nothing has -no reality and is not at all, and thus what is called origin and -decease disappears.” With Zeno, on the contrary, we certainly see just -such an assertion of the one and removal of what contradicts it, but -we also see that this assertion is not made the starting point; for -reason begins by calmly demonstrating in that which is established as -existent, its negation. Parmenides asserts that “The all is immutable, -for, in change, the non-being of that which is would be asserted, -but Being only is; in saying that non-being is, the subject and the -predicate contradict themselves.” Zeno, on the other hand, says: -“Assert your change; in it as change there is the negation to it, or -it is nothing.” To the former change existed as motion, definite and -complete. Zeno protested against motion as such, or pure motion. “Pure -Being is not motion; it is rather the negation of motion.” We find it -specially interesting that there is in Zeno the higher consciousness, -the consciousness that when one determination is denied, this negation -is itself again a determination, and then in the absolute negation -not one determination, but both the opposites must be negated. Zeno -anticipated this, and because he foresaw that Being is the opposite -of nothing, he denied of the One what must be said of the nothing. -But the same thing must occur with all the rest. We find this higher -dialectic in Plato’s Parmenides; here it only breaks forth in respect -to some determinations, and not to the determination of the One and of -Being. The higher consciousness is the consciousness of the nullity of -Being as of what is determined as against the nothing, partly found in -Heraclitus and then in the Sophists; with them it never has any truth, -it has no existence in itself, but is only the for-another, or the -assurance of the individual consciousness, and assurance as refutation, -i.e. the negative side of dialectic. - -According to Diogenes Laertius, (IX. 25) Zeno was likewise an Eleat; -he is the youngest, and lived most in company with Parmenides. The -latter became very fond of him and adopted him as a son; his own -father was called Telentagoras. Not in his State alone was his conduct -held in high respect, for his fame was universal, and he was esteemed -particularly as a teacher. Plato mentions that men came to him from -Athens and other places, in order to profit from his learning.[58] -Proud self-sufficiency is ascribed to him by Diogenes (IX. 28) because -he—with the exception of a journey made to Athens—continued to reside -in Elea, and did not stay a longer time in the great, mighty Athens, -and there attain to fame. In very various narratives his death was made -for ever celebrated for the strength of his mind evinced in it; it was -said that he freed a State (whether his own home at Elea or in Sicily, -is not known) from its Tyrant (the name is given differently, but an -exact historical account has not been recorded) in the following way, -and by the sacrifice of his life. He entered into a plot to overthrow -the Tyrant, but this was betrayed. When the Tyrant now, in face of the -people, caused him to be tortured in every possible way to get from him -an avowal of his confederates, and when he questioned him about the -enemies of the State, Zeno first named to the Tyrant all his friends as -participators in the plot, and then spoke of the Tyrant himself as the -pest of the State. The powerful remonstrances or the horrible tortures -and death of Zeno aroused the citizens, inspired them with courage to -fall upon the Tyrant, kill him, and liberate themselves. The manner of -the end, and his violent and furious state of mind, is very variously -depicted. He is said to have pretended to wish to say something into -the Tyrant’s ear, and then to have bitten his ear, and thus held him -fast until he was slain by the others. Others say that he seized him by -the nose between his teeth; others that as on his reply great tortures -were applied, he bit off his tongue and spat it into the Tyrant’s face, -to show him that he could get nothing from him, and that he then was -pounded in a mortar.[59] - -It has just been noticed that Zeno had the very important character -of being the originator of the true objective dialectic. Xenophanes, -Parmenides, and Melissus, start with the proposition: “Nothing is -nothing; the nothing does not exist at all, or the like is real -existence,” that is, they make one of the opposed predicates to be -existence. Now when they encounter the opposite in a determination, -they demolish this determination, but it is only demolished through -another, through my assertion, through the distinction that I form, by -which one side is made to be the true, and the other the null. We have -proceeded from a definite proposition; the nullity of the opposite does -not appear in itself; it is not that it abrogates itself, i.e. that it -contains a contradiction in itself. For instance, I assert of something -that it is the null; then I show this by hypothesis in motion, and -it follows that it is the null. But another consciousness does not -assert this; I declare one thing to be directly true; another has the -right of asserting something else as directly true, that is to say, -motion. Similarly what seems to be the case when one philosophic system -contradicts another, is that the first is pre-established, and that men -starting from this point of view, combat the other. The matter is thus -easily settled by saying: “The other has no truth, because it does not -agree with me,” and the other has the right to say the same. It does -not help if I prove my system or my proposition and then conclude that -thus the opposite is false; to this other proposition the first always -seems to be foreign and external. Falsity must not be demonstrated -through another, and as untrue because the opposite is true, but in -itself; we find this rational perception in Zeno. - -In Plato’s Parmenides (pp. 127, 128, Steph., pp. 6, 7, Bekk.) this -dialectic is very well described, for Plato makes Socrates say of -it: “Zeno in his writings asserts fundamentally the same as does -Parmenides, that All is One, but he would feign delude us into -believing that he was telling something new. Parmenides thus shows in -his poems that All is One; Zeno, on the contrary, shows that the Many -cannot be.” Zeno replies, that “He wrote thus really against those who -try to make Parmenides’ position ridiculous, for they try to show what -absurdities and self-contradictions can be derived from his statements; -he thus combats those who deduce Being from the many, in order to show -that far more absurdities arise from this than from the statements of -Parmenides.” That is the special aim of objective dialectic, in which -we no longer maintain simple thought for itself, but see the battle -fought with new vigour within the enemy’s camp. Dialectic has in Zeno -this negative side, but it has also to be considered from its positive -side. - -According to the ordinary ideas of science, where propositions result -from proof, proof is the movement of intelligence, a connection brought -about by mediation. Dialectic is either (_α_) external dialectic, -in which this movement is different from the comprehension of the -movement, or (_β_) not a movement of our intelligence only, but what -proceeds from the nature of the thing itself, i.e. from the pure Notion -of the content. The former is a manner of regarding objects in such a -way that reasons are revealed and new light thrown, by means of which -all that was supposed to be firmly fixed, is made to totter; there -may be reasons which are altogether external too, and we shall speak -further of this dialectic when dealing with the Sophists. The other -dialectic, however, is the immanent contemplation of the object; it is -taken for itself, without previous hypothesis, idea or obligation, not -under any outward conditions, laws or causes; we have to put ourselves -right into the thing, to consider the object in itself, and to take it -in the determinations which it has. In regarding it thus, it shows from -itself that it contains opposed determinations, and thus breaks up; -this dialectic we more especially find in the ancients. The subjective -dialectic, which reasons from external grounds, is moderate, for it -grants that: “In the right there is what is not right, and in the false -the true.” True dialectic leaves nothing whatever to its object, as if -the latter were deficient on one side only; for it disintegrates itself -in the entirety of its nature. The result of this dialectic is null, -the negative; the affirmative in it does not yet appear. This true -dialectic may be associated with the work of the Eleatics. But in their -case the real meaning and quality of philosophic understanding was not -great, for they got no further than the fact that through contradiction -the object is a nothing. - -Zeno’s dialectic of matter has not been refuted to the present -day; even now we have not got beyond it, and the matter is left in -uncertainty. Simplicius, writing on the Physics of Aristotle (p. 30), -says: “Zeno proves that if the many is, it must be great and small; if -great, the many must be infinite in number” (it must have gone beyond -the manifold, as indifferent limit, into the infinite; but what is -infinite is no longer large and no longer many, for it is the negation -of the many). “If small, it must be so small as to have no size,” -like atoms. “Here he shows that what has neither size, thickness nor -mass, cannot be. For if it were added to another, it would not cause -its increase; were it, that is to say, to have no size and be added -thereto, it could not supplement the size of the other and consequently -that which is added is nothing. Similarly were it taken away, the other -would not be made less, and thus it is nothing. If what has being is, -each existence necessarily has size and thickness, is outside of one -another, and one is separate from the other; the same applies to all -else (_περὶ τοῦ προὔχοντος_), for it, too, has size, and in it there is -what mutually differs (_προέξει αὐτοῦ τι_). But it is the same thing -to say something once and to say it over and over again; in it nothing -can be a last, nor will there not be another to the other. Thus if many -are, they are small and great; small, so that they have no size; great, -so that they are infinite.” - -Aristotle (Phys. VI. 9) explains this dialectic further; Zeno’s -treatment of motion was above all objectively dialectical. But the -particulars which we find in the Parmenides of Plato are not his. -For Zeno’s consciousness we see simple unmoved thought disappear, -but become thinking movement; in that he combats sensuous movement, -he concedes it. The reason that dialectic first fell on movement is -that the dialectic is itself this movement, or movement itself the -dialectic of all that is. The thing, as self-moving, has its dialectic -in itself, and movement is the becoming another, self-abrogation. If -Aristotle says that Zeno denied movement because it contains an inner -contradiction, it is not to be understood to mean that movement did not -exist at all. The point is not that there is movement and that this -phenomenon exists; the fact that there is movement is as sensuously -certain as that there are elephants; it is not in this sense that Zeno -meant to deny movement. The point in question concerns its truth. -Movement, however, is held to be untrue, because the conception of it -involves a contradiction; by that he meant to say that no true Being -can be predicated of it. - -Zeno’s utterances are to be looked at from this point of view, not as -being directed against the reality of motion, as would at first appear, -but as pointing out how movement must necessarily be determined, and -showing the course which must be taken. Zeno now brings forward four -different arguments against motion; the proofs rest on the infinite -divisibility of space and time. - -(a) This is his first form of argument:—“Movement has no truth, -because what is in motion must first reach the middle of the space -before arriving at the end.” Aristotle expresses this thus shortly, -because he had earlier treated of and worked out the subject at length. -This is to be taken as indicating generally that the continuity of -space is presupposed. What moves itself must reach a certain end, this -way is a whole. In order to traverse the whole, what is in motion must -first pass over the half, and now the end of this half is considered as -being the end; but this half of space is again a whole, that which also -has a half, and the half of this half must first have been reached, and -so on into infinity. Zeno here arrives at the infinite divisibility of -space; because space and time are absolutely continuous, there is no -point at which the division can stop. Every dimension (and every time -and space always have a dimension) is again divisible into two halves, -which must be measured off; and however small a space we have, the -same conditions reappear. Movement would be the act of passing through -these infinite moments, and would therefore never end; thus what is in -motion cannot reach its end. It is known how Diogenes of Sinope, the -Cynic, quite simply refuted these arguments against movement; without -speaking he rose and walked about, contradicting them by action.[60] -But when reasons are disputed, the only valid refutation is one derived -from reasons; men have not merely to satisfy themselves by sensuous -assurance, but also to understand. To refute objections is to prove -their non-existence, as when they are made to fall away and can hence -be adduced no longer; but it is necessary to think of motion as Zeno -thought of it, and yet to carry this theory of motion further still. - -We have here the spurious infinite or pure appearance, whose simple -principle Philosophy demonstrates as universal Notion, for the first -time making its appearance as developed in its contradiction; in the -history of Philosophy a consciousness of this contradiction is also -attained. Movement, this pure phenomenon, appears as something thought -and shown forth in its real being—that is, in its distinction of pure -self-identity and pure negativity, the point as distinguished from -continuity. To us there is no contradiction in the idea that the here -of space and the now of time are considered as a continuity and length; -but their Notion is self-contradictory. Self-identity or continuity is -absolute cohesion, the destruction of all difference, of all negation, -of being for self; the point, on the contrary, is pure being-for-self, -absolute self-distinction and the destruction of all identity and -all connection with what is different. Both of these, however, -are, in space and time, placed in one; space and time are thus the -contradiction; it is necessary, first of all, to show the contradiction -in movement, for in movement that which is opposed is, to ordinary -conceptions, inevitably manifested. Movement is just the reality of -time and space, and because this appears and is made manifest, the -apparent contradiction is demonstrated, and it is this contradiction -that Zeno notices. The limitation of bisection which is involved in -the continuity of space, is not absolute limitation, for that which -is limited is again continuity; however, this continuity is again not -absolute, for the opposite has to be exhibited in it, the limitation -of bisection; but the limitation of continuity is still not thereby -established, the half is still continuous, and so on into infinity. -In that we say “into infinity,” we place before ourselves a beyond, -outside of the ordinary conception, which cannot reach so far. It is -certainly an endless going forth, but in the Notion it is present, -it is a progression from one opposed determination to others, from -continuity to negativity, from negativity to continuity; but both of -these are before us. Of these moments one in the process may be called -the true one; Zeno first asserts continuous progression in such a way -that no limited space can be arrived at as ultimate, or Zeno upholds -progression in this limitation. - -The general explanation which Aristotle gives to this contradiction, is -that space and time are not infinitely divided, but are only divisible. -But it now appears that, because they are divisible—that is, in -potentiality—they must actually be infinitely divided, for else they -could not be divided into infinity. That is the general answer of the -ordinary man in endeavouring to refute the explanation of Aristotle. -Bayle (Tom. IV. art. Zénon, not. E.) hence says of Aristotle’s answer -that it is “pitoyable: C’est se moquer du monde que de se servir de -cette doctrine; car si la matière est divisible à l’infini, elle -contient un nombre infini de parties. Ce n’est donc point un infini en -puissance, c’est un infini, qui existe réellement, actuellement. Mais -quand-même on accorderait cet infini en puissance, qui deviendrait -un infini par la division actuelle de ses parties, on ne perdrait -pas ses avantages; car le mouvement est une chose, qui a la même -vertu, que la division. Il touche une partie de l’espace sans toucher -l’autre, et il les touche toutes les unes après les autres. N’est-ce -pas les distinguer actuellement? N’est-ce pas faire ce que ferait un -géomètre sur une table en tirant des lignes, qui désignassent tous les -demi-pouces? Il ne brise pas la table en demi-pouces, mais il y fait -néanmoins une division, qui marque la distinction actuelle des parties; -et je ne crois pas qu’Aristote eut voulu nier, que _si_ l’on tirait une -infinité de lignes sur un pouce de matière, on n’y introduisît une -division, qui réduirait en infini actuel ce qui n’était selon lui qu’un -infini virtual.” This _si_ is good! Divisibility is, as potentiality, -the universal; there is continuity as well as negativity or the point -posited in it—but posited as moment, and not as existent in and for -itself. I can divide matter into infinitude, but I only can do so; I -do not really divide it into infinitude. This is the infinite, that no -one of its moments has reality. It never does happen that, in itself, -one or other—that absolute limitation or absolute continuity—actually -comes into existence in such a way that the other moment disappears. -There are two absolute opposites, but they are moments, i.e. in the -simple Notion or in the universal, in thought, if you will; for in -thought, in ordinary conception, what is set forth both is and is not -at the same time. What is represented either as such, or as an image -of the conception, is not a thing; it has no Being, and yet it is not -nothing. - -Space and time furthermore, as _quantum_, form a limited extension, -and thus can be measured off; just as I do not actually divide space, -neither does the body which is in motion. The partition of space as -divided, is not absolute discontinuity [Punktualität], nor is pure -continuity the undivided and indivisible; likewise time is not pure -negativity or discontinuity, but also continuity. Both are manifested -in motion, in which the Notions have their reality for ordinary -conception—pure negativity as time, continuity as space. Motion itself -is just this actual unity in the opposition, and the sequence of both -moments in this unity. To comprehend motion is to express its essence -in the form of Notion, _i.e._, as unity of negativity and continuity; -but in them neither continuity nor discreteness can be exhibited as -the true existence. If we represent space or time to ourselves as -infinitely divided, we have an infinitude of points, but continuity is -present therein as a space which comprehends them: as Notion, however, -continuity is the fact that all these are alike, and thus in reality -they do not appear one out of the other like points. But both these -moments make their appearance as existent; if they are manifested -indifferently, their Notion is no longer posited, but their existence. -In them as existent, negativity is a limited size, and they exist as -limited space and time; actual motion is progression through a limited -space and a limited time and not through infinite space and infinite -time. - -That what is in motion must reach the half is the assertion of -continuity, i.e. the possibility of division as mere possibility; it is -thus always possible in every space, however small. It is said that it -is plain that the half must be reached, but in so saying, everything -is allowed, including the fact that it never will be reached; for to -say so in one case, is the same as saying it an infinite number of -times. We mean, on the contrary, that in a larger space the half can be -allowed, but we conceive that we must somewhere attain to a space so -small that no halving is possible, or an indivisible, non-continuous -space which is no space. This, however, is false, for continuity is a -necessary determination; there is undoubtedly a smallest in space, i.e. -a negation of continuity, but the negation is something quite abstract. -Abstract adherence to the subdivision indicated, that is, to continuous -bisection into infinitude, is likewise false, for in the conception of -a half, the interruption of continuity is involved. We must say that -there is no half of space, for space is continuous; a piece of wood -may be broken into two halves, but not space, and space only exists in -movement. It might equally be said that space consists of an endless -number of points, i.e. of infinitely many limits and thus cannot be -traversed. Men think themselves able to go from one indivisible point -to another, but they do not thereby get any further, for of these there -is an unlimited number. Continuity is split up into its opposite, -a number which is indefinite; that is to say, if continuity is not -admitted, there is no motion. It is false to assert that it is possible -when one is reached, or that which is not continuous; for motion is -connection. Thus when it was said that continuity is the presupposed -possibility of infinite division, continuity is only the hypothesis; -but what is exhibited in this continuity is the being of infinitely -many, abstractly absolute limits. - -(b) The second proof, which is also the presupposition of continuity -and the manifestation of division, is called “Achilles, the Swift.” -The ancients loved to clothe difficulties in sensuous representations. -Of two bodies moving in one direction, one of which is in front and -the other following at a fixed distance and moving quicker than the -first, we know that the second will overtake the first. But Zeno says, -“The slower can never be overtaken by the quicker.” And he proves it -thus: “The second one requires a certain space of time to reach the -place from which the one pursued started at the beginning of the given -period.” Thus during the time in which the second reached the point -where the first was, the latter went over a new space which the second -has again to pass through in a part of this period; and in this way it -goes into infinity. - - c d e f g - - B A - -B, for instance, traverses two miles (c d) in an hour, A in the same -time, one mile (d e); if they are two miles (c d) removed from one -another, B has in one hour come to where A was at the beginning of the -hour. While B, in the next half hour, goes over the distance crossed -by A of one mile (d e), A has got half a mile (e f) further, and so -on into infinity. Quicker motion does not help the second body at all -in passing over the interval of space by which he is behind: the time -which he requires, the slower body always has at its avail in order to -accomplish some, although an ever shorter advance; and this, because of -the continual division, never quite disappears. - -Aristotle, in speaking of this, puts it shortly thus. “This proof -asserts the same endless divisibility, but it is untrue, for the quick -will overtake the slow body if the limits to be traversed be granted to -it.” This answer is correct and contains all that can be said; that is, -there are in this representation two periods of time and two distances, -which are separated from one another, i.e. they are limited in relation -to one another; when, on the contrary, we admit that time and space -are continuous, so that two periods of time or points of space are -related to one another as continuous, they are, while being two, not -two, but identical. In ordinary language we solve the matter in the -easiest way, for we say: “Because the second is quicker, it covers a -greater distance in the same time as the slow; it can therefore come to -the place from which the first started and get further still.” After -B, at the end of the first hour, arrives at d and A at e, A in one and -the same period, that is, in the second hour, goes over the distance -e g, and B the distance d g. But this period of time which should be -one, is divisible into that in which B accomplishes d e and that in -which B passes through e g. A has a start of the first, by which it -gets over the distance e f, so that A is at f at the same period as -B is at e. The limitation which, according to Aristotle, is to be -overcome, which must be penetrated, is thus that of time; since it is -continuous, it must, for the solution of the difficulty, be said that -what is divisible into two spaces of time is to be conceived of as one, -in which B gets from d to e and from e to g, while A passes over the -distance e g. In motion two periods, as well as two points in space, -are indeed one. - -If we wish to make motion clear to ourselves, we say that the body is -in one place and then it goes to another; because it moves, it is no -longer in the first, but yet not in the second; were it in either it -would be at rest. Where then is it? If we say that it is between both, -this is to convey nothing at all, for were it between both, it would -be in a place, and this presents the same difficulty. But movement -means to be in this place and not to be in it, and thus to be in both -alike; this is the continuity of space and time which first makes -motion possible. Zeno, in the deduction made by him, brought both these -points into forcible opposition. The discretion of space and time we -also uphold, but there must also be granted to them the overstepping of -limits, i.e. the exhibition of limits as not being, or as being divided -periods of time, which are also not divided. In our ordinary ideas we -find the same determinations as those on which the dialectic of Zeno -rests; we arrive at saying, though unwillingly, that in one period two -distances of space are traversed, but we do not say that the quicker -comprehends two moments of time in one; for that we fix a definite -space. But in order that the slower may lose its precedence, it must be -said that it loses its advantage of a moment of time, and indirectly -the moment of space. - -Zeno makes limit, division, the moment of discretion in space and time, -the only element which is enforced in the whole of his conclusions, and -hence results the contradiction. The difficulty is to overcome thought, -for what makes the difficulty is always thought alone, since it keeps -apart the moments of an object which in their separation are really -united. It brought about the Fall, for man ate of the tree of the -knowledge of good and evil; but it also remedies these evils. - -(c) The third form, according to Aristotle, is as follows:—Zeno -says: “The flying arrow rests, and for the reason that what is in -motion is always in the self-same Now and the self-same Here, in the -indistinguishable;” it is here and here and here. It can be said of the -arrow that it is always the same, for it is always in the same space -and the same time; it does not get beyond its space, does not take in -another, that is, a greater or smaller space. That, however, is what -we call rest and not motion. In the Here and Now, the becoming “other” -is abrogated, limitation indeed being established, but only as moment; -since in the Here and Now as such, there is no difference, continuity -is here made to prevail against the mere belief in diversity. Each -place is a different place, and thus the same; true, objective -difference does not come forth in these sensuous relations, but in the -spiritual. - -This is also apparent in mechanics; of two bodies the question as -to which moves presents itself before us. It requires more than two -places—three at least—to determine which of them moves. But it is -correct to say this, that motion is plainly relative; whether in -absolute space the eye, for instance, rests, or whether it moves, -is all the same. Or, according to a proposition brought forward by -Newton, if two bodies move round one another in a circle, it may be -asked whether the one rests or both move. Newton tries to decide this -by means of an external circumstance, the strain on the string. When I -walk on a ship in a direction opposed to the motion of the ship, this -is in relation to the ship, motion, and in relation to all else, rest. - -In both the first proofs, continuity in progression has the -predominance; there is no absolute limit, but an overstepping of all -limits. Here the opposite is established; absolute limitation, the -interruption of continuity, without however passing into something -else; while discretion is presupposed, continuity is maintained. -Aristotle says of this proof: “It arises from the fact that it is taken -for granted that time consists of the Now; for if this is not conceded, -the conclusions will not follow.” - -(d) “The fourth proof,” Aristotle continues, “is derived from similar -bodies which move in opposite directions in the space beside a similar -body, and with equal velocity, one from one end of the space, the other -from the middle. It necessarily results from this that half the time -is equal to the double of it. The fallacy rests in this, that Zeno -supposes that what is beside the moving body, and what is beside the -body at rest, move through an equal distance in equal time with equal -velocity, which, however, is untrue.” - - 1 - _E_|——|——|——|——|_F_ - _k_ _i_ _m_ - _C_|——|——|——|——|_D_ - _g_ _n_ _h_ - _A_|——|——|——|——|_B_ - -In a definite space such as a table (A B) let us suppose two bodies -of equal length with it and with one another, one of which (C D) lies -with one end (C) on the middle (g) of the table, and the other (E F), -being in the same direction, has the point (E) only touching the end -of the table (h); and supposing they move in opposite directions, and -the former (C D) reaches in an hour the end (h) of the table; we have -the result ensuing that the one (E F) passes in the half of the time -through the same space (i k) which the other does in the double (g h); -hence the half is equal to the double. That is to say, this second -passes (let us say, in the point l) by the whole of the first C D. In -the first half-hour l goes from m to i, while k only goes from g to n. - - 1 - _E_|——|——|——|——|_F_ - _k_ _o_ _i_ _m_ - _C_|——|——|——|——|_D_ - _g_ _n_ _h_ - _A_|——|——|——|——|_B_ - -In the second half-hour l goes past o to k, and altogether passes from -m to k, or the double of the distance. - - 1 - _E_|——|——|——|——|_F_ - _k_ _o_ _i_ _m_ - _C_|——|——|——|——|_D_ - _g_ _n_ _h_ - _A_|——|——|——|——|_B_ - -This fourth form deals with the contradiction presented in opposite -motion; that which is common is given entirely to one body, while it -only does part for itself. Here the distance travelled by one body -is the sum of the distance travelled by both, just as when I go two -feet east, and from the same point another goes two feet west, we are -four feet removed from one another; in the distance moved both are -positive, and hence have to be added together. Or if I have gone two -feet forwards and two feet backwards, although I have walked four feet, -I have not moved from the spot; the motion is then nil, for by going -forwards and backwards an opposition ensues which annuls itself. - -This is the dialectic of Zeno; he had a knowledge of the determinations -which our ideas of space and time contain, and showed in them their -contradiction; Kant’s antinomies do no more than Zeno did here. The -general result of the Eleatic dialectic has thus become, “the truth is -the one, all else is untrue,” just as the Kantian philosophy resulted -in “we know appearances only.” On the whole the principle is the same; -“the content of knowledge is only an appearance and not truth,” but -there is also a great difference present. That is to say, Zeno and -the Eleatics in their proposition signified “that the sensuous world, -with its multitudinous forms, is in itself appearance only, and has -no truth.” But Kant does not mean this, for he asserts: “Because we -apply the activity of our thought to the outer world, we constitute -it appearance; what is without, first becomes an untruth by the fact -that we put therein a mass of determinations. Only our knowledge, the -spiritual, is thus appearance; the world is in itself absolute truth; -it is our action alone that ruins it, our work is good for nothing.” -It shows excessive humility of mind to believe that knowledge has no -value; but Christ says, “Are ye not better than the sparrows?” and we -are so inasmuch as we are thinking; as sensuous we are as good or as -bad as sparrows. Zeno’s dialectic has greater objectivity than this -modern dialectic. - -Zeno’s dialectic is limited to Metaphysics; later, with the Sophists, -it became general. We here leave the Eleatic school, which perpetuates -itself in Leucippus and, on the other side, in the Sophists, in such -a way that these last extended the Eleatic conceptions to all reality, -and gave to it the relation of consciousness; the former, however, as -one who later on worked out the Notion in its abstraction, makes a -physical application of it, and one which is opposed to consciousness. -There are several other Eleatics mentioned, to Tennemann’s surprise, -who, however, cannot interest us. “It is so unexpected,” he says (Vol. -I., p. 190), “that the Eleatic system should find disciples; and yet -Sextus mentions a certain Xeniades.” - - -D. HERACLITUS. - -If we put aside the Ionics, who did not understand the Absolute as -Thought, and the Pythagoreans likewise, we have the pure Being of the -Eleatics, and the dialectic which denies all finite relationships. -Thought to the latter is the process of such manifestations; the world -in itself is the apparent, and pure Being alone the true. The dialectic -of Zeno thus lays hold of the determinations which rest in the content -itself, but it may, in so far, also be called subjective dialectic, -inasmuch as it rests in the contemplative subject, and the one, without -this movement of the dialectic, is abstract identity. The next step -from the existence of the dialectic as movement in the subject, is that -it must necessarily itself become objective. If Aristotle blames Thales -for doing away with motion, because change cannot be understood from -Being, and likewise misses the actual in the Pythagorean numbers and -Platonic Ideas, taken as the substances of the things which participate -in them, Heraclitus at least understands the absolute as just this -process of the dialectic. The dialectic is thus thre-fold: (_α_) -the external dialectic, a reasoning which goes over and over again -without ever reaching the soul of the thing; (_β_) immanent dialectic -of the object, but falling within the contemplation of the subject; -(_γ_) the objectivity of Heraclitus which takes the dialectic itself -as principle. The advance requisite and made by Heraclitus is the -progression from Being as the first immediate thought, to the category -of Becoming as the second. This is the first concrete, the Absolute, as -in it the unity of opposites. Thus with Heraclitus the philosophic Idea -is to be met with in its speculative form; the reasoning of Parmenides -and Zeno is abstract understanding. Heraclitus was thus universally -esteemed a deep philosopher and even was decried as such. Here we see -land; there is no proposition of Heraclitus which I have not adopted in -my Logic. - -Diogenes Laertius says (IX. 1) that Heraclitus flourished about the -69th Olympiad (500 B.C.), and that he was of Ephesus and in part -contemporaneous with Parmenides: he began the separation and withdrawal -of philosophers from public affairs and the interests of the country, -and devoted himself in his isolation entirely to Philosophy. We -have thus three stages: (_α_) the seven sages as statesmen, regents -and law-givers; (_β_) the Pythagorean aristocratic league; (_γ_) -an interest in science for its own sake. Little more is known of -Heraclitus’ life than his relations to his countrymen the Ephesians, -and according to Diogenes Laertius (IX. 15, 3), these were for the -most part found in the fact that they despised him and were yet more -profoundly despised by him—a relationship such as we have now-a-days, -when each man exists for himself, and despises everyone else. In the -case of this noble character, the disdain and sense of separation -from the crowd emanates from the deep sense of the perversity of -the ordinary ideas and life of his people: in reference to this, -isolated expressions used on various occasions are still preserved. -Cicero (Tusc. Quæst. V. 36) and Diogenes Laertius (IX. 2) relate that -Heraclitus said: “The Ephesians all deserve to have their necks broken -as they grow up, so that the town should be left to minors” (people now -say that only youth knows how to govern), “because they drove away his -friend Hermodorus, the best of them all, and gave as their reason for -so doing that amongst them none should be more excellent than the rest; -and if any one were so, it should be elsewhere and amongst others.” It -was for the same reason that in the Athenian Democracy great men were -banished. Diogenes adds: “His fellow-citizens asked him to take part in -the administration of public affairs, but he declined, because he did -not like their constitution, laws and administration.” Proclus (T. III. -pp. 115, 116, ed. Cousin) says: “The noble Heraclitus blamed the people -for being devoid of understanding or thought. ‘What is,’ he says, -‘their understanding or their prudence? Most of them are bad, and few -are good.’” Diogenes Laertius (IX. 6) furthermore says: “Antisthenes -cites, as a proof of Heraclitus’ greatness, that he left his kingdom -to his brother.” He expresses in the strongest manner his contempt -for what is esteemed to be truth and right, in the letter preserved -to us by Diogenes (IX. 13, 14), in which, to the invitation of Darius -Hystaspes, “to make him acquainted with Greek wisdom—for his work -on Nature contains a very forcible theory of the world, but it is in -many passages obscure—to come to him and explain to him what required -explanation” (this is certainly not very probable if Heraclitus’ turn -of mind was also Oriental), he is said to have replied: “All mortal men -depart from truth and justice and are given over to excess and vain -opinions according to their evil understandings. But I, since I have -attained to an oblivion of all evil, and shun the overpowering envy -that follows me, and the vanity of high position, shall not come to -Persia. I am content with little and live in my own way.” - -The only work that he wrote, and the title of which, Diogenes tells -us, was by some stated to be “The Muses” and by others “On Nature,” -he deposited in the temple of Diana at Ephesus. It seems to have been -preserved until modern times; the fragments which have come down to -us are collected together in Stephanus’ _Poësis philosophica_ (p. -129, seq.). Schleiermacher also collected them and arranged them in a -characteristic way. The title is “Heraclitus, the Dark, of Ephesus, -as represented in fragments of his work and by the testimony of the -ancients,” and it is to be found in Wolf and Buttmann’s “Museum of -ancient Learning,” vol. I. (Berlin, 1807) pp. 315-533. Seventy-three -passages are given. Kreuzer made one hope that he would work at -Heraclitus more critically and with a knowledge of the language. -He made a more complete collection, particularly from grammarians; -however, as, for lack of time, he left it to be worked up by a younger -scholar, and as the latter died, it never came before the public. -Compilations of the kind are as a rule too copious: they contain a -mass of learning and are more easily written than read. Heraclitus -has been considered obscure, and is indeed celebrated for this; it -also drew upon him the name of _σκοτεινός_. Cicero (De Nat. Deor. I. -26; III. 14; De Finib. II. 5) takes up a wrong idea, as often happens -to him; he thinks that Heraclitus purposely wrote obscurely. Any -such design would, however, be a very shallow one, and it is really -nothing but the shallowness of Cicero himself ascribed by him to -Heraclitus. Heraclitus’ obscurity is rather a result of neglecting -proper composition and of imperfect language; this is what was thought -by Aristotle (Rhet. III. 5), who, from a grammatical point of view, -ascribed it to a want of punctuation: “We do not know whether a word -belongs to what precedes or what succeeds.” Demetrius is of the same -opinion (De Elocutione, § 192, p. 78, ed. Schneider). Socrates, as -Diogenes Laertius relates (II. 22; IX. 11-12), said of this book: “What -he understood of it was excellent, and what he did not understand he -believed to be as good, but it requires a vigorous (_Δηλίου_) swimmer -to make his way through it.” The obscurity of this philosophy, however, -chiefly consists in there being profound speculative thought contained -in it; the Notion, the Idea, is foreign to the understanding and -cannot be grasped by it, though it may find mathematics quite simple. - -Plato studied the philosophy of Heraclitus with special diligence; we -find much of it quoted in his works, and he got his earlier philosophic -education most indubitably from this source, so that Heraclitus may -be called Plato’s teacher. Hippocrates, likewise, is a philosopher of -Heraclitus’ school. What is preserved to us of Heraclitus’ philosophy -at first seems very contradictory, but we find the Notion making its -appearance, and a man of profound reflection revealed. Zeno began -to abrogate the opposed predicates, and he shows the opposition in -movement, an assertion of limitation and an abrogation of the same; -Zeno expressed the infinite, but on its negative side only, in -reference to its contradiction as being the untrue. In Heraclitus we -see the perfection of knowledge so far as it has gone, a perfecting of -the Idea into a totality, which is the beginning of Philosophy, since -it expresses the essence of the Idea, the Notion of the infinite, the -potentially and actively existent, as that which it is, i.e. as the -unity of opposites. From Heraclitus dates the ever-remaining Idea which -is the same in all philosophers to the present day, as it was the Idea -of Plato and of Aristotle. - -1. _The Logical Principle._ Concerning the universal principle, this -bold mind, Aristotle tells us (Metaph. IV. 3 and 7), first uttered the -great saying: “Being and non-being are the same; everything is and yet -is not.” The truth only is as the unity of distinct opposites and, -indeed, of the pure opposition of being and non-being; but with the -Eleatics we have the abstract understanding that Being is alone the -truth. We say, in place of using the expression of Heraclitus, that -the Absolute is the unity of being and non-being. When we understand -that proposition as that “Being is and yet is not,” this does not seem -to make much sense, but only to imply complete negation and want of -thought. But we have another sentence that gives the meaning of the -principle better. For Heraclitus says: “Everything is in a state of -flux; nothing subsists nor does it ever remain the same.” And Plato -further says of Heraclitus: “He compares things to the current of a -river: no one can go twice into the same stream,”[61] for it flows on -and other water is disturbed. Aristotle tells us (Met. IV. 5) that his -successors even said “it could not once be entered,” for it changed -directly; what is, is not again. Aristotle (De Cœlo, III. 1) goes on -to say that Heraclitus declares that “there is only one that remains, -and from out of this all else is formed; all except this one is not -enduring (_παγίως_).” - -This universal principle is better characterized as Becoming, the truth -of Being; since everything is and is not, Heraclitus hereby expressed -that everything is Becoming. Not merely does origination belong to it, -but passing away as well; both are not independent, but identical. -It is a great advance in thought to pass from Being to Becoming, -even if, as the first unity of opposite determinations, it is still -abstract. Because in this relationship both must be unrestful and -therefore contain within themselves the principle of life, the lack of -motion which Aristotle has demonstrated in the earlier philosophies -is supplied, and this last is even made to be the principle. This -philosophy is thus not one past and gone; its principle is essential, -and is to be found in the beginning of my Logic, immediately after -Being and Nothing. The recognition of the fact that Being and non-being -are abstractions devoid of truth, that the first truth is to be found -in Becoming, forms a great advance. The understanding comprehends -both as having truth and value in isolation; reason, on the other -hand, recognizes the one in the other, and sees that in the one its -“other” is contained. If we do not take the conception of existence -as complete, the pure Being of simple thought in which everything -definite is denied, is the absolute negative; but nothing is the -same, or just this self-identity. We here have an absolute transition -into the opposite which Zeno did not reach, for he remained at the -proposition, “From nothing, comes nothing.” With Heraclitus, however, -the moment of negativity is immanent, and the Notion of Philosophy as -complete is therefore dealt with. - -In the first place we have here the abstract idea of Being and -non-being in a form altogether immediate and general; but when we look -closer, we find that Heraclitus also conceived of the opposites and -their unification in a more definite manner. He says: “The opposites -are combined in the self-same one, just as honey is both sweet and -bitter.” Sextus remarks of this (Pyrrh. Hyp. I. 29, §§ 210, 211; II. 6, -§ 63): “Heraclitus, like the Sceptics, proceeds from ordinary ideas; no -one will deny that healthy men call honey sweet, while those who are -sick will say it is bitter.” If it is only sweet, it cannot alter its -nature in another individual; it would in all places and even to the -jaundiced patient be sweet. Aristotle (De mundo, 5) quotes this from -Heraclitus: “Join together the complete whole and the incomplete” (the -whole makes itself the part, and the meaning of the part is to become -the whole), “what coincides and what conflicts, what is harmonious and -what discordant, and from out of them all comes one, and from one, -all.” This one is not an abstraction, but the activity of dividing -itself into opposites; the dead infinite is a poor abstraction as -compared with the depths of Heraclitus. All that is concrete, as that -God created the world, divided Himself, begot a Son, is contained in -this determination. Sextus Empiricus mentions (adv. Math. IX. 337) that -Heraclitus said: “The part is something different from the whole and -is yet the same as the whole; substance is the whole and the part, the -whole in the universe and the part in this living being.” Plato says in -his Symposium (p. 187, Steph.; p. 397, Bekk.) of Heraclitus’ principle: -“The one, separated from itself, makes itself one with itself like the -harmony of the bow and the lyre.” He then makes Eryximachus, who speaks -in the Symposium, criticize this thus: “In harmony there is discord, or -it arises from opposites; for harmony does not arise from height and -depth in that they are different, but from their union through the art -of music.” But this does not contradict Heraclitus, who means the same -thing. That which is simple, the repetition of a tone, is no harmony; -difference is clearly necessary to harmony, or a definite antithesis; -for it is the absolute becoming and not mere change. The real fact is -that each particular tone is different from another—not abstractly so -from any other, but from _its_ other—and thus it also can be one. Each -particular only is, in so far as its opposite is implicitly contained -in its Notion. Subjectivity is thus the “other” of objectivity and not -of a piece of paper, which would be meaningless; since each is the -“other” of the “other” as its “other,” we here have their identity. -This is Heraclitus’ great principle; it may seem obscure, but it -is speculative. And this to the understanding which maintains the -independence of Being and non-being, the subjective and objective, the -real and the ideal, is always difficult and dim. - -2. _Natural Philosophy._ In his system Heraclitus did not rest content -with thus expressing himself in Notions, or with what is purely -logical. But in addition to this universal form in which he advanced -his principle, he gave his idea a real and more natural form, and -hence he is still reckoned as belonging to the Ionic school of natural -philosophers. However, as regards this form of reality, historians are -at variance; most of them, and amongst others, Aristotle (Met. I. 3, -8), say that he maintained fire to be the existent principle; others, -according to Sextus (adv. Math. IX. 360; X. 233), say it was air, and -others again assert that he made vapour to be the principle rather -than air;[62] even time is, in Sextus (adv. Math. X. 216), given as -the primary existence. The question arises as to how this diversity is -to be comprehended. It must not be believed that all these accounts -are to be ascribed to the inaccuracy of historians, for the witnesses -are of the best, like Aristotle and Sextus Empiricus, who do not speak -casually of these forms, but definitely, without, however, remarking -upon any such differences and contradictions. We seem to have a better -reason in the obscurity of the writing of Heraclitus, which might, by -the confusion of its expression, give occasion to misunderstanding. -But when regarded closer, this difficulty, which is evident when -merely looked at superficially, disappears; it is in the profoundly -significant conceptions of Heraclitus that the true way out of this -difficulty manifests itself. Heraclitus could no longer, like Thales, -express water, air or anything similar as an absolute principle—he -could no longer do so in the form of a primeval element from which the -rest proceeds—because he thought of Being as identical with non-being, -or the infinite Notion; thus the existent, absolute principle cannot -with him come forth as a definite and actual thing such as water, but -must be water in alteration, or as process only. - -_a._ Understanding the abstract process as time, Heraclitus said: -“Time is the first corporeal existence,” as Sextus (adv. Math. X. 231, -232) puts it. Corporeal is an unfortunate expression; the Sceptics -frequently pick out the crudest expressions or make thoughts crude -in the first place so that they may afterwards dispense with them. -Corporeal here means abstract sensuousness; time, as the first sensuous -existence, is the abstract representation of process. It is because -Heraclitus did not rest at the logical expression of Becoming, but gave -to his principle the form of the existent, that it was necessary that -time should first present itself to him as such; for in the sensuously -perceptible it is the first form of Becoming. Time is pure Becoming -as perceived, the pure Notion, that which is simple, and the harmony -issuing from absolute opposites; its essential nature is to be and not -to be in one unity, and besides this, it has no other character. It is -not that time _is_ or _is not_, for time _is_ non-being immediately in -Being and Being immediately in non-being: it is the transition out of -Being into non-being, the abstract Notion, but in an objective form, -i.e. in so far as it is for us. In time there is no past and future, -but only the now, and this is, but is not as regards the past; and this -non-being, as future, turns round into Being. If we were to say how -that which Heraclitus recognized as principle, might, in the pure form -in which he recognized it, exist for consciousness, we could mention -nothing else but time; and it quite accords with the principle of -thought in Heraclitus to define time as the first form of Becoming. - -_b._ But this pure, objective Notion must realize itself more fully, -and thus we find in fact, that Heraclitus determined the process in a -more markedly physical manner. In time we have the moments of Being and -non-being manifested as negative only, or as vanishing immediately; -if we wish to express both these moments as one independent totality, -the question is asked, which physical existence corresponds to this -determination. To Heraclitus the truth is to have grasped the essential -being of nature, i.e. to have represented it as implicitly infinite, -as process in itself; and consequently it is evident to us that -Heraclitus could not say that the primary principle is air, water, or -any such thing. They are not themselves process, but fire is process; -and thus he maintains fire to be the elementary principle, and this is -the real form of the Heraclitean principle, the soul and substance of -the nature-process. Fire is physical time, absolute unrest, absolute -disintegration of existence, the passing away of the “other,” but also -of itself; and hence we can understand how Heraclitus, proceeding from -his fundamental determination, could quite logically call fire the -Notion of the process. - -_c._ He further made this fire to be a real process; because its -reality is for itself the whole process, the moments have become -concretely determined. Fire, as the metamorphosis of bodily things, is -the transformation and exhalation of the determinate; for this process -Heraclitus used a particular word—evaporation (_ἀναθυμίασις_)—but it -is rather transition. Aristotle (De anim. I. 2) says of Heraclitus in -this regard, that, according to his view, “the soul is the principle -because it is evaporation, the origination of everything; it is what -is most incorporeal and always in a state of flux.” This is quite -applicable to the primary principle of Heraclitus. - -Furthermore he determined the real process in its abstract moments -by separating two sides in it—“the way upwards (_ὁδὸς ἄνω_) and the -way downwards (_ὁδὸς κάτω_)”—the one being division, in that it is -the existence of opposites, and the other the unification of these -existent opposites. Corresponding to these, he had, according to -Diogenes (IX. 8), the further determinations “of enmity and strife -(_πόλεμος_, _ἔρις_), and friendship and harmony (_ὁμολογία_, _εἰρήνη_); -of these two, enmity and strife is that which is the principle of -the origination of differences; but what leads to combustion is -harmony and peace.” In enmity amongst men, the one sets himself up -independently of the other, or is for himself and realizes himself; but -unity and peace is sinking out of independence into indivisibility or -non-reality. Everything is thre-fold and thereby real unity; nature is -the never-resting, and the all is the transition out of the one into -the other, from division into unity, and from unity into division. - -The more detailed accounts of this real process are, in great measure, -deficient and contradictory. In this connection, it is in some -accounts[63] said of Heraclitus that he defined it thus: “Of the forms -taken by fire there is first of all the sea, and then of it half is -the earth and the other half the lightning flash (_πρηστήρ_),” the fire -which springs up. This is general and very obscure. Diogenes Laertius -(IX. 9) says: “Fire is condensed into moisture, and when concrete it -becomes water; water hardens into earth and this is the way downwards. -The earth then again becomes fluid, and from it moisture supervenes, -and from this the evaporation of the sea, from which all else arises; -this is the way upwards. Water divides into a dark evaporation, -becoming earth, and into what is pure, sparkling, becoming fire and -burning in the solar sphere; what is fiery becomes meteors, planets and -stars.” These are thus not still, dead stars, but are regarded as in -Becoming, as being eternally productive. We thus have, on the whole, a -metamorphosis of fire. These oriental, metaphorical expressions are, -however, in Heraclitus not to be taken in their strictly sensuous -signification, and as if these changes were present to the outward -observation; but they depict the nature of these elements by which the -earth eternally creates its suns and comets. - -Nature is thus a circle. With this in view, we find Heraclitus, -according to Clement of Alexandria (Strom. V. 14, p. 711), saying: -“The universe was made neither by God nor man, but it ever was and is, -and will be, a living fire, that which, in accordance with its laws, -(_μέτρῳ_) kindles and goes out.” We now understand what Aristotle says -of the principle being the soul, since the latter is evaporation; that -is to say, fire, as this self-moving process of the world, is the -soul. Another statement follows, which is also found in Clement of -Alexandria (Strom. VI. 2, p. 746): “To souls (to the living) death is -the becoming water; to water death is the becoming earth; on the other -hand from earth, water arises, and from water, the soul.” Thus, on the -whole, this process is one of extinction, of going back from opposition -into unity, of the re-awakening of the former, and of issuing forth -from one. The extinction of the soul, of the fire in water, the -conflagration that finally results, some, and amongst others, Diogenes -Laertius (IX. 8), Eusebius (Præp. Evang. XIV. 3) and Tennemann (Vol. -I. p. 218), falsely assert to be a conflagration of the world. What -Heraclitus is said to have spoken of as a conflagration of this world, -was thought to be an imaginary idea that after a certain time—as, -according to our ideas, at the end of the world—the world would -disappear in flames. But we see at once from passages which are most -clear,[64] that this conflagration is not meant, but that it is the -perpetual burning up as the Becoming of friendship, the universal life -and the universal process of the universe. In respect of the fact that, -according to Heraclitus, fire is the animating, or the soul, we find -in Plutarch (De esu. carn. I. p. 995, ed. Xyl.) an expression which -may seem odd, namely, that “the driest soul is the best.” We certainly -do not esteem the most moist the best, but, on the other hand, the one -which is most alive; however dry here signifies fiery and thus the -driest soul is pure fire, and this is not lifeless but life itself. - -These are the principal moments of the real life-process; I will stop -here a moment because we here find expressed the whole Notion of -speculative reflection regarding Nature. In this Notion, one moment -and one element goes over into the other; fire becomes water, water -earth and fire. The contention about the transmutation and immutability -of the elements is an old one; in this conception the ordinary, -sensuous science of nature separates itself from natural philosophy. -In the speculative point of view, which is that of Heraclitus, the -simple substance in fire and the other elements in itself becomes -metamorphosed; in the other, all transition is abolished and only an -external separation of what is already there is maintained. Water is -just water, fire is fire, &c. If the former point of view upholds -transmutation, the latter believes in the possibility of demonstrating -the opposite; it no longer, indeed, maintains water, fire, &c., to -be simple realities, for it resolves them into hydrogen, oxygen, -&c., but it asserts their immutability. It justly asserts that what -is asserted and implied in the speculative point of view, must also -have the truth of actuality; for if to be the speculative means to be -the very nature and principle of its elements, this must likewise be -present. We are wrong in representing the speculative to be something -existent only in thought or inwardly, which is no one knows where. It -is really present, but men of learning shut their eyes to it because -of their limited point of view. If we listen to their account, they -only observe and say what they see; but their observation is not true, -for unconsciously they transform what is seen through their limited -and stereotyped conception; the strife is not due to the opposition -between observation and the absolute Notion, but between the one Notion -and the other. They show that changes—such as that of water into -earth—are non-existent. Even in modern times this transformation was -indeed maintained, for when water was distilled, a residuum of earth -was found. On this subject, however, Lavoisier carried on a number -of very conclusive researches; he weighed all the receptacles, and -it was shown that the residuum proceeded from the vessels. There is -a superficial process that does not carry us beyond the determinate -nature of substance. They say in reference to it, “water does not -change into air but only into moisture, and moisture always condenses -back into water again.” But in this they merely fix on a one-sided, -insufficient process, and give it out to be the absolute process. In -the real process of nature they, however, found by experience that the -crystal dissolved gives water, and in the crystal, water is lost and -solidifies, or becomes the so-called water of crystallization; they -found that the evaporation of the earth is not to be found as moisture, -in outward form in the air, for air remains quite pure, or hydrogen -entirely disappears in pure air; they have sought in vain to find -hydrogen in the atmospheric air. Similarly they discovered that quite -dry air in which they can show neither moisture nor hydrogen, passes -into mist, rain, &c. These are their observations, but they spoilt all -their perceptions of changes by the fixed conception which they brought -with them of whole and part, and of consistence out of parts, and of -the previous presence as such, of what manifests itself in coming into -existence. When the crystal dissolved reveals water, they say, “it is -not that water has arisen, for it was already present there.” When -water in its decomposition reveals hydrogen and oxygen, that means, -according to them, “these last have not arisen for they were already -there as such, as the parts of which the water subsists.” But they can -neither demonstrate water in crystal nor oxygen and hydrogen in water, -and the same is true of “latent heat.” As we find in all expression -of perception and experience, as soon as men speak, there is a Notion -present; it cannot be withheld, for in consciousness there always is a -touch of universality and truth. For the Notion is the real principle, -but it is only to cultured reason that it is absolute Notion, and not -if it remains, as here, confined in a determinate form. Hence these -men necessarily attain to their limits, and they are troubled because -they do not find hydrogen in air; hygrometers, flasks full of air -brought down from heights by an air-balloon, do not show it to exist. -And similarly the water of crystallization is no longer water, but is -changed into earth. - -To come back to Heraclitus, there is only one thing wanting to the -process, which is that its simple principle should be recognized as -universal Notion. The permanence and rest which Aristotle gives, may be -missed. Heraclitus, indeed, says that everything flows on, that nothing -is existent and only the one remains; but that is the Notion of the -unity which only exists in opposition and not of that reflected within -itself. This one, in its unity with the movement of the individuals, -is the genus, or in its infinitude the simple Notion as thought; as -such, the Idea has still to be determined, and we shall thus find it -again as the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras. The universal is the immediate -simple unity in opposition which goes back into itself as a process of -differences; but this is also found in Heraclitus; he called this unity -in opposition Fate (_εἱμαρμένη_) or Necessity.[65] And the Notion of -necessity is none other than this, that determinateness constitutes the -principle of the existent as individual, but in that very way, relates -it to its opposite: this is the absolute “connection (_λόγος_) that -permeates the Being of the whole.” He calls this “the ethereal body, -the seed of the Becoming of everything”;[66] that to him is the Idea, -the universal as reality, as process at rest. - -3. _Relation of the Principle to Consciousness._ There is still -something else to consider, and that is what position in this principle -Heraclitus gives to consciousness; his philosophy has, on the whole, -a bent towards a philosophy of nature, for the principle, although -logical, is apprehended as the universal nature-process. How does this -_λόγος_ come to consciousness? How is it related to the individual -soul? I shall explain this here in greater detail: it is a beautiful, -natural, childlike manner of speaking truth of the truth. The universal -and the unity of the principle of consciousness and of the object, -and the necessity of objectivity, make their first appearance here. -Several passages from Heraclitus are preserved respecting his views of -knowledge. From his principle that everything that is, at the same time -is not, it immediately follows that he holds that sensuous certainty -has no truth; for it is the certainty for which something exists as -actual, which is not so in fact. Not this immediate Being, but absolute -mediation, Being as thought of, Thought itself, is the true Being. -Heraclitus in this relation says of sensuous perception—according to -Clement of Alexandria—(Strom. III. 3, p. 520): “What we see waking -is dead, but what we see sleeping, a dream,” and in Sextus (adv. -Math. VII. 126, 127), “Men’s eyes and ears are bad witnesses, for -they have barbarous souls. Reason (_λόγος_) is the judge of truth, -not the arbitrary, but the only divine and universal judge”—this is -the measure, the rhythm, that runs through the Being of everything. -Absolute necessity is just the having the truth in consciousness; but -every thought, or what proceeds from the individual, every relation -in which there is only form and which has the content of the ordinary -idea, is not such; what is so is the universal understanding, the -developed consciousness of necessity, the identity of subjective and -objective. Heraclitus says in this connection, according to Diogenes -(IX. 1): “Much learning (_πολυμαθίν_) does not instruct the mind, else -it had instructed Hesiod, Pythagoras, Xenophanes and Hecatæus. The only -wisdom is to know the reason that reigns over all.” - -Sextus (adv. Math. VII. 127-133), further describes the attitude of -the subjective consciousness, of particular reason, to the universal, -to this nature-process. That attitude has still a very physical -appearance, resembling the state of mind we suppose in men who are -mad or asleep. The waking man is related to things in a universal -way, which is in conformity with the relation of the things and is -the way in which others also regard them, and yet he still retains -his independence. If, and in so far as I stand in the objectively -intelligent connection of this state of mind, I am, just because of -this externality, in finitude; but waking, I have the knowledge of the -necessity of a connection in the form of objectivity, the knowledge -of the universal existence, and thus the Idea in finite form. Sextus -puts this in definite form: “Everything that surrounds us is logical -and intelligent”—yet not therefore accompanied by consciousness. -“If we draw this universal reality through our breath, we shall be -intelligent, but we are so waking only, sleeping we are in oblivion.” -The waking consciousness of the outer world, what belongs to the sphere -of the understanding, is rather what may be called a condition; but -here it is taken as the whole of rational consciousness. “For in sleep -the channels of feeling are closed and the understanding that is in -us is prevented from uniting (_συμφυΐας_) with the surroundings; the -breath is the only connection (_πρόσφυσις_) maintained, and it may -be compared to a root.” This breath is thus distinguished from the -universal breath, i.e. from the being of another for us. Reason is this -process with the objective: when we are not in connection with the -whole, we only dream. “Separated, the understanding loses the power of -consciousness (_μνημονικὴν δύναμιν_) that it formerly had.” The mind -as individual unity only, loses objectivity, is not in individuality -universal, is not the Thought which has itself as object. “In a waking -condition, however, the understanding—gazing through the channels of -sense as though it were through a window, and forming a relationship -with the surroundings—maintains the logical power.” We here have the -ideal in its native simplicity. “In the same way as coals which come -near fire, themselves take fire, but apart from it, go out, the part -which is cut off from the surroundings in our bodies becomes, through -the separation, almost irrational.” This confutes those who think that -God gives wisdom in sleep or in somnambulism. But in connection with -the many channels it becomes similar to the whole. This whole, the -universal and divine understanding, in unity with which we are logical, -is, according to Heraclitus, the essence of truth. Hence that which -appears as the universal to all, carries with it conviction, for it has -part in the universal and divine Logos, while what is subscribed to by -an individual carries with it no conviction from the opposite cause. He -says in the beginning of his book on Nature: “Since the surroundings -are reason, men are irrational both before they hear and when they -first hear. For since what happens, happens according to this reason, -they are still inexperienced when they search the sayings and the works -which I expound, distinguishing the nature of everything and explaining -its relations. But other men do not know what they do awake, just as -they forget what they do in sleep.” Heraclitus says further: “We do and -think everything in that we participate in the divine understanding -(_λόγος_). Hence we must follow the universal understanding. But -many live as if they had an understanding (_φρόνησιν_) of their own; -the understanding is, however, nothing but interpretation” (being -conscious) “of the manner in which all is ordered. Hence in so far -as we participate in the knowledge (_μνήμης_) of it, we are in the -truth; but in so far as we are singular (_ἰδιάσωμεν_) we are in error.” -Great and important words! We cannot speak of truth in a truer or less -prejudiced way. Consciousness as consciousness of the universal, is -alone consciousness of truth; but consciousness of individuality and -action as individual, an originality which becomes a singularity of -content or of form, is the untrue and bad. Wickedness and error thus -are constituted by isolating thought and thereby bringing about a -separation from the universal. Men usually consider, when they speak of -thinking something, that it must be something particular, but this is -quite a delusion. - -However much Heraclitus may maintain that there is no truth in sensuous -knowledge because all that exists is in a state of flux, and that -the existence of sensuous certainty is not while it is, he maintains -the objective method in knowledge to be none the less necessary. The -rational, the true, that which I know, is indeed a withdrawal from the -objective as from what is sensuous, individual, definite and existent; -but what reason knows within itself is necessity or the universal -of being; it is the principle of thought, as it is the principle of -the world. It is this contemplation of truth that Spinoza in his -Ethics (P. II. propos. XLIV., coroll. II. p. 118, ed. Paul), calls “a -contemplation of things in the guise of eternity.” The being-for-self -of reason is not an objectless consciousness, or a dream, but a -knowledge, that which is for itself; but this being-for-self is -awake, or is objective and universal, _i.e._ is the same for all. The -dream is a knowledge of something of which I alone know; fancy may -be instanced as just such a dream. Similarly it is by feeling that -something is for me alone, and that I have something in me as in this -subject; the feeling may profess to be ever so elevated, yet it really -is the case that for me as this subject, it is what I feel, and not an -object independent of me. But in truth, the object is for me something -essentially free, and I am for myself devoid of subjectivity; similarly -this object is no imaginary one made an object by me alone, but is in -itself a universal. - -There are, besides, many other fragments of Heraclitus, solitary -expressions, such as his saying, “men are mortal gods, and gods -immortal men; living is death to the former and dying is their -life.”[67] Life is the death of the gods, death is the life of the -gods; the divine is the rising through thought above mere nature which -belongs to death. Hence Heraclitus also says, according to Sextus (adv. -Math. VII., 349): “the power of thinking is outside the body,” which, -in a remarkable way, Tennemann makes into: “outside of men.” In Sextus -(Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 24, § 230) we further read: “Heraclitus says that -both life and death are united in our life as in our death; for if we -live, our souls are dead and buried in us, but if we die, our souls -arise and live.” We may, in fact, say of Heraclitus what Socrates said: -“What remains to us of Heraclitus is excellent, and we must conjecture -of what is lost, that it was as excellent.” Or if we wish to consider -fate so just as always to preserve to posterity what is best, we must -at least say of what we have of Heraclitus, that it is worthy of this -preservation. - -E. EMPEDOCLES, LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS. - -We shall take Leucippus and Democritus with Empedocles; in them -there is manifested the ideality of the sensuous and also universal -determinateness or a transition to the universal. Empedocles was -a Pythagorean Italian, whose tendencies were Ionic; Leucippus and -Democritus, who incline to the Italians, in that they carried on the -Eleatic school, are more interesting. Both these philosophers belong -to the same philosophic system; they must be taken together as regards -their philosophic thought and considered thus.[68] Leucippus is the -older, and Democritus perfected what the former began, but it is -difficult to say what properly speaking belongs to him historically. -It is certainly recorded that he developed Leucippus’ thought, and -there is, too, some of his work preserved, but it is not worthy of -quotation. In Empedocles we see the commencement of the determination -and separation of principles. The becoming conscious of difference is -an essential moment, but the principles here have in part the character -of physical Being, and though partaking also of ideal Being, this form -is not yet thought-form. On the other hand we find in Leucippus and -Democritus the more ideal principles, the atom and the Nothing, and we -also find thought-determination more immersed in the objective—that -is, the beginning of a metaphysics of body; or pure Notions possess the -significance of the material, and thus pass over thought into objective -form. But the teaching is, on the whole, immature, and is incapable of -giving satisfaction. - - -1. LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS. - -Nothing is accurately known of the circumstances of Leucippus’ life, -not even where he was born. Some, like Diogenes Laertius (IX. 30), make -him out to be an Eleatic; others to have belonged to Abdera (because he -was with Democritus), or to Melos—Melos is an island not far from the -Peloponnesian coast—or else, as is asserted by Simplicius in writing -on Aristotle’s Physics (p. 7), to Miletus. It is definitely stated -that he was a disciple and a friend of Zeno; yet he seems to have been -almost contemporaneous with him as well as with Heraclitus. - -It is less doubtful that Democritus belonged to Abdera in Thrace, on -the Aegean Sea, a town that in later times became so notorious on -account of foolish actions. He was born, it would appear, about the -80th Olympiad (460 B.C.), or Olympiad 77, 3 (470 B.C.); the first date -is given by Apollodorus (Diog. Laert. IX. 41), the other by Thrasyllus; -Tennemann (Vol. I. p. 415) makes his birth to fall about the 71st -Olympiad (494 B.C.). According to Diogenes Laertius (IX. 34), he was -forty years younger than Anaxagoras, lived to the time of Socrates, and -was even younger than he—that is supposing him to have been born, not -in Olympiad 71, but in Olympiad 80. His connection with the Abderites -has been much discussed, and many bad anecdotes are told regarding it -by Diogenes Laertius. That he was very rich, Valerius Maximus (VIII. -7, ext. 4) judges from the fact that his father entertained the whole -of Xerxes’ army on its passage to Greece. Diogenes tells (IX. 35, 36) -that he expended his means, which were considerable, on journeys to -Egypt and in penetrating into the East, but this last is not authentic. -His possessions are stated to have amounted to a hundred talents, and -if an Attic talent was worth about from 1000 to 1200 thalers, he must -undoubtedly have been able to get far enough with that. It is always -said that he was a friend and disciple of Leucippus, as Aristotle -relates (Met. I. 4), but where they met is not told. Diogenes (IX. 39) -goes on: “After he returned from his journeys into his own country, -he lived very quietly, for he had consumed all his substance, but -he was supported by his brother and attained to high honour amongst -his countrymen”—not through his philosophy, but—“by some prophetic -utterances. According to the law, however, he who ran through his -father’s means could not have a place in the paternal burial-place. To -give no place to the calumniator or evil speaker”—as though he had -spent his means through extravagance—“he read his work _Διάκοσμος_ to -the Abderites, and the latter gave him a present of 500 talents, had -his statue publicly erected, and buried him with great pomp when, at -100 years old, he died.” That this was also an Abderite jest, those who -left us this narrative, at least, did not see. - -Leucippus is the originator of the famous atomic system which, as -recently revived, is held to be the principle of rational science. -If we take this system on its own account, it is certainly very -barren, and there is not much to be looked for in it; but it must be -allowed that we are greatly indebted to Leucippus, because, as it is -expressed in our ordinary physics, he separated the universal and -the sensuous, or the primary and the secondary, or the essential and -the nonessential qualities of body. The universal quality means, in -speculative language, the fact that the corporeal is really universally -determined through the Notion or the principle of body: Leucippus -understood the determinate nature of Being, not in a superficial -manner, but in a speculative. When it is said that body has those -universal qualities, such as form, impenetrability and weight, we think -that the indeterminate conception of body is the essence, and that its -essence is something other than these qualities. But speculatively, -essential existence is just universal determinations; they are existent -in themselves, or the abstract content and the reality of existence. -To body as such, there is nothing left for the determination of reality -but pure singularity; but it is the unity of opposites, and the unity -of these predicates constitutes its reality. - -Let us recollect that in the Eleatic philosophy Being and non-being -were looked at as in opposition; that only Being is, and non-being, in -which category we find motion, change, &c., is not. Being is not as yet -the unity turning back, and turned back into itself, like Heraclitus’ -motion and the universal. It may be said of the point of view that -difference, change, motion, &c., fall within sensuous, immediate -perception, that the assertion that only Being is, is as contradictory -to appearances as to thought; for the nothing, that which the Eleatics -abolished, is. Or within the Heraclitean Idea, Being and non-being -are the same; Being is, but non-being, since it is one with Being, is -as well, or Being is both the predicate of Being and of non-being. -But Being and non-being are both expressed as having the qualities of -objectivity, or as they are for sensuous perception, and hence they are -the opposition of full and empty. Leucippus says this; he expresses as -existent what was really present to the Eleatics. Aristotle says (Met. -I. 4): “Leucippus and his friend Democritus maintain that the full and -the empty are the elements, and they call the one the existent, and the -other the non-existent; that is, the full and solid are the existent, -the empty and rare, the non-existent. Hence they also say that Being -is no more than non-being because the empty is as well as the bodily; -and these form the material sources of everything.” The full has the -atom as its principle. The Absolute, what exists in and for itself, -is thus the atom and the empty (_τὰ ἄτομα καὶ τὸ κενόν_): this is an -important, if at the same time, an insufficient explanation. It is not -atoms as we should speak of them, such, for example, as we represent -to ourselves as floating in the air, that are alone the principle, for -the intervening nothing is just as essential. Thus here we have the -first appearance of the atomic system. We must now give the further -signification and determination of this principle. - -_a. The Logical Principle_ - -The principal point of consideration is the One, existent for -itself: this determination is a great principle and one which we -have not hitherto had. Parmenides establishes Being or the abstract -universal; Heraclitus, process; the determination of being-for-self -belongs to Leucippus. Parmenides says that the nothing does not exist -at all; with Heraclitus Becoming existed only as the transition of -Being into nothing where each is negated; but the view that each is -simply at home with itself, the positive as the self-existent one and -the negative as empty, is what came to consciousness in Leucippus, and -became the absolute determination. The atomic principle in this manner -has not passed away, for it must from this point of view always exist; -the being-for-self must in every logical philosophy[69] be an essential -moment and yet it must not be put forward as ultimate. In the logical -progression from Being and Becoming to this thought-determination, -Being as existent here and now[70] certainly first appears, but -this last belongs to the sphere of finality and hence cannot be the -principle of Philosophy. Thus, though the development of Philosophy -in history must correspond to the development of logical philosophy, -there will still be passages in it which are absent in historical -development. For instance, if we wished to make Being as existent here -the principle, it would be what we have in consciousness—there are -things, these things are finite and bear a relation to one another—but -this is the category of our unthinking knowledge, of appearance. -Being-for-self, on the other hand, is, as Being, simple relation to -itself, but through negation of the other-Being. If I say I am for -myself, I not only am, but I negate in me all else, exclude it from -me, in so far as it seems to me to be external. As negation of other -being, which is just negation in relation to me, being-for-self is -the negation of negation and thus affirmation; and this is, as I call -it, absolute negativity in which mediation indeed is present, but a -mediation which is just as really taken away. - -The principle of the One is altogether ideal and belongs entirely to -thought, even though we wish to say that atoms exist. The atom may be -taken materially, but it is supersensuous, purely intellectual. In our -times, too, more especially through the instrumentality of Gassendi, -this conception of atoms has been renewed. The atoms of Leucippus are, -however, not molecules, the small particles of Physics. In Leucippus, -according to Aristotle, (De gen. et corr. I. 8) there is to be found -the idea that “atoms are invisible because of the smallness of their -body,” which is much like the way in which molecules are now-a-days -spoken of: but this is merely a way of speaking of them. The One can -neither be seen nor shown with magnifying glasses or measures, because -it is an abstraction of thought; what is shown is always matter that is -put together. It is just as futile when, as in modern times, men try -by the microscope to investigate the inmost part of the organism, the -soul, and think they can discover it by means of sight and feeling. -Thus the principle of the One is altogether ideal, but not in the -sense of being in thought or in the head alone, but in such a way that -thought is made the true essence of things. Leucippus understood it -so, and his philosophy is consequently not at all empirical. Tennemann -(Vol. 1, p. 261), on the other hand, says, quite wrongly, “The system -of Leucippus is opposed to that of the Eleatics; he recognizes the -empirical world as the only objective reality, and body as the only -kind of existence.” But the atom and the vacuum are not things of -experience; Leucippus says that it is not the senses through which -we become conscious of the truth, and thereby he has established an -idealism in the higher sense and not one which is merely subjective. - -_b. The Constitution of the World_ - -However abstract this principle might be to Leucippus, he was -anxious to make it concrete. The meaning of atom is the individual, -the indivisible; in another form the One is thus individuality, -the determination of subjectivity. The universal and, on the other -side, the individual, are great determinations which are involved -in everything, and men first know what they have in these abstract -determinations, when they recognize in the concrete that even there -they are predominant. To Leucippus and Democritus this principle, which -afterwards came to light with Epicurus, remained physical; but it also -appears in what is intellectual. Mind indeed, is also an atom and one; -but as one within itself, it is at the same time infinitely full. In -freedom, right and law, in exercising will, our only concern is with -this opposition of universality and individuality. In the sphere of -the state the point of view that the single will is, as an atom, the -absolute, may be maintained; the more modern theories of the state -which also made themselves of practical effect, are of this kind. The -state must rest on the universal, that is, on the will that exists -in and for itself; if it rests on that of the individual, it becomes -atomic and is comprehended in accordance with the thought-determination -of the one, as is the case in Rousseau’s _Contrat Social_. From what -Aristotle tells us in the passage last quoted, Leucippus’ idea of all -that is concrete and actual is further this: “The full is nothing -simple, for it is an infinitely manifold. These infinitely many, move -in the vacuum, for the vacuum exists; their conglomeration brings -about origination” (that is, of an existing thing, or what is for the -senses), “disintegration and separation result in passing away.” All -other categories are included here. “Activity and passivity subsist in -the fact, that they are contiguous; but their contiguity is not their -becoming one, for from that which is truly” (abstractly) “one there -does not come a number, nor from that which is truly many, one.” Or, -it may be said, they are in fact neither passive nor active, “for they -merely abide through the vacuum” without having as their principle, -process. Atoms thus are, even in their apparent union in that which -we call things, separated from one another through the vacuum which -is purely negative and foreign to them, _i.e._ their relation is not -inherent in themselves, but is with something other than them, in which -they remain what they are. This vacuum, the negative in relation to the -affirmative, is also the principle of the movement of atoms; they are -so to speak solicited by the vacuum to fill up and to negate it. - -These are the doctrines of the atomists. We see that we have reached -the extreme limits of these thoughts, for when relation comes into -question, we step beyond them. Being and non-being, as something -thought, which, when represented for consciousness as differing in -regard to one another, are the plenum and the vacuum, have no diversity -in themselves; for the plenum has likewise negativity in itself; as -independent, it excludes what is different; it is one and infinitely -many ones, while the vacuum is not exclusive, but pure continuity. Both -these opposites, the one and continuity, being now settled, nothing is -easier to imagine than that atoms should float in existent continuity, -now being separated and now united; and thus that their union should -be only a superficial relation, or a synthesis that is not determined -through the inherent nature of what is united, but in which these -self-existent beings really remain separated still. But this is an -altogether external relationship; the purely independent is united to -the independent, and thus a mechanical combination alone results. All -that is living, spiritual, &c., is then merely thrown together; and -change, origination, creation, are simple union. - -However highly these principles are to be esteemed as a forward step, -they at once reveal to us their total inadequacy, as is also the -case when we enter with them on further concrete determinations. -Nevertheless, we need not add what is in great measure added by the -conception of a later date, that once upon a time, there was a chaos, a -void filled with atoms, which afterwards became united and orderly, and -that the world thereby arose; it is now and ever that what implicitly -exists is the plenum and the vacuum. The satisfying point of view which -natural science found in such thoughts, is just the simple fact that in -these the existent is in its antithesis as what is thought and what is -opposed to thought, and is hereby what exists in and for itself. The -Atomists are therefore, generally speaking, opposed to the idea of the -creation and maintenance of this world by means of a foreign principle. -It is in the theory of atoms that science first feels released from -the sense of having no foundation for the world. For if nature is -represented as created and held together by another, it is conceived -of as not existent in itself, and thus as having its Notion outside -itself, _i.e._ its principle or origin is foreign to it and it has no -principle as such, only being conceivable from the will of another; as -it is, it is contingent, devoid of necessity and Notion in itself. In -the conception of the atomist, however, we have the conception of the -inherency of nature, that is to say, thought finds itself in it, or -its principle is in itself something thought, and the Notion finds its -satisfaction in conceiving and establishing it as Notion. In abstract -existence, nature has its ground in itself and is simply for itself; -the atom and the vacuum are just such simple Notions. But we cannot -here see or find more than the formal fact that quite general and -simple principles, the antithesis between the one and continuity, are -represented. - -If we proceed from a wider, richer point of view in nature, and demand -that from the atomic theory, it, too, must be made comprehensible, the -satisfaction at once disappears and we see the impossibility of getting -any further. Hence we must get beyond these pure thoughts of continuity -and discontinuity. For these negations, the units, are not in and for -themselves; the atoms are indivisible and like themselves, or their -principle is made pure continuity, so that they may be said to come -directly into one clump. The conception certainly keeps them separate -and gives them a sensuously represented Being; but if they are alike, -they are, as pure continuity, the same as what is empty. But that which -is, is concrete and determined. How then can diversity be conceived -of from these principles? Whence comes the determinate character of -plants, colour, form? The point is, that though these atoms as small -particles may be allowed to subsist as independent, their union becomes -merely a combination which is altogether external and accidental. The -determinate difference is missed; the one, as that which is for itself, -loses all its determinateness. If various matters, electrical, magnetic -and luminous, are assumed, and, at the same time, a mechanical shifting -about of molecules, on the one hand unity is quite disregarded, and, on -the other, no rational word is uttered in regard to the transition of -phenomena, but only what is tautological. - -Since Leucippus and Democritus wished to go further, the necessity of -a more definite distinction than this superficial one of union and -separation was introduced, and they sought to bring this about by -ascribing diversity to atoms, and, indeed, by making their diversity -infinite. Aristotle (Met. I. 4) says: “This diversity they sought to -determine in three ways. They say that atoms differ in figure, as A -does from N; in order” (place) “as AN from NA; in position”—as to -whether they stand upright or lie—“as Z from N. From these all other -differences must come.” We see that figure, order and posture are again -external relationships, indifferent determinations, _i.e._ unessential -relations which do not affect the nature of the thing in itself nor its -immanent determinateness, for their unity is only in another. Taken on -its own account, this difference is indeed inconsistent, for as the -entirely simple one, the atoms are perfectly alike, and thus any such -diversity cannot come into question. - -We here have an endeavour to lead the sensuous back into few -determinations. Aristotle (De gen. et corr. I. 8) says in this -connection of Leucippus: “He wished to bring the conception of the -phenomenal and sensuous perception nearer, and thereby represented -movement, origination and decease, as existent in themselves.” In -this we see no more than that actuality from him receives its rights, -while others speak only of deception. But when Leucippus in the end -represents the atom as also fashioned in itself, he brings existence -certainly so much nearer to sensuous perception, but not to the Notion; -we must, indeed, go on to fashioning, but so far we are still a long -way off from the determination of continuity and discretion. Aristotle -(De sensu, 4) therefore says: “Democritus, and most of the other -ancient philosophers are, when they speak of what is sensuous, very -awkward, because they wish to make all that is felt into something -tangible; they reduce everything to what is evident to the sense of -touch, black being rough, and white smooth.” All sensuous qualities are -thus only led back to form, to the various ways of uniting molecules -which make any particular thing capable of being tasted or smelt; and -this endeavour is one which is also made by the atomists of modern -times. The French particularly, from Descartes onward, stand in this -category. It is the instinct of reason to understand the phenomenal -and the perceptible, only the way is false; it is a quite unmeaning, -undetermined universality. Since figure, order, posture and form, -constitute the only determination of what is in itself, nothing is said -as to how these moments are experienced as colour, and indeed variety -of colour, &c.; the transition to other than mechanical determinations -is not made, or it shows itself to be shallow and barren. - -How it was that Leucippus, from these poor principles of atoms and -of the vacuum, which he never got beyond, because he took them to be -the absolute, hazarded a construction of the whole world (which may -appear to us as strange as it is empty), Diogenes Laertius tells us -(IX. 31-33) in an account which seems meaningless enough. But the -nature of the subject allows of little better, and we can do no more -than observe from it the barrenness of this conception. It runs thus: -“Atoms, divergent in form, propel themselves through their separation -from the infinite, into the great vacuum.” (Democritus adds to this, -“by means of their mutual resistance (_ἀντιτυπία_) and a tremulous, -swinging motion (_παλμός_).”)[71] “Here gathered, they form one vortex -(_δίνην_) where, by dashing together and revolving round in all sorts -of ways, the like are separated off with the like. But since they are -of equal weight, when they cannot, on account of their number, move -in any way, the finer go into outer vacuum, being so to speak forced -out; and the others remain together and, being entangled, run one -against another, and form the first round system. But this stands apart -like a husk that holds within it all sorts of bodies; since these, in -pressing towards the middle, make a vortex movement, this encircling -skin becomes thin, because from the action of the vortex, they are -continually running together. The earth arises in this way, because -these bodies, collected in the middle, remain together. That which -encircles and which is like a husk, again becomes increased by means of -the adherence of external bodies, and since it also moves within the -vortex, it draws everything with which it comes in contact to itself. -The union of some of these bodies again forms a system, first the moist -and slimy, and then the dry, and that which circles in the vortex of -the whole; after that, being ignited, they constitute the substance of -the stars. The outer circle is the sun, the inner the moon,” &c. This -is an empty representation; there is no interest in these dry, confused -ideas of circle-motion, and of what is later on called attraction -and repulsion, beyond the fact that the different kinds of motion are -looked at as the principle of matter. - -_c. The Soul_ - -Finally Aristotle relates (De anim. I. 2) that in regard to the -soul, Leucippus and Democritus said that “it is spherical atoms.” We -find further from Plutarch (De plac. phil. IV. 8) that Democritus -applied himself to the relation borne by consciousness to the -explanation, amongst other things, of the origin of feelings, because -with him, the conceptions that from things fine surfaces, so to speak, -free themselves, and fly into the eyes, ears, &c., first began. We see -that, thus far, Democritus expressed the difference between the moments -of implicit Being and Being-for-another more distinctly. For he said, -as Sextus tells us (adv. Math. VII. 135): “Warmth exists according -to opinion (_νόμῳ_), and so do cold and colour, sweet and bitter: -only the indivisible and void are truthful (_ἐτεῇ_).” That is to say, -only the void and indivisible and their determinations are implicit; -unessential, different Being, such as warmth, &c., is for another. But -by this the way is at once opened up to the false idealism that means -to be done with what is objective by bringing it into relation with -consciousness, merely saying of it that it is _my_ feeling. Thereby -sensuous individuality is, indeed, annulled in the form of Being, but -it still remains the same sensuous manifold; a sensuously notionless -manifold of feeling is established, in which there is no reason, and -with which this idealism has no further concern. - - -2. EMPEDOCLES. - -The fragments of Empedocles left, have several times been collected. -Sturz of Leipzig collected above 400 verses.[72] Peyron arranged a -collection of fragments of Empedocles and Parmenides,[73] which was put -into print in Leipzig in 1810. In Wolff’s Analects, a treatise is to be -found on Empedocles by Ritter. - -Empedocles’ birthplace was Agrigentum in Sicily, while Heraclitus -belonged to Asia Minor. We thus come back to Italy, for our history -changes about between these two sides; from Greece proper, as the -middle point, we have as yet had no philosophies at all. Empedocles, -according to Tennemann (Vol. I. p. 415), flourished about the 80th -Olympiad (460 B.C.). Sturz (pp. 9, 10) quotes Dodwell’s words: (De -ætate Pythag. p. 220), which indicate that Empedocles was born in -Olympiad 77, 1 (472 B.C.). They are as follows: “In the second year of -the 85th Olympiad Parmenides had reached his 65th year, so that Zeno -was born in the second year of the 75th Olympiad;[74] thus he was six -years older than his fellow-student Empedocles, for the latter was -only one year old when Pythagoras died in the first or second year of -the 77th Olympiad.” Aristotle says (Met. I. 3): “In age Empedocles is -subsequent to Anaxagoras, but his works are earlier.” But not only did -he philosophize earlier as regards time, that is, at a younger age, -but in reference to the stage reached by the Notion, his philosophy is -earlier and less mature than that of Anaxagoras. - -From Diogenes’ accounts of his life (VIII. 59, 60-73), he also seems -to have been a kind of magician and sorcerer, like Pythagoras. During -his life he was much respected by his fellow-citizens, and, after -his death, a statue was erected to him in his native town; his fame -extended very far. He did not live apart, like Heraclitus, but in the -exercise of great influence on the affairs of the town of Agrigentum, -like Parmenides in Elea. He acquired the credit, after the death of -Meton, the ruler of Agrigentum, of bringing about a free constitution -and equal rights to all citizens. He likewise frustrated several -attempts which were made by people of Agrigentum to seize upon the -rulership of their city; and when the esteem of his fellow-citizens -rose so high that they offered him the crown, he rejected their offers, -and lived ever after amongst them as a respected private individual. -Both of his life and death much which was fabulous was told. Seeing -that he was famous in life, we are told that he wished not to appear -to die an ordinary death, as a proof that he was not a mortal man, but -had merely passed out of sight. After a feast he is said either to have -suddenly disappeared, or else to have been on Etna with his friends, -and suddenly to have been seen of them no more. But what became of him -was revealed by the fact that one of his shoes was thrown up by Etna, -and found by one of his friends; this made it clear that he threw -himself into Etna, thereby to withdraw himself from the notice of -mankind, and to give rise to the idea that he did not really die, but -that he was taken up amongst the gods. - -The origin and occasion for this fable seems to lie in a poem in which -there are several verses that, taken alone, make great professions. -He says, according to Sturz, (p. 530: Reliquiæ _τῶν καθαρμῶν_, v. -364-376):— - - “Friends who dwell within the fort on yellow Acragas - And who in the best of works are busy, I greet you! - To you I am an immortal god, no more a mortal man, - Do ye not see how that where’er I go, all honour me, - My head being ‘circled round with diadems and crowns of green? - When so decked out, I show myself in towns of wealth, - Men and women pray to me. And thousands follow - My steps, to seek from me the way to bliss, - Others ask for prophecies; others again, - Healing words for ailments manifold beseech. - But what is this to me—as though ‘twere anything - By art to conquer much corrupted man.” - -But, taken in the context, this laudation means that I am highly -honoured, but what is the value of that to me; it expresses weariness -of the honour given him by men. - -Empedocles had Pythagoreans as pupils, and went about with them; he -is sometimes considered to have been a Pythagorean like Parmenides -and Zeno, but this is the only ground for such a statement. It is a -question whether he belonged to the League; his philosophy has no -resemblance to the Pythagorean. According to Diogenes Laertius (VIII. -56), he was also called Zeno’s fellow-pupil. There have, indeed, been -many isolated reflections of a physical kind preserved to us, as also -some words of exhortation, and in him thought as penetrating within -reality, and the knowledge of nature seem to have attained to greater -breadth and compass; we find in him, however, less speculative depth -than in Heraclitus, but a Notion more imbued with the point of view -of reality, and a culture derived from natural philosophy or the -contemplation of nature. Empedocles is more poetic than definitely -philosophical; he is not very interesting, and much cannot be made of -his philosophy. - -As to the particular Notion which governs it, and which really begins -in it to appear, we may call it Combination or Synthesis. It is as -combination that the unity of opposites first presents itself; this -Notion, first opening up with Heraclitus, is, while in a condition -of rest, conceived of as combination, before thought grasps the -universal in Anaxagoras. Empedocles’ synthesis, as a completion of -the relationship, thus belongs to Heraclitus, whose speculative Idea, -though in reality, is process, but this is so without the individual -moments in reality being mutually related as Notions. Empedocles’ -conception of synthesis holds good to the present day. He also is -the originator of the common idea that has even come down to us, of -regarding the four known physical elements of fire, air, water, and -earth, as fundamental; by chemists they are certainly no longer held -to be elements, because they understand by elements a simple chemical -substance. I will now give Empedocles’ ideas shortly, and draw the many -units mentioned into the connection of a whole. - -His general ideas Aristotle[75] shortly sums up thus: “To the three -elements, fire, air, and water, each of which was in turn considered -as the principle from which everything proceeded, Empedocles added -the Earth as the fourth corporeal element, saying that it is these -which always remain the same, never becoming, but being united and -separated as the more or the less, combining into one and coming -out of one.” Carbon, metal, &c., are not something existing in and -for itself which remains constant and never becomes; thus nothing -metaphysical is signified by them. But with Empedocles this undoubtedly -is the case: every particular thing arises through some kind of union -of the four. These four elements, to our ordinary idea, are not so -many sensuous things if we consider them as universal elements; for, -looked at sensuously, there are various other sensuous things. All -that is organic, for example, is of another kind; and, further, earth -as one, as simple, pure earth, does not exist, for it is in manifold -determinateness. In the idea of four elements we have the elevation of -sensuous ideas into thought. - -Aristotle further says in reference to the abstract Notion of their -relation to one another (Met. I. 4), that Empedocles did not only -require the four elements as principles, but also Friendship and -Strife, which we have already met with in Heraclitus; it is at once -evident that these are of another kind, because they are, properly -speaking, universal. He has the four natural elements as the real, and -friendship and strife as the ideal principles, so that six elements, -of which Sextus[76] often speaks, make their appearance in lines -that Aristotle (Met. II. 4) and Sextus (adv. Math. VII. 92) have -preserved:— - - “With the earth, we see the earth, with water, water, - With air, heavenly air, with fire, eternal fire, - With love, love is seen, and strife with sorrowful strife.” - -Through our participation in them they become for us. There we have the -idea that spirit, the soul, is itself the unity, the very totality of -elements, in which the principle of earth relates to earth, water to -water, love to love, &c.[77] In seeing fire, the fire is in us for whom -objective fire is, and so on. - -Empedocles also speaks of the process of these elements, but he did not -comprehend it further; the point to be remarked is that he represented -their unity as a combination. In this synthetic union, which is a -superficial relation devoid of Notion, being partly related and partly -unrelated, the contradiction necessarily results that at one time the -unity of elements is established and at another, their separation: -the unity is not the universal unity in which they are moments, -being even in their diversity one, and in their unity different, for -these two moments, unity and diversity, fall asunder, and union and -separation are quite indeterminate relationships. Empedocles says in -the first book of his poem on Nature, as given by Sturz (p. 517, v. -106-109): “There is no such thing as a Nature, only a combination and -separation of what is combined; it is merely called Nature by men.” -That is to say, that which constitutes anything, as being its elements -or parts, is not as yet called its nature, but only its determinate -unity. For example, the nature of an animal is its constant and real -determinateness, its kind, its universality, which is simple. But -Empedocles does away with nature in this sense, for every thing, -according to him, is the combination of simple elements, and thus -not in itself the universal, simple and true: this is not what is -signified by us when we speak of nature. Now this nature in which a -thing moves in accordance with its own end, Aristotle (De gen. et -corr. II. 6) misses in Empedocles; in later times this conception was -still further lost. Because the elements were thus existent simply in -themselves, there was, properly speaking, no process established in -them, for in process they are only vanishing moments, and not existent -in themselves. Being thus implicit, they must have been unchangeable, -or they could not constitute themselves into a unity; for in the one -their subsistence, or their implicit existence would be destroyed. But -because Empedocles says that things subsist from these elements, he -immediately establishes their unity. - -These are the principal points in Empedocles’ philosophy. I will quote -the remarks that Aristotle (Met. I. 4) makes in this regard. - -(_α_) “If we wish to follow this up, and do so in accordance with -the understanding, not merely stumbling over it like Empedocles, we -should say that friendship is the principle of good and strife the -principle of evil, so that in a measure we may assert that Empedocles -maintained—and was the first to do so—that the evil and the good -are the absolute principles, because the good is the principle of all -good, and the bad the principle of all evil.” Aristotle shows the trace -of universality present here; for to him it may be termed essential -in dealing with the Notion of the principle, that which is in and for -itself. But this is only the Notion, or the thought which is present -in and for itself; we have not yet seen such a principle, for we find -it first in Anaxagoras. If Aristotle found the principle of motion -missed in ancient philosophers, in the Becoming of Heraclitus, he again -missed in Heraclitus the still deeper principle of the Good, and hence -wished to discover it in Empedocles. By the good the “why” is to be -understood, that which is an end in and for itself, which is clearly -established in itself, which is on its own account, and through which -all else is; the end has the determination of activity, the bringing -forth of itself, so that it, as end to itself, is the Idea, the Notion -that makes itself objective and, in its objectivity, is identical with -itself. Aristotle thus entirely controverts Heraclitus, because his -principle is change alone, without remaining like self, maintaining -self, and going back within self. - -(_β_) Aristotle also says in criticizing further the relationship -and determination of these two universal principles of Friendship -and Strife, as of union and separation, that “Empedocles neither -adequately made use of them nor discovered in them what they involved -(_ἐξευρίσκει τὸ ὁμολογούμενον_); for with him friendship frequently -divides and strife unites. That is, when the All falls asunder through -strife amongst the elements, fire is thereby united into one, and -so is each of the other elements.” The separation of the elements -which are comprised within the All, is just as necessarily the union -amongst themselves of the parts of each element; that which, on the -one hand, is the coming into separation, as independent, is at the -same time something united within itself. “But when everything through -friendship goes back into one, it is necessary that the parts of -each element undergo separation again.” The being in one is itself a -manifold, a diverse relation of the four diversities, and thus the -going together is likewise a separation. This is the case generally -with all determinateness, that it must in itself be the opposite, and -must manifest itself as such. The remark that, speaking generally, -there is no union without separation, no separation without union, is -a profound one; identity and non-identity are thought-determinations -of this kind which cannot be separated. The reproach made by Aristotle -is one that lies in the nature of the thing. And when Aristotle says -that Empedocles, although younger than Heraclitus, “was the first to -maintain such principles, because he did not assert that the principle -of motion is one, but that it is different and opposed,” this certainly -relates to the fact that he thought it was in Empedocles that he first -found design, although his utterances on the subject were dubious. - -(_γ_) As to the real moments in which this ideal realizes -itself, Aristotle further says, “He does not speak of them as -four”—equivalents in juxtaposition—“but on the contrary as two; -fire he puts by itself on the one side, and the three others, earth, -air, and water, on the other.” What would be most interesting is the -determination of their relationship. - -(_δ_) In what deals with the relationship of the two ideal moments, -friendship and strife, and of the four real elements, there is thus -nothing rational, for Empedocles, according to Aristotle (Met. XII. -10), did not properly separate, but co-ordinated them, so that we often -see them in proximity and counted as having equal value; but it is -self-evident that Empedocles also separated these two sides, the real -and the ideal, and expressed thought as their relation. - -(_ε_) Aristotle says with justice (De gen. et corr. I. 1) that -“Empedocles contradicts both himself and appearances. For at one time -he maintains that none of the elements springs out of the other, but -all else comes from them; and, at another time, he makes them into a -whole through friendship, and again destroys this unity through strife. -Thus through particular differences and qualities, one becomes water, -the other fire, &c. Now if the particular differences are taken away -(and they can be taken away since they have arisen), it is evident -that water arises from earth, and the reverse. The All was not yet -fire, earth, water, and air, when these were still one, so that it -is not clear whether he made the one or the many to be, properly -speaking, real existence.” Because the elements become one, their -special character, that through which water is water, is nothing in -itself, that is, they are passing into something different; but this -contradicts the statement that they are the absolute elements, or that -they are implicit. He considers actual things as an intermingling -of elements, but in regard to their first origin, he thinks that -everything springs from one through friendship and strife. This -customary absence of thought is in the nature of synthetic conceptions; -it now upholds unity, then multiplicity, and does not bring both -thoughts together; as sublated, one is also not one.[78] - - -F. ANAXAGORAS. - -With Anaxagoras[79] a light, if still a weak one, begins to dawn, -because the understanding is now recognized as the principle. Aristotle -says of Anaxagoras (Met. I. 3): “But he who said that reason (_νοῦς_), -in what lives as also in nature, is the origin of the world and of all -order, is like a sober man as compared with those who came before and -spoke at random (_εἰκῆ_).” As Aristotle says, hitherto philosophers may -“be compared to the fencers who fence in an unscientific way. Just as -the latter often make good thrusts in their struggle, though not by any -skill, these philosophers seem to speak without any knowledge of what -they say.” Now if Anaxagoras, as a sober man amongst drunkards, was -the first to reach this consciousness—for he says that pure thought -is the actually existent universal and true—he yet, to a considerable -extent, still thrusts into space. - -The connection of his philosophy with what precedes is as follows: -In Heraclitus’ Idea as motion, all moments are absolutely vanishing. -Empedocles represents the gathering together of this motion into a -unity, but into a synthetic unity; and with Leucippus and Democritus -it is the same. With Empedocles, however, the moments of this -unity are the existent elements of fire, water, &c., and with the -others, pure abstractions, implicit being, thoughts. But in this way -universality is directly asserted, for the opposing elements have no -longer any sensuous support. We have had Being, Becoming, the One, as -principles; they are universal thoughts and not sensuous, nor are they -figures of the imagination; the content and its parts are, however, -taken from what is sensuous, and they are thoughts in some sort of -a determination. Anaxagoras now says that it is not gods, sensuous -principles, elements, or thoughts—which really are determinations of -reflection—but that it is the Universal, Thought itself, in and for -itself, without opposition, all embracing, which is the substance or -the principle. The unity as universal, returns from the opposition into -itself, while in the synthesis of Empedocles, what is opposed is still -apart from it and independent, and Thought is not Being. Here, however, -Thought as pure, free process in itself, is the self-determining -universal, and is not distinguished from conscious thought. In -Anaxagoras quite new ground is thus opened up. - -Anaxagoras concludes this period, and after him a fresh one begins. -In accordance with the favourite idea of there being a genealogical -descent of principles from the teacher to the taught, because he was -an Ionian, he is often represented as perpetuating the Ionic school, -and as an Ionic philosopher: Hermotimus of Clazomenæ, too, was his -teacher. To support this theory Diogenes Laertius (II. 6) makes him a -disciple of Anaximenes, whose birth is, however, placed in Ol. 55-58, -or about sixty years earlier than that of Anaxagoras. - -Aristotle says (Met. I. 3) that Anaxagoras first began by these -determinations to express absolute reality as understanding. Aristotle -and others after him, such as Sextus (adv. Math. IX. 7), mention -the bare fact that Hermotimus gave rise to this conception, but it -was clearly due to Anaxagoras. Little is gained if such a fact were -true, since we learn no more about the philosophy of Hermotimus; it -cannot have been much. Others have made numerous historical researches -respecting this Hermotimus. The name we have already mentioned amongst -those of whom it is said that Pythagoras existed in them before he -lived as Pythagoras. We also have a story of Hermotimus to the effect -that he possessed the peculiar gift of being able to make his soul quit -his body. But this did him bad service in the end, since his wife, -with whom he had a dispute, and who besides knew very well how matters -stood, showed to their acquaintances this soul-deserted body as dead, -and it was burnt before the soul reinstated itself—which soul must -have been astonished.[80] It is not worth while to investigate what -lies at the ground of these ancient stories, i.e. into how we should -regard the matter: we may think of it as implying a state of ecstasy. - -We must consider the life of Anaxagoras before his philosophy. -Anaxagoras, according to Diogenes (II. 7), born in Ol. 70 (500 B.C.), -comes earlier than Democritus, and in age also precedes Empedocles, -yet, on the whole, he was contemporaneous with these, as also with -Parmenides; he was as old as Zeno, and lived somewhat earlier than -Socrates, but still they were acquainted with one another. His native -town was Clazomenæ, in Lydia, not very far from Colophon and Ephesus, -and situated on an isthmus by which a great peninsula is connected -with the mainland. His life is shortly summed up in the statement that -he devoted himself to the study of the sciences, withdrew from public -affairs; according to Valerius Maximus (VIII. 7, extr. 6) he made -numerous journeys, and finally, according to Tennemann (Vol. I. pp. -300, 415), in the forty-fifth year of his age, in the 81st Olympiad -(456 B.C.), and at a propitious time, he came to Athens. - -With him we thus find Philosophy in Greece proper, where so far there -had been none, and coming, indeed, as far as Athens; hitherto either -Asia Minor or Italy had been the seat of Philosophy, though, when the -inhabitants of Asia Minor fell under Persian rule, with their loss of -freedom, it expired amongst them. Anaxagoras, himself a native of Asia -Minor, lived in the important period between the war of the Medes and -the age of Pericles, principally in Athens, which had now reached the -zenith of its greatness, for it was both the head of Grecian power, and -the seat and centre of the arts and sciences. Athens, after the Persian -wars, brought the greater part of the Greek islands into subjection, -as also a number of maritime towns in Thrace, and even further into -the Black Sea. As the greatest artists collected in Athens, so also -did the most noted philosophers and sophists live there—a circle -of luminaries in the arts and sciences such as we have in Æschylus, -Sophocles, Aristophanes, Thucydides, Diogenes of Apollonia, Protagoras, -Anaxagoras, and others from Asia Minor. Pericles then ruled the State, -and raised it to that height of splendour which may be called the -golden age in Athenian life; Anaxagoras, although living in the most -flourishing time of Athenian life, touches on its decay, or rather -reaches the first threatening of that decay, which ended in a total -extermination of this beautiful life. - -What is of special interest at this time is the opposition between -Athens and Lacedæmon, the two Greek nations which contended with one -another for the foremost place in Greece; here we must therefore allude -to the principles of these celebrated States. While the Lacedæmonians -had no arts or sciences, Athens had to thank the character of its -constitution, and of its whole spirit, for the fact that it was the -seat of the sciences and fine arts. But the constitution of Lacedæmon -is also worthy of high esteem, for it regulated and restrained the -high Doric spirit, and its principal feature was that all personal -peculiarity was subordinated, or rather sacrificed, to the general aim -of the life of the State, and the individual had the consciousness of -his honour and sufficiency only in the consciousness of working for -the State. A people of such genuine unity, in whom the will of the -individual had, properly speaking, quite disappeared, were united by -an indestructible bond, and Lacedæmon was hence placed at the head of -Greece, and obtained the leadership, which, we find, it held among the -Argives in the days of Troy. This is a great principle which must exist -in every true State, but which with the Lacedæmonians retained its -one-sided character; this one-sidedness was avoided by the Athenians, -and by that means they became the greater. In Lacedæmon personality -proper was so much disregarded that the individual could not have -free development or expression; individuality was not recognized, and -hence not brought into harmony with the common end of the State. This -abrogation of the rights of subjectivity, which, expressed in his own -way, is also found in Plato’s Republic, was carried very far with the -Lacedæmonians. But the universal is living spirit only in so far as the -individual consciousness finds itself as such within it; the universal -is not constituted of the immediate life and being of the individual, -the mere substance, but formed of conscious life. As individuality -which separates itself from the universal is powerless and falls to -the ground, the one-sided universal, the morality of individuality -cannot stand firm. The Lacedæmonian spirit, which had not taken into -account the freedom of consciousness, and whose universal had isolated -itself therefrom, had hence to see it break forth in opposition to the -universal; and though the first to come forward as the liberators of -Greece from its tyranny were the Spartans, whom even Athens thanks for -the expulsion of the descendants of Pisistratus, their relationship -to their confederates soon passes into that of common, mean, tyranny. -Within the State it likewise ends in a harsh aristocracy, just as the -fixed equilibrium of property (each family retaining its inheritance, -and through forbidding the possession of money, or trade and commerce, -preventing the possibility of inequality in riches) passes into an -avarice which, as opposed to this universal, is brutal and mean. This -essential moment of particularity, not being taken into the State, -and hence not made legal and moral (moral first of all), comes forth -as vice. In a rational organization all the elements of the Idea are -present; if the liver were isolated as bile it would become not more, -and not less active, but becoming antagonistic, it would isolate itself -from the corporate economy of the body. Solon, on the contrary, gave to -the Athenians not only equality of laws and unity of spirit in their -constitution (which was a purer democracy than in Sparta), but although -each citizen had his substantial consciousness in unity with the laws -of the State, he also gave free play to the individual mind, so that -each might do as he would, and might find expression for himself. -Solon entrusted the executive to the people, not to the Ephors, and -this became self-government after the displacement of the tyrants, -and thus in truth a free people arose; the individual had the whole -within himself, as he had his consciousness and action in the whole. -Thus we see in this principle the formation of free consciousness -and the freedom of individuality in its greatness. The principle of -subjective freedom appears at first, however, still in unison with the -universal principle of Greek morality as established by law, and even -with mythology; and thus in its promulgation, because the genius of its -conceptions could develop freely, it brought about these masterpieces -in the beautiful plastic arts, and the immortal works of poetry and -history. The principle of subjectivity had, thus far, not taken the -form that particularity, as such, should be set free, and that its -content should be a subjectively particular, at least distinguished -from the universal principle, universal morality, universal religion, -universal laws. Thus we do not see the carrying out of isolated ideas, -but the great, moral, solid, divine content made in these works object -for consciousness, and generally brought before consciousness. Later -we shall find the form of subjectivity becoming free for itself, and -appearing in opposition to the substantial, to morality, religion, and -law. - -The basis of this principle of subjectivity, though it is still a -merely general one, we now see in Anaxagoras. But amongst this noble, -free, and cultured people of Athens, he who had the happiness to be -first, was Pericles, and this circumstance raised him in the estimation -of the individual to a place so high that few could reach it. Of all -that is great amongst men, the power of ruling over the will of men who -have but one will, is the greatest, for this controlling individuality -must be both the most universal and the most living—a lot for a mortal -being than which hardly any better can be found. His individuality was, -according to Plutarch, (in Pericle 5) as deep as it was perfect; as -serious (he never laughed), as full of energy and restfulness: Athens -had him the whole day long. Thucydides has preserved some of Pericles’ -speeches to the people which allow of few works being compared to them. -Under Pericles the highest culture of the moral commonwealth is to be -found, the juncture where individuality is still under and also in the -universal. Presently individuality prevails, because its activity falls -into extremes, since the state as state, is not yet independently -organized within itself. Because the essence of the Athenian State -was the common spirit, and the religious faith of individuals in this -constituted their essence, there disappears with the disappearance of -this faith, the inner Being of the people, since the spirit is not in -the form of the Notion as it is in our states. The speedy transition -to this last is the _νοῦς_, subjectivity, as Being, self-reflection. -When Anaxagoras at this time, the principle of which has just been -given, came to Athens, he was sought out by Pericles, and, as his -friend, lived in very intimate relations with him, before the latter -occupied himself with public affairs. But Plutarch (in Pericle 4, 16) -also relates that Anaxagoras came to want because Pericles neglected -him—did not supply the illuminating lamp with oil. - -A more important matter is that Anaxagoras (as happened later with -Socrates and many other philosophers) was accused of despising those -whom the people accepted as gods. The prose of the understanding -came into contact with the poetic, religious point of view. It -is distinctly said by Diogenes Laertius (II. 12) that Anaxagoras -believed the sun and stars to be burning stones; and he is, according -to Plutarch, (in Pericle, 6) blamed for having explained something -that the prophets stated to be a marvellous omen, in a natural way; -it quite tallies with this that he is said to have foretold that on -the day of Ægos-Potamos, where the Athenians lost their last fleet -against Lysander, a stone should fall from heaven.[81] The general -remark might be made of Thales, Anaximander, &c., that the sun, -moon, earth and stars were counted as mere things, i.e. as objects -external to mind, and that they no longer held them to be living -gods, but represented them in different ways—which ideas, for the -rest, deserve no further consideration, since these matters belong -properly to ordinary learning. Things may be derived from thought; -thought really brings about the result that certain objects which may -be called divine, and certain conceptions of these which may be called -poetic, together with the whole range of superstitious beliefs, are -demolished—they are brought down to being what are called natural -things. For in thought, as the identity of itself and of Being, mind -knows itself as the truly actual, so that for mind in thought, the -unspiritual and material is brought down to being mere things, to the -negative of mind. All the ideas of those philosophers have this in -common, that nature is through them undeified; they brought the poetic -view of nature down to the prosaic, and destroyed the poetic point of -view which ascribes to all that is now considered to be lifeless, a -life proper to itself, perhaps also sensation, and, it may be, a being -after the usual order of consciousness. The loss of this point of view -is not to be lamented as if unity with nature, pure faith, innocent -purity and childlike spirit went with it. Innocent and childlike it -may certainly have been, but reason is just the going forth from -such innocence and unity with nature. So soon as mind grasps itself, -is for itself, it must for that very reason confront the ‘other’ of -itself as a negation of consciousness, i.e. look on it as something -devoid of mind, an unconscious and lifeless thing, and it must first -come to itself through this opposition. There is in this a fixing of -self-moving things such as are met with in the myths of the ancients, -who relate such tales as that the Argonauts secured the rocks on the -Straits of the Hellespont which formerly moved like scissors. Similarly -progressive culture consolidated that which formerly was thought to -have its own motion and life in itself, and made it into unmoving -matter. This transition of the mythical point of view into the prosaic, -here comes to be recognized by the Athenians. A prosaic point of -view such as this, assumes that man has requirements quite different -from those he formerly had; in this we find traces of the powerful, -necessary conversion brought about in the ideas of man through the -strengthening of thought, through knowledge of himself, and through -Philosophy. - -The institution of charges of atheism, which we shall touch upon -more fully in dealing with Socrates, is, in Anaxagoras’ case, quite -comprehensible, from the specific reason that the Athenians, who were -envious of Pericles, who contended with him for the first place, and -who did not venture to proceed against him openly, took his favourites -to law, and sought through charges against his friend, to injure him. -Thus his friend Aspasia was brought under accusation, and the noble -Pericles had, according to Plutarch (in Pericle, 32), in order to save -her from condemnation, to beg the individual citizens of Athens with -tears for her acquittal. The Athenian people in their freedom, demanded -such acts of the potentates to whom they allowed supremacy, for thereby -an acknowledgment was given of their subordination to the people; they -thus made themselves the Nemesis in respect to the high place accorded -to the great, for they placed themselves in a position of equality with -these, while these again made evident their dependence, subjection -and powerlessness before the others. What is told about the result of -this charge against Anaxagoras is quite contradictory and uncertain: -Pericles certainly saved him from condemnation to death. He was either, -as some say, condemned only to banishment after Pericles had led him -before the people, speaking and entreating for him, after, by reason -of his age, attenuation and weakness the sympathy of the people had -been aroused; or else, as others say, with the help of Pericles, he -escaped from Athens and was in absence condemned to death, the judgment -never being executed upon him. Others again say that he was liberated, -but from the vexation that he felt respecting these charges, and from -apprehension as to their repetition, he voluntarily left Athens. And at -about sixty or seventy years of age, he died in Lampsacus in the 88th -Olympiad (428 B.C.).[82] - -1. _The Universal Principle._ The logical principle of Anaxagoras was -that he recognized the _νοῦς_ as the simple, absolute essence of the -world. The simplicity of the _νοῦς_ is not a Being but a universality -which is distinguished from itself, though in such a way that the -distinction is immediately sublated and the identity is set forth for -itself. This universal for itself, sundered, exists in purity only -as thought; it exists also in nature as objective existence, but in -that case no longer purely for itself, but as having particularity as -an immediate in it. Space and time are, for example, the most ideal, -universal facts in nature as such, but there is no pure space, no pure -time and motion any more than any pure matter—for this universal is -immediately defined space, air, earth, &c. In thought, when I say, I -am I, or I = I, I certainly distinguish something from me, but the -pure unity remains; there is no movement but a distinction which is -not distinguished, or the being-for-me. And in all that I think, if -the thought has a definite content, it is my thought: I am thus known -to myself in this object. This universal which thus exists for itself -and the individual, or thought and being, thus, however, come into -definite opposition. Here the speculative unity of this universal with -the individual should be considered as it is posited as absolute unity, -but the comprehension of the Notion itself is certainly not found -with the ancients. We need not expect a pure Notion such as one of an -understanding realizing itself into a system, organized as a universe. - -How Anaxagoras enunciated the Notion of the _νοῦς_, Aristotle (De -anim. I. 2) goes on to tell: “Anaxagoras maintains that the soul is -the principle of movement. Yet he does not always express himself -fully about the soul and _νοῦς_: he seems to separate _νοῦς_ and soul -from one another, and still he makes use of them as though they were -the same existence, only that by preference he makes the _νοῦς_ the -principle of everything. He certainly speaks frequently of the _νοῦς_ -as of the cause of the beautiful and right, but another time he calls -it the soul. For it is in all animals, in large as well as small, the -higher kind and the lower; it alone of all existence is the simple, -unadulterated and pure; it is devoid of pain and is not in community -with any other.”[83] What we therefore have to do is to show from the -principle of motion, that it is the self-moving; and this thought is, -as existent for itself. As soul, the self-moving is only immediately -individual; the _νοῦς_, however, as simple, is the universal. Thought -moves on account of something: the end is the first simple which -makes itself result; this principle with the ancients is grasped as -good and evil, i.e. end as positive and negative. This determination -is a very important one, but with Anaxagoras it was not fully worked -out. While in the first place the principles are material, from these -Aristotle then distinguishes determination and form, and thirdly he -finds in the process of Heraclitus, the principle of motion. Then in -the fourth place there comes the reason why, the determination of end, -with the _νοῦς_; this is the concrete in itself. Aristotle adds in -the above-mentioned passage (p. 192), “according to these men” (the -Ionians and others) “and in reference to such causes” (water, fire, -&c.), “since they are not sufficient to beget the nature of things, -the philosophers are, as already said, compelled by the truth to go on -to the principle following (_ἐχομένην_). For neither the earth nor any -other principle is capable of explaining the fact that while on the -one hand all is good and beautiful, on the other, something else is -produced, and those men do not seem to have thought that this was so; -nor is it seemly to abandon such matters to hazard (_αὐτομάτῳ_) and to -chance.” Goodness and beauty express the simple restful Notion, and -change the Notion in its movement. - -With this principle comes the determination of an understanding as of -self-determining activity; this has hitherto been wanting, for the -Becoming of Heraclitus, which is only process, is not yet as fate, -the independently self-determining. By this we must not represent -to ourselves subjective thought; in thinking we think immediately -of our thought as it is in consciousness. Here, on the contrary, -quite objective thought is meant, active understanding—as we say, -there is reason in the world, or we speak of genera in nature which -are the universal. The genus animal is the substantial of the dog; -the dog itself is this; the laws of nature are themselves nature’s -immanent essence. The nature is not formed from without as men -make a table; this is also made with understanding, but through an -understanding outside of this wood. This external form, which is -called the understanding, immediately occurs to us in speaking of -the understanding; but here the universal is meant, that which is -the immanent nature of the object itself. The _νοῦς_ is thus not a -thinking existence from without which regulates the world; by such -the meaning present to Anaxagoras would be quite destroyed and all -its philosophic interest taken away. For to speak of an individual, -a unit from without, is to fall into the ordinary conception and its -dualism; a so-called thinking principle is no longer a thought, but is -a subject. But still the true universal is for all that not abstract, -but the universal is just the determining in and out of itself of the -particular in and for itself. In this activity, which is independently -self-determining, the fact is at once implied that the activity, -because it constitutes process, retains itself as the universal -self-identical. Fire, which, according to Heraclitus, was process, -dies away and merely passes over, without independent existence, into -the opposite; it is certainly also a circle and a return to fire, but -the principle does not retain itself in its determinateness as the -universal, seeing that a simple passing into the opposite takes place. -This relation to itself in determination which we see appearing in -Anaxagoras, now, however, contains the determination of the universal -though it is not formally expressed, and therein we have the end or the -Good. - -I have just recently (p. 316) spoken of the Notion of the end, yet -by that we must not merely think of the form of the end as it is in -us, in conscious beings. At first, end, in as far as I have it, is my -conception, which is for itself, and the realization of which depends -on my wish; if I carry it out, and if I am not unskilful, the object -produced must be conformable to the end, containing nothing but it. -There is a transition from subjectivity to objectivity through which -this opposition is always again sublated. Because I am discontented -with my end in that it is only subjective, my activity consists in -removing this defect and making it objective. In objectivity the -end has retained itself; for instance, if I have the end in view of -building a house and am active for that end, the house results in -which my end is realized. But we must not, as we usually do, abide at -the conception of this subjective end; in this case both I and the -end exist independently and externally in relation to each other. In -the conception that God, as wisdom, rules the world in accordance -with an end, for instance, the end is posited for itself in a wise, -figuratively conceiving Being. But the universal of end is the fact -that since it is a determination independently fixed, that rules -present existence, the end is the truth, the soul of a thing. The Good -in the end gives content to itself, so that while it is active with -this content, and after it has entered into externality, no other -content comes forth than what was already present. The best example of -this is presented in life; it has desires, and these desires are its -ends; as merely living, however, it knows nothing of these ends, but -yet they are first, immediate determinations which are established. -The animal works at satisfying these desires, i.e. at reaching the -end; it relates itself to external things, partly mechanically, -partly chemically. But the character of its activity does not remain -mechanical or chemical; the product is rather the animal itself, -which, as its own end, brings forth in its activity only itself, since -it negates and overturns those mechanical or chemical relationships. -In mechanical and chemical process, on the other hand, the result is -something different, in which the subject does not retain itself; but -in the end, beginning and end are alike, for we posit the subjective -objectively in order to receive it again. Self-preservation is a -continual production by which nothing new, but always the old, arises; -it is a taking back of activity for the production of itself. - -Thus this self-determining activity, which is then active on something -else, enters into opposition, but it again negates the opposition, -governs it, in it reflects upon itself; it is the end, the thought, -that which conserves itself in its self-determination. The development -of these moments is the business of Philosophy from henceforth. But -if we look more closely as to how far Anaxagoras has got in the -development of this thought, we find nothing further than the activity -determining from out of itself, which sets up a limit or measure; -further than the determination of measure, development does not go. -Anaxagoras gives us no more concrete definition of the _νοῦς_, and -this we are still left to consider; we thus have nothing more than the -abstract determination of the concrete in itself. The above-mentioned -predicates which Anaxagoras gives the _νοῦς_, may thus indeed be -affirmed, but they are, on their own account, one-sided only. - -2. _The Homœomeriæ._ This is the one side in the principle of -Anaxagoras; we now have to consider the going forth of the _νοῦς_ -into further determinations. This remaining part of the philosophy of -Anaxagoras at first, however, makes us think that the hopes in which -such a principle justified us must be very much diminished. On the -other side, this universal is confronted by Being, matter, the manifold -generally, potentiality as distinguished from the former as actuality. -For if the Good or the end is also determined as potentiality, the -universal, as the self-moving, may rather be called the actual in -itself, the being-for-self, as opposed to implicit being, potentiality, -passivity. Aristotle says in an important passage (Met. I. 8): “If -any one should say of Anaxagoras that he adopted two principles, -he would rest his statement on a point respecting which the latter -never really clearly defined himself, but which he had necessarily -to acknowledge to those who adduced it.... That is, Anaxagoras says -that originally everything is mingled.... But where nothing is yet -separated, no distinguishing feature is present; such substance is -neither a white, black, gray, nor any other colour, but colourless; it -has no quality nor quantity nor determination (_τί_). All is mingled -except the _νοῦς_; this is unmingled and pure. With this in view, it -thus occurs to him to denominate as principles the one, for it alone is -single and unmingled, and the other-being (_θάτερον_), what we call the -indeterminate, before it has become determined or partakes of any kind -of form.” - -This other principle is celebrated under the name of homœomeries -(_ὁμοιομερῆ_), of like parts or homogeneous, in Aristotle’s rendering -(Met. I. 3, 7); Riemer translates _ἡ ὁμοιομερεια_ “the similarity of -individual parts to the whole,” and _αἱ ὁμοιομέρειαι_ “the elementary -matter,” yet this latter word seems to be of a later origin.[84] -Aristotle says, “Anaxagoras sets forth” (in respect of the material) -“infinitely many principles, for he maintained that, like water -and fire in Empedocles’ system, nearly all that is formed of like -parts only arises from union and passes away through separation; -other arising and passing away there is none, for equal parts remain -eternal.” That is, the existent, the individual matter, such as bones, -metal, flesh, &c., in itself consists of parts like itself—flesh -of small particles of flesh, gold of small gold particles, &c. Thus -he said at the beginning of his work, “All has been alike” (i.e. -unseparated as in a chaos), “and has rested for an infinitude of time; -then came the _νοῦς_, and it brought in movement, separated and brought -order into the separated creation (_διεκόσμησεν_), in that it united -the like.”[85] - -The homœomeriæ become clearer if we compare them with the conceptions -of Leucippus and Democritus and others. In Leucippus and Democritus, as -well as Empedocles, we saw this matter, or the absolute as objective -existence, determined so that simple atoms—with the latter the four -elements and with the former infinitely many—were set forth as -separate only in form; their syntheses and combinations were existing -things. Aristotle (De cœlo, III. 3) says further on this point, -“Anaxagoras asserts of the elements the opposite to Empedocles. For -the latter takes as original principles, fire, air, earth, and water, -through whose union all things arise. On the other hand, Anaxagoras -maintains what are of like parts such as flesh, bones, or the like to -be simple materials; such things as water and fire, on the contrary, -are a mixture of the original elements. For any one of these four -consists of the infinite admixture of all invisible, existing things -of like parts, which hence come forth from these.” The principle -held good for him as for the Eleatics, that “the like only comes out -of the like; there is no transition into the opposite, no union of -opposites possible.” All change is hence to him only a separation -and union of the like; change as true change, would be a Becoming -out of the negative of itself. “That is, because Anaxagoras,” says -Aristotle (Phys. I, 4), “partook of the view of all physicists that -it is impossible that anything can come out of nothing, there was -nothing left but to admit that what becomes was already present as an -existent, but that, on account of its small size, it was imperceptible -to us.” This point of view is also quite different from the conception -of Thales and Heraclitus, in which, not only the possibility, but -the actuality of the transformation of these like qualitative -differences is essentially maintained. But to Anaxagoras with whom -the elements are a mingled chaos formed therefrom, having only an -apparent uniformity, concrete things arise through the severance of -these infinitely many principles from such a chaos, since like finds -like. Respecting the difference between Empedocles and Anaxagoras, -there is further what Aristotle adds in the same place: “The former -allows a change (_περίοδον_) in these conditions, the latter only -their one appearance.” The conception of Democritus is similar to that -of Anaxagoras in so far as that an infinite manifold is the original -source. But with Anaxagoras the determination of the fundamental -principles appears to contain that which we consider as organized, and -to be by no means an independently existent simple; thus perfectly -individualized atoms such as particles of flesh and of gold, form, -through their coming together, that which appears to be organized. That -comes near our ordinary ideas. Means of nourishment, it is thought, -contain such parts as are homogeneous to blood, flesh, &c. Anaxagoras -hence says, according to Aristotle (De gen. anim. I. 18), “Flesh -comes to flesh through food.” Digestion is thus nothing more than the -taking up of the homogeneous and separation of the heterogeneous; -all nourishment and growth is thus not true assimilation but only -increase, because each internal organ of the animal only draws its -parts to itself out of the various plants, bodies, &c. Death is, on -the other hand, the separation of the like and the mingling with the -heterogeneous. The activity of the _νοῦς_, as the sundering of the like -out of the chaos and the putting together of the like, as also the -setting at liberty again of this like, is certainly simple and relative -to itself, but purely formal and thus for itself contentless. - -This is the general standpoint of the philosophy of Anaxagoras, -and quite the same standpoint which in more recent times reigns in -chemistry for instance; flesh is certainly no longer regarded as -simple, but as being hydrogen, &c. The chemical elements are oxygen, -hydrogen, carbon and metals, &c. Chemistry says, if you want to know -what flesh, wood, stone, &c., really are, you must set forth their -simple elements, and these are ultimate. It also says that much is only -relatively simple, _e.g._ platinum consists of three or four metals. -Water and air were similarly long held to be simple, but chemistry at -length analyzed them. From this chemical point of view, the simple -principles of natural things are determined as infinitely qualitative -and thus accepted as unchangeable and invariable, so that all else -consists only of the combination of these simples. Man, according to -this, is a collection of carbon and hydrogen, some earth, oxides, -phosphorus, &c. It is a favourite idea of the physicists to place -in the water or in the air, oxygen and carbon, which exist and only -require to be separated. This idea of Anaxagoras certainly also differs -from modern chemistry; that which we consider as concrete, is for him -qualitatively determined or elementary. Yet he allows, with regard to -flesh, that the parts are not all alike. “For this reason, they say,” -remarks Aristotle (Phys. I. 4; Met. IV. 5),—but not particularly -of Anaxagoras—“everything is contained in everything, for they saw -everything arise out of everything: it only appears to be different and -is called different in accordance with the predominating number of the -particular kind of parts which have mingled themselves with others. In -truth the whole is not white, or black, or sweet, or flesh, or bones; -but the homœomeriæ which have most accumulated in any place, bring -about the result that the whole appears to us as this determinate.” -As thus each thing contains all other things, water, air, bones, -fruits, &c., on the other hand, the water contains flesh as flesh, -bones, &c. Into this infinitely manifold nature of the principles, -Anaxagoras thus goes back; the sensuous has first arisen through the -accumulation of all those parts, and in it the one kind of parts then -has a predominance. - -While he defines absolute existence as universal, we see here that in -objective existence, or in matter, universality and thought abandon -Anaxagoras. The implicit is to him, indeed, no absolutely sensuous -Being; the homœomeriæ are the non-sensuous, _i.e._ the invisible and -inaudible, &c. This is the highest point reached by common physicists -in passing from sensuous Being to the non-sensuous, as to the mere -negation of the being-for-us; but the positive side is that existent -Being is itself universal. The objective is to Anaxagoras certainly -the _νοῦς_, but for him the other-Being is a mixture of simple -elements, which are neither flesh nor fish, red nor blue; again -this simple is not simple in itself, but in its essence consists of -homœomeriæ, which are, however, so small that they are imperceptible. -The smallness thus does not take away their existence, for they are -still there; but existence is just the being perceptible to sight, -smell, &c. These infinitely small homœomeriæ undoubtedly disappear in -a more complete conception; flesh, for instance, is such itself, but -it is also a mixture of everything, _i.e._ it is not simple. Further -analysis equally shows how such a conception must, to a greater or -lesser degree, become confused; on the one side each form is thus -in its main elements, original, and these parts together constitute -a corporeal whole; this whole has, however, on the other side, to -contain everything in itself. The _νοῦς_, then, is only what binds and -separates, what divides and arranges [_das diakosmirende_]. This may -suffice us; however easily we may get confused with the homœomeriæ of -Anaxagoras, we must hold fast to the main determination. The homœomeriæ -still form a striking conception, and it may be asked how it conforms -with the rest of Anaxagoras’ principle. - -3. _The Relation of the Two._ Now as to the relation of the _νοῦς_ -to that matter, both are not speculatively posited as one, for -the relation itself is not set forth as one, nor has the Notion -penetrated it. Here the ideas become in some measure superficial, and -in some measure the conceptions are more consistent as regards the -particular, than they at first appear. Because the understanding is the -self-determining, the content is end, it retains itself in relation to -what is different; it does not arise and pass away although it is in -activity. The conception of Anaxagoras that concrete principles subsist -and retain themselves, is thus consistent; he abolishes arising and -passing away and accepts only an external change, a uniting together, -and a severance of what is so united. The principles are concrete and -have content, _i.e._ so many ends; in the change that takes place the -principles really retain themselves. Like only goes with like even if -the chaotic mixture is a combination of the unlike; but this is only a -combination and not an individual, living form which maintains itself, -binding like to like. Thus, however rude these ideas are, they are -still really in harmony with the _νοῦς_. - -But if the _νοῦς_ is with Anaxagoras the moving soul in all, it yet -remains to the real, as the soul of the world and the organic system of -the whole, a mere word. For the living as living, since the soul was -conceived of as principle, the ancients demanded no further principle -(for it is the self-moving), but for determinateness, which the -animal is as element in the system of the whole, they again required -only the universal of these determinations. Anaxagoras calls the -understanding such a principle, and in fact the absolute Notion, as -simple existence, the self-identical in its differences, the dividing, -the reality-establishing, must be known as such. But that Anaxagoras -showed forth the understanding in the universe, or had grasped it as -a rational system—of this not only do we not find a trace, but the -ancients expressly say that he simply let the matter pass, just as -when we say that the world or nature is a great system, the world is -wisely ordered or is generally speaking rational. By this we are shown -no more of the realization of this reason or the comprehensibility of -the world. The _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras is thus still formal, although -the identity of the principle with the realization was recognized. -Aristotle (Met. I. 4) recognizes the insufficiency of the Anaxagorean -principle: “Anaxagoras, indeed, requires the _νοῦς_ for his formation -of the world-system; that is, when he has a difficulty in showing the -reason for which it is in accordance with necessity, he brings it in; -otherwise he employs anything for the sake of explanation, rather than -thought.” - -It is nowhere more clearly set forth that the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras is -still formal, than in the well-known passage out of Plato’s Phædo (p. -97-99, Steph.; p. 85-89, Bekk.), which is noteworthy for its exposition -of the philosophy of Anaxagoras. Socrates, according to Plato, states -most definitely both what the absolute to them was, and why Anaxagoras -did not satisfy them. I quote this because it will best of all lead -us on to the main conception which we recognize in the philosophic -consciousness of the ancients; at the same time it is an example of the -loquacity of Socrates. Socrates’ understanding of the _νοῦς_ as end -is better because its determinations are congenial to him, so that we -also see in it the principal forms that appear in Socrates. Plato makes -Socrates, in prison, an hour before his death, relate at considerable -length his experiences with regard to Anaxagoras: “When I heard it read -from a book of Anaxagoras, that he said that the understanding is the -disposer of the world and the first cause, I rejoiced in such a cause, -and I held that if Mind apportioned out all reality, it would apportion -it for the best” (the end would be shown forth). “Now if anyone wished -to find the cause of the individual thing, how it becomes, and how it -passes away, or how it is, he must discover this from what is best for -that thing, whether it is being or in some way suffering or doing.” -That the understanding is cause, or that everything is made for the -best, means the same thing; this will become clearer from the opposite. -It is further said, “For this reason a man has only to consider for -himself, as for all others, what is best and most perfect, and then he -would of necessity know the worse, for the same science comprises both. -Thus reflecting, I rejoiced that I could believe that I had found in -Anaxagoras a teacher of the cause of existence” (of the good) “such -as I approved of; he would, I believed, tell me whether the earth was -flat or round, and if he told me this, he would show me the cause and -necessity of the fact, because he would show me the one or the other -as being the better; and if he said that the earth is in the centre, -he would show me that it was better that it should be in the centre” -(i.e. its implicitly and explicitly determined end, and not utility as -an externally determined end). “And when he had shown me this, I should -be satisfied though he brought forward no other kind of causes, for -the same would hold good for the sun, the moon, and the other stars, -their respective velocities, returnings, and other conditions. Because -he assigned its cause to each and to all in common, I thought that he -would explain what was best for each and what was best for all” (the -free, implicitly and explicitly existent Idea, the absolute end). “I -would not have given up this hope for a great deal, but seized these -writings zealously and read them as soon as possible in order to learn -as soon as possible the good and the evil. These bright hopes faded -when I saw that he did not require thought at all nor any reason for -the formation of things, but had recourse to air, fire, water and many -other eccentricities.” We here see how to what is best, according to -the understanding (the relation of final end), that which we call -natural causes is opposed, just as in Leibnitz the operating and the -final causes are different. - -Socrates explains this in the following way: “It appears to me to be -as if some one were to say that Socrates performs all his actions with -understanding, and then in going on to give the reasons for each of -my actions, were to say that I sit here because my body consists of -bones and muscles; the bones are fixed and have joints that divide -them (_διαφυὰς_), but the muscles have the power of extending and -bending, and they cover the bones with flesh and skin; it is as though -he were further to bring forward as the cause of my talking with -you, other similar causes, sounds, and air, hearing, and a thousand -other things, but omitted to give the true cause” (free independent -determination), “which is that the Athenians judged it fit to condemn -me, and therefore I judged it better and more just to sit here and to -suffer the punishment which they accorded” (we must recollect that one -of his friends had arranged everything for the flight of Socrates, but -that he refused to go) “for else, by the dog of Egypt, how long ago -would these bones and muscles have gone to Megara or to Boeotia, had -they been moved only by their opinion of what was best, and had I not -considered it juster and better to bear the punishment which the State -laid upon me, instead of escaping and fleeing from it.” Plato here -correctly places the two kinds of reason and cause in opposition to one -another—the cause proceeding from ends, and the inferior, subject, and -merely external causes of chemistry, mechanism, &c.—in order to show -the discrepancy between them, as here exemplified in the case of a man -with consciousness. Anaxagoras seems to define an end and to wish to -proceed from it; but he immediately lets this go again and proceeds to -quite external causes. “But to call these” (these bones and muscles) -“causes is quite improper. If, however, anyone were to say that without -having bones and muscles and whatever else I have, I could not do -that which I consider best, he would be quite right. But to say that -from such causes, I do that which I do, and do with understanding; -to say that I do not do it from the choice of what is best—to make -such an assertion shows a great want of consideration; it signifies an -incapacity to distinguish that the one is the true cause and the other -is only that without which the cause could not operate,” _i.e._ the -conditions. - -This is a good example for showing that we miss the end in such modes -of explanation. On the other hand, it is not a good example, because it -is taken from the kingdom of the self-conscious will, where deliberate -and not unconscious end reigns. In this criticism of the Anaxagorean -_νοῦς_ we can certainly see it generally expressed that Anaxagoras -made no application of his _νοῦς_ to reality. But the positive -element in the conclusion of Socrates seems, on the other hand, to -be unsatisfying, because it goes to the other extreme, namely, to -desire causes for nature which do not appear to be in it, but which -fall outside of it in consciousness. For what is good and beautiful is -partly due to the thought of consciousness as such; end or purposive -action is mainly an act of consciousness and not of nature. But in so -far as ends become posited in nature, the end, as end, on the other -hand, falls outside of it in our judgment only; as such it is not in -nature itself, for in it there are only what we call natural causes, -and for its comprehension we have only to seek and show causes that -are immanent. According to this, we distinguish, for instance, in -Socrates the end and ground of his action as consciousness, and the -causes of his actual action: and the latter we would undoubtedly seek -in his bones, muscles, nerves, &c. Since we banish the consideration -of nature in relation to ends—as present in our thought and not -existent in nature—we also banish from our consideration teleological -explanations in nature formerly admired, _e.g._ that grass grows that -animals may eat it, and that these last exist and eat grass, so that we -may eat them. The end of trees is said to be that their fruit may be -consumed and that they should give us wood for heat; many animals have -skins for warm clothing; the sea in northern climates floats timber to -the shores because on these shores themselves no wood grows, and the -inhabitants can hence obtain it, and so on. Thus presented, the end, -the Good, lies outside of the thing itself: the nature of a thing then -becomes considered, not in and for itself, but only in relation to -another which is nothing to it. Thus, because things are only useful -for an end, this determination is not their own but one foreign to -them. The tree, the grass, is as natural existence, independent, and -this adaptation of it to an end, such as making grass that which is -to be eaten, does not concern the grass as grass, just as it does -not concern the animal that man should clothe himself in his skin; -Socrates may hence seem to miss in Anaxagoras this mode of looking at -nature. But this to us familiar way of regarding the good and expedient -is on the one hand not the only one, and does not represent Plato’s -meaning, while, on the other, it is likewise necessary. We have not to -represent the good or the end in so one-sided a manner that we think -of it existing as such in the perceiving mind, and in opposition to -what is; but set free from this form, we must take it in its essence -as the Idea of all existence. The nature of things must be recognized -in accordance with the Notion, which is the independent, unfettered -consideration of things; and because it is that which things are in and -for themselves, it controls the relationship of natural causes. This -Notion is the end, the true cause, but that which recedes into itself; -it is the implicitly existent first from which movement proceeds and -which becomes result; it is not only an end present in the imagination -before its actuality exists, but is also present in reality. Becoming -is the movement through which a reality or totality becomes; in the -animal or plant its essence as universal genus, is that which begins -its movement and brings it forth. But this whole is not the product of -something foreign, but its own product, what is already present as -germ or seed; thus it is called end, the self-producing, that which -in its Becoming is already implicitly existent. The Idea is not a -particular thing, which might have another content than reality or -appear quite different. The opposition is the merely formal opposition -of possibility and actuality; the active impelling substance and -the product are the same. This realization goes right through the -opposition; the negative in the universal is just this process. The -genus sets itself in a state of opposition as individual and universal, -and thus, in what lives, the genus realizes itself in the opposition of -races which are opposed, but whose principle is the universal genus. -They, as individuals, aim at their own self-preservation as individuals -in eating, drinking, &c., but what they thereby bring to pass is genus. -Individuals sublate themselves, but genus is that which is ever brought -forth; plants bring forth only the same plants whose ground is the -universal. - -In accordance with this, the distinction between what have been badly -named natural causes and the final causes has to be determined. Now -if I isolate individuality and merely regard it as movement and the -moments of the same, I show what are natural causes. For example, -where has this life taken its origin? Through the generation of this -its father and mother. What is the cause of these fruits? The tree -whose juices so distil themselves that the fruit forthwith arises. -Answers of this kind give the causes, _i.e._ the individuality -opposed to an individuality; but their principle is the genus. Now -nature cannot represent essence as such. The end of generation is the -sublation of the individuality of Being; but nature which in existence -certainly brings about this sublation of individuality, does not set -the universal in its place, but another individual. Bones, muscles, -&c., bring forth a movement; they are causes, but they themselves are -so through other causes, and so on into infinitude. The universal, -however, takes them up into itself as moments which undoubtedly appear -in movement as causes, though the fundamental ground of these parts -actually is the whole. It is not they which come first, but the result -into which the juices of the plants, &c., pass, is the first, just -as in origination it appears only as product, as seed, that which -constitutes the beginning and the end, even though they be in different -individuals. Their real nature is the same. - -But such a genus is itself a particular genus and is essentially -related to another, _e.g._ the Idea of the plant to that of the animal; -the universal moves on. This looks like external teleology—that plants -are eaten by animals, &c., in which their limitation as genus lies. -The genus of the plant has the absolute totality of its realization in -the animal, the animal in the conscious existence, just as the earth -has it in the plant. This is the system of the whole in which each -moment is transitory. The double method of considering the matter thus -is that each Idea is a circle within itself, the plant or the animal -the Good of its kind; and, on the other hand, each is a moment in the -universal Good. If I consider the animal merely as externally adapted -to an end, as created for something else, I consider it in a one-sided -way; it is real existence, in and for itself universal. But it is just -as one-sided to say that the plant, for instance, is only in and for -itself, only end to itself, only shut up within itself and going back -into itself. For each idea is a circle which is complete in itself, -but whose completion is likewise a passing into another circle; it -is a vortex whose middle point, that into which it returns, is found -directly in the periphery of a higher circle which swallows it up. -Thus, for the first time, we reach the determination of an end in the -world which is immanent within it. - -These explanations are necessary here, since hereafter we see the -speculative Idea coming more into the universal; it was formerly -expressed as Being and the moments and movements were called existent. -What has to be avoided in this transition is that we should thereby -think that Being is given up and that we pass into consciousness -as opposed to Being (in so doing the universal would lose all its -speculative significance); the universal is immanent in nature. This -is the meaning which is present when we represent to ourselves that -thought constitutes, orders, &c., the world. It is not, so to speak, -the activity of the individual consciousness, in which I stand here -on one side and, opposite to me, an actuality, matter, which I form, -dispose and order as I will; for the universal, Thought, must abide in -Philosophy without this opposition. Being, pure Being, is universal -when we thereby keep in mind that Being is absolute abstraction, -pure thought; but Being as it is thus set forth as Being, has the -significance of the opposite to this Being-reflected-into-itself, -to thought and recollection; the universal, on the contrary, has -reflection immediately in itself. So far, the ancients really got: -it does not seem far. “Universal” is a dry determination; everyone -knows about the universal, but not of it as real existence. Thought, -indeed, reaches to the invisibility of the sensuous; not to the -positive determinateness of thinking it as universal, but only to the -predicateless absolute as to the merely negative; and that is as far -as the common ideas of the present day have come. With this discovery -of thought we conclude the first Section and enter upon the second -period. The profit to be derived from the first period is not very -great. Some, indeed, think that there is still some special wisdom in -it, but thought is still young, the determinations are thus still poor, -abstract and arid. Thought here has but few determinations—water, -Being, number, &c.—and these cannot endure; the universal must go -forth on its own account as the self-determining activity, and this we -find it doing in Anaxagoras alone. - -We have still to consider the relationship of the universal as opposed -to Being, or consciousness as such in its relation to what is. By -Anaxagoras’ determination of real existence, this relationship of -consciousness is also determined. In this regard nothing satisfactory -can be found; for he recognized, on the one hand, thought as real -existence, without, however, bringing this thought to bear on ordinary -reality. Thus, on the other hand, this is destitute of thought and -independent, an infinite number of homœomeriæ, _i.e._ an infinite -amount of a sensuous implicit existence, which now, however, is -sensuous Being; for existent Being is an accumulation of homœomeriæ. -The relationship borne by consciousness to real existence may likewise -be various. Anaxagoras could thus either say that the truth is only in -thought and in rational knowledge, or that it is sensuous perception; -for in this we have the homœomeriæ which are themselves implicit. Thus, -in the first place, we find from him—as Sextus tells us, (adv. Math. -VII., 89-91) “that the understanding (_λόγος_) is the criterion of -the truth; the senses cannot judge of the truth on account of their -weakness”—weakness for the homœomeriæ are the infinitely small; -the senses could not grasp them, do not know that they have to be -something ideal and thought. A celebrated example of this is given by -him according to Sextus (Pyrrh. Hyp. I. 13, §. 33), in the assertion -that “the snow is black, for it is water, and water is black.” He -here asserts the truth in a reason. In the second place, according to -Aristotle (Met. III. 7), Anaxagoras is said to have asserted that, -“there is a medium between contradiction (_ἀντιφάσεως_); so that -everything is untrue. For because the two sides of the opposition are -mingled, what is mingled is neither good nor not good, and thus not -true.” Aristotle also quotes another time from him (Met. III. 5): “That -one of his apothegms to his disciples was that to them things were as -they supposed them.” This may relate to the fact that because existent -Being is an accumulation of homœomeriæ which are what really exists, -sensuous perception takes things as they are in truth. - -There is little more to be made of this. But here we have the beginning -of a more distinct development of the relationship of consciousness to -Being, the development of the nature of knowledge as a knowledge of the -true. The mind has gone forth to express real existence as Thought; -and thus real existence as existent, is in consciousness as such; it -is implicit but likewise in consciousness. This Being is such only in -so far as consciousness recognizes it, and real existence is only the -knowledge of it. The mind has no longer to seek existence in something -foreign, since it is in itself; for what formerly appeared foreign -is Thought, _i.e._ consciousness has this real existence in itself. -But this consciousness in opposition is an individual consciousness; -thereby in fact, implicit Being is sublated, for the implicit is -what is not opposed, not singled out, but universal. It is, indeed, -known, but what is, only is in knowledge, or it is no other Being than -that of the knowledge of consciousness. We see this development of -the universal in which real existence goes right over to the side of -consciousness, in the so much decried worldly wisdom of the Sophists; -we may view this as indicating that the negative nature of the -universal is now developing. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -FIRST PERIOD, SECOND DIVISION: FROM THE SOPHISTS TO THE SOCRATICS. - - -IN this second division we have first to consider more particularly -the Sophists, secondly Socrates, and thirdly the Socratics, while we -distinguish from these Plato, and take him along with Aristotle in the -third division. The _νοῦς_, which is at first only grasped in a very -subjective manner as end, that is to say as that which is end to men, -_i.e._ the Good, in Plato and Aristotle became understood in what is on -the whole an objective way, as genus or Idea. Because thought has now -become set forth as principle, and this at first presents a subjective -appearance as being the subjective activity of thought, there now sets -in (since the absolute is posited as subject) an age of subjective -reflection; _i.e._ there begins in this period—which coincides with -the disintegration of Greece in the Peloponnesian war—the principle of -modern times. - -Since in the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras, as the still formal self-determining -activity, determination is as yet quite undetermined, general and -abstract, and along with that contentless throughout, the universal -standpoint is the immediate necessity of going on to a content which -begins actual determination. But what is this absolute, universal -content which abstract thought as self-determining activity gives -itself? That is the real question here. Consciousness now confronts -the untrammeled thought of those ancient philosophers, whose general -ideas we have considered. While hitherto the subject, when it reflected -on the absolute, only produced thoughts, and had this content before -it, it is now seen that what is here present is not the whole, but -that the thinking subject likewise really belongs to the totality of -the objective. Furthermore, this subjectivity of thought has again -the double character of at once being the infinite, self-relating -form, which as this pure activity of the universal, receives -content-determinations; and, on the other hand, as consciousness -reflects that it is the thinking subject which is thus positing, of -also being a return of spirit from objectivity into itself. Thus if -thought, because it immersed itself in the object, had as such, and -like the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras, at first no content, because this -stood on the other side, so now, with the return of thought as to -the consciousness that the subject is what thinks, we have the other -side—that what has to be dealt with is the attainment of a truly -absolute content. This content, taken abstractly, may itself be again -a double one. Either the “I” is in respect of determination the real -when it makes itself and its interests the content, or the content -becomes determined as the altogether universal. According to this, -we have two questions to deal with, which are—how the determination -of what is in and for itself is to be comprehended, and how this is -likewise in immediate relation to the “I” as thinking. It comes to pass -in Philosophy that although the “I” is the positing, yet the posited -content of that which is thought is the object existent in and for -itself. If one were to remain at saying that the “I” is that which -posits, this would be the false idealism of modern times: in earlier -times men did not remain at saying that what is thought is bad because -I posit it. - -To the Sophists the content is _mine_, and subjective: Socrates grasped -the content which is in and for itself, and the followers of Socrates -have, in direct connection with him, merely further defined this -content. - - -A.—THE SOPHISTS. - -The Notion, which reason has found in Anaxagoras to be real existence, -is the simple negative into which all determination, all that is -existent and individual sinks. Before the Notion nothing can exist, -for it is simply the predicateless absolute to which everything is -clearly a moment only; for it there is thus nothing so to speak -permanently fixed and sealed. The Notion is just the constant change -of Heraclitus, the movement, the causticity, which nothing can resist. -Thus the Notion which finds itself, finds itself as the absolute -power before which everything vanishes; and thereby all things, all -existence, everything held to be secure, is now made fleeting. This -security—whether it be a security of natural Being or the security of -definite conceptions, principles, customs and laws—becomes vacillation -and loses its stability. As universal, such principles, &c., certainly -themselves pertain to the Notion, yet their universality is only -their form, for the content which they have, as determinate, falls -into movement. We see this movement arising in the so-called Sophists -whom we here encounter for the first time. They gave themselves the -name _σοφισταί_, as teachers of wisdom, _i.e._ as those who could -make wise (_σοφίζειν_). The learning of the Sophists is thus directly -the opposite to ours, which only aspires to acquire information and -investigate what is and has been—it is a mass of empirical matter, in -which the discovery of a new form, a new worm, or other vermin is held -to be a point of great importance. Our learned professors are in so -far much less responsible than the Sophists; however, Philosophy has -nothing to do with this lack of responsibility. - -But as regards the relation of the Sophists to what is ordinarily -believed, they are, by the healthy human understanding, as much -decried as by morality. By the former this is on account of their -theoretic teaching, since it is senseless to say that nothing is; -and in respect of practice because they subvert all principles and -laws. For the first mentioned, things certainly cannot be left in -this confusion of movement and in their negative aspect merely; yet -the rest into which they pass is not the restoration of what is -moved into its former condition of security, as if in the end the -result were the same and the action were a superfluous one. Now the -sophistry of common opinion, which is without the culture of thought -and without scientific knowledge, is found in the fact that to it its -determinations are, as such, held to be existent in and for themselves, -and a number of rules of life, maxims, principles, &c., are considered -as absolutely fixed truths. Mind itself is, however, the unity of these -in many ways limited truths, which in it are all recognized as being -present as sublated only, as merely relative truths, _i.e._ with their -restrictions, in their limitation, and not as existent in themselves. -Hence these truths to the ordinary understanding, are, in fact, no -more, for on another occasion it allows and even asserts the opposite -to have a value also for consciousness; or it does not know that it -says directly the opposite to what it means, its expression being thus -only an expression of contradiction. In its actions generally, and not -in its bad actions, ordinary understanding breaks these its maxims and -its principles itself, and if it leads a rational life, it is properly -speaking only a standing inconsistency, the making good of one narrow -maxim of conduct through breaking off from others. For example, a -statesman of experience and culture is one who knows how to steer a -middle course, and has practical understanding, _i.e._ deals with the -whole extent of the case before him and not with one side of it, which -expresses itself in one maxim only. On the other hand, he, whoever he -is, who acts on one maxim, is a pedant and spoils things for himself -and others. Most commonly it is thus. For example, we hear it said, “it -is certain that the things that I see are; I believe in their reality.” -Anyone can say this quite easily. But in fact it is not true that -he believes in their reality; really he assumes the contrary. For he -eats and drinks them, _i.e._ he is convinced that these things are not -in themselves, and their being has no security, no subsistence. Thus -common understanding is in its actions better than it thinks, for in -action it is Mind as a whole. But it is not here known to itself as -Mind, for what comes within its consciousness are definite laws, rules, -general propositions, such as by its understanding are esteemed to be -the absolute truth, whose limitation it, however, sets aside in action. -Now, when the Notion turns to the riches which consciousness thinks to -possess, and when the latter is sensible of the danger to its truth -without which it would not be, when its fixed realities are destroyed, -it is enraged; and the Notion which in this its realization applies -itself to the common verities, draws hatred and disdain upon itself. -This is the ground of the universal denunciation of the Sophists; a -denunciation of healthy human understanding which does not know how -else to help itself. - -Sophistry is certainly a word of ill-repute, and indeed it is -particularly through the opposition to Socrates and Plato that the -Sophists have come into such disrepute that the word usually now -signifies that, by false reasoning, some truth is either refuted and -made dubious, or something false is proved and made plausible. We -have to put this evil significance on one side and to forget it. On -the other hand, we now wish to consider further from the positive -and properly speaking scientific side, what was the position of the -Sophists in Greece. - -It was the Sophists who now applied the simple Notion as thought -(which with Zeno in the Eleatic school had commenced to turn towards -its pure counterpart, motion) to worldly objects generally, and with -it penetrated all human relations. For it is conscious of itself as -the absolute and single reality, and, jealous of all else, exercises -its power and rule in this reality as regards all else, since this -desires to be considered as the determinate which is not Thought. The -thought identical with itself, thus directs its negative powers towards -the manifold determination of the theoretical and the practical, the -truths of natural consciousness and the immediately recognized laws -and principles; and what to the ordinary conception is established, -dissolves itself in it, and in so doing leaves it to particular -subjectivity to make itself first and fixed, to relate everything to -itself. - -Now that this Notion has appeared, it has become a more universal -Philosophy, and not so much simple Philosophy as the universal culture -of which every man who did not belong to those devoid of thought, -partook, and necessarily partook. For we call culture just the Notion -as applied in actuality, in so far as it makes its appearance not -purely in its abstraction, but in unity with the manifold content of -all ordinary conceptions. But in culture, the Notion is the predominant -as also the actuating, because in both the determinate is recognized -in its limits, in its transition into something else. This culture -became the general aim of education, and there were hence a number -of teachers of Sophistry. Indeed, the Sophists are the teachers of -Greece through whom culture first came into existence in Greece, and -thus they took the place of poets and of rhapsodists, who before this -were the ordinary instructors. For religion was no instructress, since -no teaching was in it imparted; and though priests certainly offered -sacrifices, prophesied and interpreted the sayings of the oracle, -instruction is something quite different from this. But the Sophists -educated men in wisdom, in the sciences, music, mathematics, &c., and -this was their foremost aim. Before Pericles appeared in Greece, the -desire for culture through thought and through reflection was awakened; -men wished to be cultured in their ideas, and in their various -relations to guide themselves by thought, and no longer merely through -oracles, or through custom, passion, the feelings of the moment. For -the end of the State is the universal, under which the particular is -comprehended. Because the Sophists kept in view and enlarged upon this -culture, they prosecuted teaching as a special calling, business, or -profession, as an office taking the place of schools; they travelled -round the towns of Greece, the youth of which was by them instructed. - -Now culture is certainly an indefinite expression. It has, however, -this meaning, that what free thought is to attain must come out of -itself and be personal conviction; it is then no longer believed -but investigated—in short, it is the so-called enlightenment of -modern times. Thought seeks general principles by which it criticizes -everything which is by us esteemed, and nothing has value to us which -is not in conformity with these principles. Thus, thought undertakes -to compare the positive content with itself, to dissolve the former -concrete of belief; on one side to split the content up, and, on the -other, to isolate these individualities, these particular points of -view and aspects, and to secure them on their own account. These -aspects, which are properly not independent, but only moments of a -whole, when detached from it, relate themselves to themselves, and -in this way assume the form of universality. Any one of them can -thus be elevated to a reason, _i.e._ to a universal determination, -which is again applied to particular aspects. Thus, in culture, it is -requisite that men should be acquainted with the universal points of -view which belong to a transaction, event, &c., that this point of -view and thereby the thing, should be grasped in a universal way, in -order to afford a present knowledge of what is in question. A judge -knows the various laws, _i.e._ the various legal points of view under -which a thing is to be considered; these are already for him universal -aspects through which he has a universal consciousness, and considers -the matter in a universal way. A man of culture thus knows how to say -something of everything, to find points of view in all. Greece has -to thank the Sophists for this culture, because they taught men to -exercise thought as to what should have authority for them, and thus -their culture was culture in philosophy as much as in eloquence. - -In order to reach this double end, the Sophists were one in their -desire to be wise. To know what constitutes power amongst men and in -the State, and what I have to recognize as such, is counted as wisdom; -and because I know the power, I also know how to direct others in -conformity with my end. Hence the admiration that Pericles and other -statesmen excited, just because they knew their own standpoint, and -had the power of putting others in their proper place. That man is -powerful who can deduce the actions of men from the absolute ends which -move them. The object of the Sophists has thus been to teach what is -the mainspring of the world, and since Philosophy alone knows that -this is the universal thought which resolves all that is particular, -the Sophists were also speculative philosophers. Learned in the proper -sense they hence were not, because there were as yet no positive -sciences without Philosophy, such as in their aridity did not concern -all mankind and man’s essential aspects. - -They further had the most ordinary practical end, to give a -consciousness of that which is involved in the moral world and which -satisfies man. Religion taught that the gods are the powers which rule -over men. Immediate morality recognized the rule of laws; man was to -find satisfaction in conforming to laws, and was to assume that others -also find satisfaction because they follow these laws. But from the -reflection which here breaks in, it no longer satisfies man to obey -law as an authority and external necessity, for he desires to satisfy -himself in himself, to convince himself, through his reflection, of -what is binding upon him, what is his end and what he has to do for -this end. Thus the impulses and desires that man has, become his -power; and only inasmuch as he affords them satisfaction does he -become satisfied. Now the Sophists taught how these powers could be -moved in empirical man, for the good as ordinarily recognized, no -longer determined them. Rhetoric, however, teaches how circumstances -may be made subject to such forces; it even makes use of the wrath -and passions of the hearer in order to bring about a conclusion. Thus -the Sophists were more especially the teachers of oratory, and that -is the aspect in which the individual could make himself esteemed -amongst the people as well as carry out what was best for the people; -this certainly characterizes a democratic constitution, in which the -citizens have the ultimate decision. Because, in this way, oratory was -one of the first requirements for the rule of a people, or for making -something clear to them through their ordinary ideas, the Sophists -trained men for common Greek life, for citizenship and for statesmen, -without appearing to prepare State officials for an examination in -specific subjects. For the particular characteristic of eloquence is -to show the manifold points of view existing in a thing, and to give -force to those which harmonize with what appears to me to be most -useful; it thus is the art of putting forward various points of view in -the concrete case, and placing others rather in the shade. Aristotle’s -_Topica_ comes to mind in the connection, inasmuch as it gives the -categories or thought-determinations (_τόπους_), according to which we -have to regard things in order to learn to speak; but the Sophists were -the first to apply themselves to a knowledge of these. - -This is the position taken up by the Sophists. But we find a perfectly -definite picture of their further progress and procedure in Plato’s -Protagoras. Plato here makes Protagoras express himself more precisely -respecting the art of the Sophists. That is to say, Plato in this -dialogue represents that Socrates accompanies a young man named -Hippocrates, who desires to place himself under Protagoras, then newly -arrived in Athens, for instruction in the science of the Sophists. -On the way, Socrates now asks Hippocrates what is this wisdom of -the Sophists which he wishes to learn. Hippocrates at first replies -Rhetoric, for the Sophist is one who knows how to make men clever -(_δεινόν_) in speech. In fact, what is most striking in a man or people -of culture is the art of speaking well, or of turning subjects round -and considering them in many aspects. The uncultivated man finds it -unpleasant to associate with people who know how to grasp and express -every point of view with ease. The French are good speakers in this -sense, and the Germans call their talking prattle; but it is not mere -talk that brings about this result, for culture is also wanted. We may -have mastered a speech quite completely, but if we have not culture, -it is not good speaking. Men thus learn French, not only to be able -to speak French well, but to acquire French culture. What is to be -obtained from the Sophists is thus the power of keeping the manifold -points of view present to the mind, so that the wealth of categories by -which an object may be considered, immediately occurs to it. Socrates, -indeed, remarks that the principle of the Sophists is not hereby -determined in a sufficiently comprehensive way, and thus it is not -sufficiently known what a Sophist is, “yet,” he says, “we have a desire -to go on.”[86] For likewise, if anyone wishes to study Philosophy, he -does not as yet know what Philosophy is, else he would not need to -study it. - -Having reached Protagoras with Hippocrates, Socrates finds him in -an assemblage of the foremost Sophists and surrounded by listeners, -“walking about and like an Orpheus entrancing all men by his words, -Hippias sitting meanwhile on a chair with not so many round him, and -Prodicus lying amongst a great number of admirers.” After Socrates -brought before Protagoras the request to have Hippocrates placed under -his instruction, in order that he might by him be taught how to become -eminent in the State, he also asks whether they might speak with him -in public or alone. Protagoras praises his discretion, and replies -that they act wisely to make use of this precaution. For because the -Sophists wandered about the towns, and thus youths, deserting fathers -and friends, followed them in view of improving themselves through -their intercourse with them, they drew upon themselves much envy and -ill-will—for everything new is hated. On this point Protagoras speaks -at length: “I assert that the art of the Sophists is old; but that -those of the ancients who practised it in fear of giving offence” (for -the uncultured world is antagonistic to the cultured) “veiled and -concealed it. One section, like Homer and Hesiod, taught it in their -poetry; others, like Orpheus and Musæus, through mysteries and oracles. -Some, I believe, like Iccus of Tarentum, and the Sophist now living -and unsurpassed—Herodicus, of Selymbria—in gymnastics, but many more -through music.” We see that Protagoras usually describes the end of -mental culture as being to bring about morality, presence of mind, -sense of order and general capacity. He adds: “all those who feared -envy arising against the sciences, required such veils and screens. -But I think that they do not attain their end, for men of penetration -in the State see the end appearing through, while the people notice -nothing, and only quote the others. If people behave so, they make -themselves more hated, and appear to be impostors. I have therefore -taken the opposite way, and openly acknowledge (_ὁμολογῶ_), and do not -deny that I am a Sophist” (Protagoras first used the name of Sophist), -“and that my business is to give men culture (_παιδεύειν_).”[87] - -Further on, where the arts which Hippocrates was to acquire under -Protagoras’ instruction were discussed, Protagoras answered Socrates: -“What you ask is sensible, and I like to answer a sensible question. -Hippocrates will not have the same experience that he would have -with other teachers (_σοφιστῶν_). These latter are at variance with -(_λωβῶνται_) their pupils, for they take them against their wills -straight back to the arts and sciences which they just wished to -escape, inasmuch as they teach them arithmetic, geometry and music. -But he who comes to me will be instructed in nothing else than that in -which he comes to be instructed.” Thus the youths came freely, with -the wish to be made men of culture through his instruction, and in the -hope that he, as teacher, knew the way to succeed in so doing. As to -his general aim, Protagoras says, “The instruction consists in bringing -about a right perception and understanding (_εὐβουλία_) of the best -way of regulating one’s own family affairs, and similarly as regards -citizenship, in qualifying men both to speak on the affairs of the -State, and to do the best for the State.” Thus two interests are here -apparent, that of the individual and that of the State. Now Socrates -expresses dissent and surprise at Protagoras’ assertion as to imparting -instruction in political aptitude. “I thought that the political -virtues could not be learned,” for it is Socrates’ main tenet that -virtue cannot be taught. And Socrates now brings forward the following -argument, after the manner of the Sophists appealing to experience. -“Those who are masters of the art of politics cannot impart that art to -others. Pericles, the father of these youths, gave them instruction in -all that instructors could teach; but not in the science for which he -is celebrated; here he left them free to wander in the chance of their -lighting upon wisdom. Similarly other great statesmen did not teach it -to others, whether friends or strangers.”[88] - -Protagoras now replied that it could be taught, and shows the reason -why great statesmen did not give this instruction, while he asks -whether he is to speak as an elder to younger men in a myth, or whether -he should give his reasons. The company left the matter to him and -he began with the following myth of everlasting interest: “The gods -commanded Prometheus and Epimetheus to adorn the world and confer on -it its qualities and powers. Epimetheus imparted strength, power of -flight, arms, clothing, herbs and fruits, but in some incomprehensible -way he gave all to the beasts, so that nothing remained to men. -Prometheus saw them unclothed, unarmed, helpless, when the moment came -in which the form of man had to go forth into the light. Then he stole -fire from heaven, the arts of Vulcan and Minerva, to equip man for -his needs. But political wisdom was wanting, and, living without any -common bond, they were in a constant state of strife and misery. Then -Zeus gave the command to Hermes to grant reverence” (natural obedience, -honour, docility, respect of children for parents, and of men for -higher and better natures), “and justice. Hermes asks, ‘How shall I -impart them? To individuals, as particular arts are distributed, just -as some have a knowledge of medicine sufficient for assisting others?’ -But Zeus answers that it must be to all, for no body of men (_πόλις_) -can exist if only a few partake of those qualities. And it shall be -the law that whoever cannot acknowledge authority and justice must be -exterminated as a plague to the State. Hence the Athenians when they -wish to build, call builders into counsel, and when they contemplate -any other business, those who have experience in it, but when they -wish to come to a decision or make a regulation in State affairs, they -admit all. For all must partake of this virtue or no State could exist. -Thus if anyone is inexperienced in the art of flute-playing and yet -professes to be a master in it, he is justly thought to be mad. But in -justice it is otherwise; if anyone is not just and confesses it, he is -thought to be mad. He must profess to be so, for everybody must either -share in it or be shut out from social life.”[89] - -For the fact that this political science is also so constituted “that -everyone by education and diligence (_ἐξ ἐπιμελείας_) may acquire it,” -Protagoras gives additional reasons in the following argument: “No -one blames or punishes on account of a defect or evil that has come -to anyone by nature or by chance. But defects and faults which can -be removed through diligence, exercise and teaching are considered -to be blameworthy and punishable. Impiety and injustice are of this -description and, generally speaking, all that opposes public virtue. -Men guilty of these sins are thus reproached; they are punished in the -idea that they had the power to remove the wrong and still more to -acquire political virtue through diligence and teaching. Thus men do -not punish on account of what is past—excepting as we strike a vicious -beast on the head—but on account of what is to come, so that neither -the one who committed the crime nor any other misled by his example, -should do the same again. Thus it is in this implied that virtue can be -acquired through education and exercise.”[90] This is a good argument -for the teachability of virtue. - -As to the statement of Socrates that men such as Pericles, who were -famed for their political virtues, did not impart these to their -children and friends, Protagoras in the first place says that it -may on the other hand be replied, that in these virtues all men are -instructed by all men. Political virtue is so constituted that it -is the common province of all; this one essential for all men is -justice, temperance, and holiness—in one word, whatever comprises -manly virtue. In it no particular education from men of eminence is -thus required. The children are from their earliest infancy exhorted -and admonished to do what is good, and are accustomed to that which -is right. Instruction in music and gymnastics contributes to temper -the indulgence of self-will and pleasure, and to accustom men to -conform to a law or rule; and the reading of the poets who enforce -this does the same. When man steps outside this circle of education, -he enters into that of the constitution of a State which likewise -contributes to keep everyone within the bounds of law and order, so -that political virtue is a result of the education of youth. But the -objection that distinguished men did not impart their distinction to -their children and friends, Protagoras answered secondly and very -well as follows: “Let us say that in a State all the citizens had to -become flute-players, all would be instructed in the art; some would -be distinguished, many good, some mediocre, a few perhaps bad, and -yet all would have a certain amount of skill. But it might very well -be the case that the son of an artist should be a bad player, for -the distinction depends on particular talents, and a particularly -good natural capacity. From very skilful players very unskilful might -descend, and conversely, but all would have a certain knowledge of the -flute, and all would certainly be infinitely better than those who were -quite ignorant of the art. Similarly all, even the worst citizens of -a rational State are better and juster than citizens of a State where -there is no culture nor justice nor law, in a word, where there is no -necessity to bring them up to be just. For this superiority they have -to thank the education given in their State.”[91] All these are quite -good examples and striking arguments which are not at all worse than -Cicero’s reasoning—_a natura insitum_. The arguments of Socrates and -the development of these arguments are, on the contrary, examples based -upon experience, and are often not better than what is here placed in -the mouth of a Sophist. - -What now confronts us is the question of how far this may be -inadequate, and particularly how far Socrates and Plato came into -collision with the Sophists and constituted the antagonism to them. -For the claim made by the Sophists in Greece was that they had given -a higher culture to their people; for this, indeed, great credit was -ascribed to them in Greece, but they were met by the reproach that -was encountered by all culture. That is to say, because the Sophists -were masters of argument and reasoning, and were within the stage of -reflective thought, they wished, passing from the particular to the -universal, to awaken attention through examples and illustrations to -what in his experience and to his mind appears to man to be right. -This, the necessary course of free, thinking reflection, which with -us has also been adopted by culture, must, however, necessarily lead -beyond implicit trust and unrestricted faith in the current morality -and religion. The statement that the Sophists thereby fell into -one-sided principles rests upon the fact that in Greek culture the -time had not yet come when, out of thinking consciousness itself, the -ultimate principles had become manifested, and thus there was something -firm to rest upon, as is the case with us in modern times. Because, -on the one hand, the need of subjective freedom existed merely to -give effect to that which man himself perceives and finds present in -his reason (thus laws, religious ideas, only in so far as I recognize -them through my thought), on the other hand, no fixed principle had -so far been found in thought; thought was rather reasoning, and -what remained indeterminate could thus only be fulfilled through -self-will. It is otherwise in our European world where culture is, so -to speak, introduced under the protection and in presupposition of -a spiritual religion, _i.e._ not of a religion of the imagination, -but by presupposing a knowledge of the eternal nature of Spirit and -of the absolute end, of the end of man, to be in a spiritual way -actual and to posit himself in unity with the absolute spirit. Thus -here there is a groundwork of a fixed spiritual principle which -thus satisfies the needs of the subjective mind; and from this -absolute principle all further relationships, duties, laws, &c., -are established. Consequently culture cannot receive the variety of -direction—and hence the aimlessness—of the Greeks and of those who -extended culture over Greece, the Sophists. As regards the religion -of the imagination, as regards the undeveloped principle of the Greek -State, culture was able to divide itself into many points of view, or -it was easy to it to represent particular subordinate points of view as -highest principles. Where, on the contrary, as is the case with us, a -universal aim so high, indeed the highest possible, floats before the -imagination, a particular principle cannot so easily reach this rank, -even if the reflection of reason attains to the position of determining -and recognizing from itself what is highest; for the subordination -of special principles is already determined, although in form our -enlightenment may have the same standpoint as that of the Sophists. - -As regards content, the standpoint of the Sophists differed from -that of Socrates and Plato, in that the mission of Socrates was to -express the beautiful, good, true, and right, as the end and aim of -the individual, while with the Sophists the content was not present -as an ultimate end, so that all this was left to the individual will. -Hence came the evil reputation obtained by the Sophists through the -antagonism of Plato, and this is certainly their defect. As to their -outward lives, we know that the Sophists accumulated great riches;[92] -they became very proud, and some of them lived very luxuriously. But in -respect of the inward life, reasoning thought has, in distinction to -Plato, this prevailing characteristic, that it makes duty, that which -has to be done, not come from the Notion of the thing as determined in -and for itself; for it brings forward external reasons through which -right and wrong, utility and harmfulness, are distinguished. To Plato -and Socrates, on the other hand, the main point is that the nature of -the conditions should be considered, and that the Notion of the thing -in and for itself should become evolved. Socrates and Plato wished to -bring forward this Notion as opposed to the consideration of things -from points of view and reasonings which are always merely particular -and individual, and thus opposed to the Notion itself. The distinction -in the two points of view is thus that cultured reasoning only belongs, -in a general way, to the Sophists, while Socrates and Plato determined -thought through a universal determination (the Platonic Idea), or -something fixed, which mind finds eternally in itself. - -If sophistry is bad in the sense that it signifies a quality of which -only bad men are guilty, it is at the same time much more common -than this would imply; for all argumentative reasoning, adducing of -arguments and counterarguments, bringing into prominence particular -points of view, is sophistry. And just as utterances of the Sophists -are adduced against which nothing can be said (as they are by Plato), -men of our day are urged to all that is good for the very reasons that -are reasons to the Sophists. Thus it is said, “do not cheat, else you -lose your credit, hence your wealth,” or, “be temperate, or you will -spoil your appetite and have to suffer.” Or for punishment men give the -external reasons of improvement, &c.; or else an action is defended on -external grounds taken from the result. If, on the other hand, firmly -rooted principles lie at the foundation—as in the Christian Religion, -although men now remember this no longer—it is said, “the grace of God -in respect of holiness, &c., thus directs the life of men;” and these -external grounds fall away. Sophistry thus does not lie so far from -us as we think. When educated men discuss matters now-a-days, it may -seem all very good, but it is in no way different from what Socrates -and Plato called sophistry—although they themselves have adopted -this standpoint as truly as did the Sophists. Educated men fall into -it when they judge of concrete cases in which a particular point of -view determines the result, and we must in ordinary life do the same -if we wish to make up our minds in action. If duties and virtues are -advocated as in sermons (this is so in most sermons), we must hear such -reasons given. Other speakers, such as those in parliament, likewise -make use of arguments and counterarguments similar to these, through -which they try to persuade and convince. On the one hand something -definite is in question, such as the constitution, or a war, and from -the fixed direction thus given, certain provisions have to be deduced -consistently; but this consistency, on the other, soon disappears, just -because the matter can be arranged either this way or that, and thus -particular points of view always are decisive. Men likewise make use of -good arguments, after the manner of the Sophists, against Philosophy. -There are, they say, various philosophies, various opinions, and this -is contrary to the one Truth; the weakness of human reason allows of -no knowledge. What is Philosophy to the feelings, mind, and heart? -Abstract thinking about such matters produces abstruse results which -are of no use in the practical life of man. We no longer apply the word -sophistry thus, but it is the way of the Sophists not to take things -as they are, but to bring about their proofs by arguments derived from -feelings as ultimate ends. We shall see this characteristic of the -Sophists more clearly still in Socrates and Plato. - -With such reasoning men can easily get so far as to know (where they -do not, it is owing to the want of education—but the Sophists were -very well educated) that if arguments are relied upon, everything can -be proved by argument, and arguments for and against can be found -for everything; as particular, however, they throw no light upon the -universal, the Notion. Thus what has been considered the sin of the -Sophists is that they taught men to deduce any conclusion required by -others or by themselves; but that is not due to any special quality -in the Sophists, but to reflective reasoning. In the worst action -there exists a point of view which is essentially real; if this is -brought to the front, men excuse and vindicate the action. In the -crime of desertion in time of war, there is, for example, the duty of -self-preservation. Similarly in more modern times the greatest crimes, -assassination, treachery, &c., have been justified, because in the -purpose there lay a determination which was actually essential, such as -that men must resist the evil and promote the good. The educated man -knows how to regard everything from the point of view of the good, to -maintain in everything a real point of view. A man does not require to -make great progress in his education to have good reasons ready for the -worst action; all that has happened in the world since the time of Adam -has been justified by some good reason. - -It appears that the Sophists were conscious of this reasoning, and -knew, as educated men, that everything could be proved. Hence in -Plato’s Gorgias it is said that the art of the Sophists is a greater -gift than any other; they could convince the people, the senate, the -judges, of what they liked.[93] The advocate has similarly to inquire -what arguments there are in favour of the party which claims his help, -even if it be the opposite one to that which he wished to support. -That knowledge is no defect, but is part of the higher culture of -the Sophists; and if uneducated men naturally form conclusions from -external grounds which are those alone coming to their knowledge, they -may perhaps be mainly determined by something besides what they know -(by their integrity, for instance). The Sophists thus knew that on -this basis nothing was secure, because the power of thought treated -everything dialectically. That is the formal culture which they had -and imparted, for their acquaintanceship with so many points of view -shook what was morality in Greece (the religion, duties, and laws, -unconsciously exercised), since through its limited content, that -came into collision with what was different. Once it was highest -and ultimate, then it was deposed. Ordinary knowledge thus becomes -confused, as we shall see very clearly in Socrates, for something -is held to be certain to consciousness, and then other points of -view which are also present and recognized, have similarly to be -allowed; hence the first has no further value, or at least loses its -supremacy. We saw in the same way, how bravery, which lies in the -hazarding of one’s life, is made dubious by the duty of preserving -life, if put forward unconditionally. Plato quotes several examples -of this unsettling tendency, as when he makes Dionysodorus maintain: -“Whoever gives culture to one who does not possess knowledge, desires -that he should no longer remain what he is. He desires to direct -him to reason, and this is to make him not the same as he is.” And -Euthydemus, when the others say that he lies, answers, “Who lies, says -what is not; men cannot say what is not, and thus no one can lie.”[94] -And again Dionysodorus says, “You have a dog, this dog has young, -and is a father; thus a dog is your father, and you are brother to -its young.”[95] Sequences put together thus are constantly found in -critical treatises. - -With this comes the question which the nature of thought brings along -with it. If the field of argument, that which consciousness holds to -be firmly established, is shaken by reflection, what is man now to -take as his ultimate basis? For something fixed there must be. This is -either the good, the universal, or the individuality, the arbitrary -will of the subject; and both may be united, as is shown later on in -Socrates. To the Sophists the satisfaction of the individual himself -was now made ultimate, and since they made everything uncertain, the -fixed point was in the assertion, “it is my desire, my pride, glory, -and honour, particular subjectivity, which I make my end.” Thus the -Sophists are reproached for countenancing personal affections, private -interests, &c. This proceeds directly from the nature of their culture, -which, because it places ready various points of view, makes it depend -on the pleasure of the subject alone which shall prevail, that is, if -fixed principles do not determine. Here the danger lies. This takes -place also in the present day where the right and the true in our -actions is made to depend on good intention and on my own conviction. -The real end of the State, the best administration and constitution, is -likewise to demagogues very vague. - -On account of their formal culture, the Sophists have a place in -Philosophy; on account of their reflection they have not. They are -associated with Philosophy in that they do not remain at concrete -reasoning, but go on, at least in part, to ultimate determinations. -A chief part of their culture was the generalization of the Eleatic -mode of thought and its extension to the whole content of knowledge -and of action; the positive thus comes in as, and has become, utility. -To go into particulars respecting the Sophists would lead us too -far; individual Sophists have their place in the general history of -culture. The celebrated Sophists are very numerous; the most celebrated -amongst them are Protagoras, Gorgias, and also Prodicus, the teacher -of Socrates, to whom Socrates ascribes the well-known myth of “The -choice of Hercules”[96]—an allegory, beautiful in its own way, which -has been repeated hundreds and thousands of times. I will deal only -with Protagoras and Gorgias, not from the point of view of culture, -but in respect of proving further how the general knowledge which -they extended to everything, has, with one of them, the universal -form which makes it pure science. Plato is the chief source of our -acquaintanceship with the Sophists, for he occupied himself largely -with them; then we have Aristotle’s own little treatise on Gorgias; -and Sextus Empiricus, who preserved for us much of the philosophy of -Protagoras. - - -1. PROTAGORAS. - -Protagoras, born at Abdera,[97] was somewhat older than Socrates; -little more is known of him, nor, indeed, could there be much known. -For he led a uniform life, since he spent it in the study of the -sciences; he appeared in Greece proper as the first public teacher. He -read his writings[98] like the rhapsodists and poets, the former of -whom sang the verses of others, and the latter their own. There were -then no places of learning, no books from which men could be taught, -for to the ancients, as Plato says,[99] “the chief part of culture” -(_ραιδείας_) “consisted in being skilled” (_δεινόν_) “in poetry,” -just as with us fifty years ago the principal instruction of the -people consisted of Bible History and Biblical precepts. The Sophists -now gave, in place of a knowledge of the poets, an acquaintanceship -with thought. Protagoras also came to Athens and there lived for -long, principally with the great Pericles, who also entered into this -culture. Indeed, the two once argued for a whole day as to whether the -dart or the thrower or he who arranged the contest was guilty of the -death of a man who thus met his death.[100] The dispute is over the -great and important question of the possibility of imputation; guilt -is a general expression, the analysis of which may undoubtedly become -a difficult and extensive undertaking. In his intercourse with such -men, Pericles developed his genius for eloquence; for whatever kind of -mental occupation may be in question, a cultivated mind can alone excel -in it; and true culture is only possible through pure science. Pericles -was a powerful orator, and we see from Thucydides how deep a knowledge -he had of the State and of his people. Protagoras had the same fate -as Anaxagoras, in being afterwards banished from Athens. The cause of -this sentence was a work written by him beginning, “As to the gods, -I am not able to say whether they are or are not; for there is much -which prevents this knowledge, both in the obscurity of the matter, -and in the life of man which is so short.” This book was also publicly -burned in Athens by command of the State, and, so far as we know, it -was the first to be treated so. At the age of seventy or ninety years -Protagoras was drowned while on a voyage to Sicily.[101] - -Protagoras was not, like other Sophists, merely a teacher of culture, -but likewise a deep and solid thinker, a philosopher who reflected -on fundamental determinations of an altogether universal kind. The -main point in his system of knowledge he expressed thus: “Man is the -measure of all things; of that which is, that it is; of that which -is not, that it is not.”[102] On the one hand, therefore, what had -to be done was to grasp thought as determined and as having content; -but, on the other, to find the determining and content-giving; this -universal determination then becomes the standard by which everything -is judged. Now Protagoras’ assertion is in its real meaning a great -truth, but at the same time it has a certain ambiguity, in that as man -is the undetermined and many-sided, either he may in his individual -particularity, as this contingent man, be the measure, or else -self-conscious reason in man, man in his rational nature and his -universal substantiality, is the absolute measure. If the statement is -taken in the former sense, all is self-seeking, all self-interest, the -subject with his interests forms the central point; and if man has a -rational side, reason is still something subjective, it is “he.” But -this is just the wrong and perverted way of looking at things which -necessarily forms the main reproach made against the Sophists—that -they put forward man in his contingent aims as determining; thus with -them the interest of the subject in its particularity, and the interest -of the same in its substantial reason are not distinguished. - -The same statement is brought forward in Socrates and Plato, but -with the further modification that here man, in that he is thinking -and gives himself a universal content, is the measure. Thus here the -great proposition is enunciated on which, from this time forward, -everything turns, since the further progress of Philosophy only -explains it further: it signifies that reason is the end of all -things. This proposition further expresses a very remarkable change -of position in asserting that all content, everything objective, -is only in relation to consciousness; thought is thus in all truth -expressed as the essential moment, and thereby the Absolute takes the -form of the thinking subjectivity which comes before us principally -in Socrates. Since man, as subject, is the measure of everything, -the existent is not alone, but is for my knowledge. Consciousness is -really the producer of the content in what is objective, and subjective -thinking is thus really active. And this view extends even to the most -modern philosophy, as when, for instance, Kant says that we only know -phenomena, _i.e._ that what seems to us to be objective reality, is -only to be considered in its relation to consciousness, and does not -exist without this relation. The fact that the subject as active and -determining brings forth the content, is the important matter, but now -the question comes as to how the content is further determined—whether -it is limited to the particularity of consciousness or is determined -as the universal, the existent in and for itself. God, the Platonic -Good, is certainly at first a product of thought, but in the second -place He is just as really in and for Himself. Since I, as existent, -fixed and eternal, only recognize what is in its content universal, -this, posited as it is by me, is likewise the implicitly objective, not -posited by me. - -Protagoras himself shows us much more of what is implied in his theory, -for he says, “Truth is a manifestation for consciousness. Nothing is -in and for itself one, but everything has a relative truth only,” -_i.e._ it is what it is but for another, which is man. This relativity -is by Protagoras expressed in a way which seems to us in some measure -trivial, and belongs to the first beginnings of reflective thought. The -insignificant examples which he adduces (like Plato and Socrates when -they follow out in them the point of view of reflection), by way of -explanation, show that in Protagoras’ understanding what is determined -is not grasped as the universal and identical with self. Hence the -exemplifications are taken mostly from sensuous manifestation. “In a -wind it may be that one person is cold and another is not; hence of -this wind we cannot tell whether in itself it is cold or hot.”[103] -Frost and heat are thus not anything which exist, but only are in their -relation to a subject; were the wind cold in itself, it would always be -so to the subject. Or again, “if we have here six dice, and place by -them four others, we should say of the former that there are more of -them. But, again, if we put twelve by them we say that these first six -are the fewer.”[104] Because we say of the same number that it is more -and fewer, the more and the less is merely a relative determination; -thus what is the object, is so in the idea present to consciousness -only. Plato, on the contrary, considered one and many, not like the -Sophists in their distinction, but as being one and the same. - -Plato says further on this point, that the white, warm, &c., or -everything that we say of things, does not exist for itself, but that -the eye, sensation, is necessary to make it for us. This reciprocal -movement is what first creates the white, and in it the white is not a -thing in itself, but what we have present is a seeing eye, or, to speak -generally, sight, and particularly the seeing of white, the feeling -of warmth, &c. Undoubtedly warmth, colour, &c., really are only in -relation to another, but the conceiving mind divides itself into itself -and into a world in which each also has its relation. This objective -relativity is expressed better in the following way. If the white were -in itself, it would be that which brought forth the sensation of it; it -would be the action or the cause, and we, on the contrary, the passive -and receptive. But the object which thus requires to be active, is not -active until it enters into (_ξυνέλθῃ_) relation with the passive; -similarly the passive is only in relation to the active. Thus what -is said in defining anything never concerns the thing as in itself, -but clearly only as being related to something else. Nothing is thus -constituted in and for itself as it appears, but the truth is just -this phenomenon to which our activity contributes. As things appear -to the healthy man they are thus not in themselves, but for him; as -they appear to the sick or deranged man, they are to him, without our -being able to say that as they appear to him, they are not true.[105] -We feel the awkwardness of calling any such thing true, for after all -the existent, if related to consciousness, is yet not related to it as -fixed, but to sensuous knowledge; and then this consciousness itself -is a condition, _i.e._ something which passes away. Protagoras rightly -recognized this double relativity when he says, “Matter is a pure flux, -it is not anything fixed and determined in itself, for it can be -everything, and it is different to different ages and to the various -conditions of waking and sleep, &c.”[106] Kant separates himself from -this standpoint only in that he places the relativity in the “I,” -and not in objective existence. The phenomenon is, according to him, -nothing but the fact of there being outside an impulse, an unknown -_x_, which first receives these determinations through our feeling. -Even if there were an objective ground for our calling one thing cold -and another warm, we could indeed say that they must have diversity -in themselves, but warmth and cold first become what they are in our -feeling. Similarly it can only be in our conception that things are -outside of us, etc. But if the experience is quite correctly called -a “phenomenon,” _i.e._ something relative, because it does not come -to pass without the determinations of the activity of our senses, nor -without categories of thought, yet that one, all-pervading, universal, -which permeates all experience, which to Heraclitus was necessity, has -to be brought into consciousness. - -We see that Protagoras possesses great powers of reflective thought, -and indeed reflection on consciousness came to consciousness with -Protagoras. But this is the form of manifestation which was again -taken by the later sceptics. The phenomenal is not sensuous Being, -for because I posit this as phenomenal, I assert its nullity. But the -statements “What is, is only for consciousness,” or “The truth of -all things is the manifestation of them in and for consciousness,” -seem quite to contradict themselves. For it appears as though a -contradiction were asserted—first that nothing is in itself as -it appears, and then that it is true as it appears. But objective -significance must not be given to the positive, to what is true, as -if, for example, this were white in itself because it appears so; -for it is only this manifestation of the white that is true, the -manifestation being just this movement of the self-abrogating sensuous -Being, which, taken in the universal, stands above consciousness as -truly as above Being. The world is consequently not only phenomenal -in that it is for consciousness, and thus that its Being is only one -relative to consciousness, for it is likewise in itself phenomenal. The -element of consciousness which Protagoras has demonstrated, and owing -to which the developed universal has in it the moment of the negative -Being-for-another, has thus indeed to be asserted as a necessary -moment; but taken for itself, alone and isolated, it is one-sided, -since the moment of implicit Being is likewise essential. - - -2. GORGIAS. - -This scepticism reached a much deeper point in Gorgias of Leontium in -Sicily, a man of great culture, and also distinguished as a statesman. -During the Peloponnesian war he was, in Ol. 88, 2 (427 B.C.), a few -years after Pericles’ death in Ol. 87, 4, sent from his native town -to Athens.[107] And when he attained his object, he went through many -other Greek towns, such as Larissa in Thessaly, and taught in them. -Thus he obtained great wealth, along with much admiration, and this -lasted till his death at over a hundred years of age. - -He is said to have been a disciple of Empedocles, but he also knew the -Eleatics, and his dialectic partakes of the manner and method of the -latter; indeed Aristotle, who preserves this dialectic, in the work -_De Xenophane, Zenone et Gorgia_, which has indeed only come to us in -fragments, deals with them together. Sextus Empiricus also gives us in -full the dialectic of Gorgias. He was strong in the dialectic requisite -for eloquence, but his preeminence lies in his pure dialectic -respecting the quite universal categories of Being and non-being, which -indeed is not like that of the Sophists. Tiedemann (Geist. der Spec. -Phil. vol. I. p. 362) says very falsely: “Gorgias went much further -than any man of healthy mind could go.” Tiedemann could say of every -philosopher that he went further than healthy human understanding, for -what men call healthy understanding is not Philosophy, and is often -far from healthy. Healthy human understanding possesses the modes of -thought, maxims, and judgments of its time, the thought-determinations -of which dominate it without its being conscious thereof. In this -way Gorgias undoubtedly went further than healthy understanding. -Before Copernicus it would have been contrary to all healthy human -understanding if anyone had said that the earth went round the sun, -or before the discovery of America, if it were said that there was a -continent there. In India or in China a republic would even now be -contrary to all healthy understanding. The dialectic of Gorgias moves -more purely in Notion than that found in Protagoras. Since Protagoras -asserted the relativity, or the non-implicit nature of all that is, -this only exists in relation to another which really is essential to -it; and this last, indeed, is consciousness. Gorgias’ demonstration of -the non-implicitness of Being is purer, because he takes in itself what -passes for real existence without presupposing that other, and thus -shows its own essential nullity and separates therefrom the subjective -side and Being as it is for the latter. - -Gorgias’ treatise “On Nature,” in which he composes his dialectic, -falls, according to Sextus Empiricus (adv. Math. VII. 65), into three -parts. “In the first he proves that” (objectively) “nothing exists, in -the second” (subjectively), “that assuming that Being is, it cannot be -known; and in the third place” (both subjectively and objectively), -“that were it to exist and be knowable, no communication of what is -known would be possible.” Gorgias was a congenial subject to Sextus, -but the former still proved, and this is what the Sceptics ceased -to do. Here very abstract thought-determinations regarding the most -speculative moments of Being and non-being, of knowledge, and of -bringing into existence, of communicating knowledge, are involved; and -this is no idle talk, as was formerly supposed, for Gorgias’ dialectic -is of a quite objective kind, and is most interesting in content. - -_a._ “If anything is,” (this “anything” is, however, a makeshift -that we are in the habit of using in our conversation, and which -is, properly speaking, inappropriate, for it implies an opposition -of subject and predicate, while at present the “is” alone is in -question)—then “if it _is_” (and now it becomes for the first time -defined as subject) “it is either the existent or the non-existent, or -else existence and non-existence. It is now evident of these three that -they are not.”[108] - -_α_. “That which is not, is not; for if Being belonged to it, there -would at the same time be existence and non-existence. That is, in so -far as it is thought of as non-existent, it is not; but in so far as -it _is_ the non-existent, it must exist. But it cannot at the same -time be and not be. Again, if the non-existent is, the existent is -not, for the two are opposed. Thus, if Being pertained to non-being, -non-being would belong to Being. But if Being does not exist, no more -does non-being.”[109] This is with Gorgias a characteristic mode of -reasoning.[110] - -_β_. “But in proving,” Aristotle adds to the passages just quoted, -“that the existent is not, he follows Melissus and Zeno.” This is -the dialectic already brought forward by them. “If Being is, it is -contradictory to predicate a quality to it, and if we do this, we -express something merely negative about it.” - -_αα_. For Gorgias says: “What is, either is in itself (_ἀΐδιον_) -being without beginning, or it has originated,” and he now shows -that it could neither be the one nor the other, for each leads to -contradiction. “It cannot be the former, for what is in itself has -no beginning, and is the infinite,” and hence likewise undetermined -and indeterminable. “The infinite is nowhere, for if it is anywhere, -that in which it is, is different from it.” Where it is, it is in -another, “but that is not infinite which is different from another, -and contained in another. Just as little is it contained in itself, -for then that in which it is, and that which is therein, would be the -same. What it is in, is the place; that which is in this, is the body; -but that both should be the same is absurd. The infinite does not thus -exist.”[111] This dialectic of Gorgias regarding the infinite is on -the one hand limited, because immediate existence has certainly no -beginning and no limit, but asserts a progression into infinitude; the -self-existent Thought, the universal Notion, as absolute negativity, -has, however, limits in itself. On the other hand, Gorgias is quite -right, for the bad, sensuous infinite is nowhere present, and thus -does not exist, but is a Beyond of Being; only we may take what -Gorgias takes as a diversity of place, as being diversity generally. -Thus, instead of placing the infinite, like Gorgias, sometimes in -another, sometimes within itself, _i.e._ sometimes maintaining it to be -different, sometimes abrogating the diversity, we may say better and -more universally, that this sensuous infinite is a diversity which is -always posited as different from the existent, for it is just the being -different from itself. - -“In the same way Being has not originated, because it must then have -come either from the existent or from the non-existent. From the -existent it did not arise, for then it would be already; just as little -from the non-existent, because this cannot beget anything.”[112] The -sceptics followed this up further. The object to be contemplated -hence ever becomes posited under determinations with ‘either’ ‘or,’ -which then contradict one another. But that is not the true dialectic, -because the object resolves itself into those determinations only; when -nothing follows respecting the nature of the object itself, then, as is -already proved, the object must be necessarily in one determination, -and not in and for itself. - -_ββ_. In a similar way Gorgias shows “of what exists, that it must -either be one or many; but neither is possible. For as one, it would -have a certain magnitude, or continuity, or number, or body, but all -this is not one, but different, divisible. Every sensuous one is, in -fact, necessarily another, a manifold. If it is not one, it cannot be -many, for the many is many ones.”[113] - -_γ_. “Similarly both, Being and non-being, cannot exist at the same -time. If one exists as much as the other, they are the same, and -therefore neither of them is, for the non-being does not exist, and -hence neither does the Being, since it is identical with it. Nor can -they, on the other hand, both exist, for if they are identical, I -cannot express them both,”[114] and thus both do not exist, for if I -express both, I differentiate. This dialectic, which Aristotle (De -Xenoph. &c., c. 5) likewise designates as peculiar to Gorgias, has its -truth. In speaking of Being and non-being, we always say the opposite -to what we wish. Being and non-being are the same, just as they are -not the same; if they are the same, I speak of the two as different: -if different, I express the same predicate of them, diversity. This -dialectic is not to be despised by us, as if it dealt with empty -abstractions, for these categories are, on the one hand, in their -purity the most universal, and if, on the other hand, they are not the -ultimate, yet it is always Being or non-being that are in question; -they are not, however, definitely fixed and divided off, but are -self-abrogating. Gorgias is conscious that they are vanishing moments, -while the ordinary unconscious conception also has present to it this -truth, but knows nothing about it. - -_b._ The relation of the conceiver to conception, the difference -between conception and Being, is a subject which is in our mouths -to-day. “But if there is an ‘is,’ it is unknowable and unthinkable, for -what is presented is not the existent” but only a presentation. “If -what is presented is white, it is the case that white is presented; -if what is presented is not the really existent, it is the case that -what is, is not presented. For if what is presented is the real -existent, everything that is presented also exists, but no one says -that if a flying man, or waggon riding on the sea were presented to -us, it would exist. Further, if what is presented is the existent, the -non-existent is not presented, for opposites are in opposition. But -this non-existent is everywhere presented as it is in Scylla and the -Chimæra.[115] Gorgias on the one hand pronounces a just polemic against -absolute realism, which, because it represents, thinks to possess the -very thing itself, when it only has a relative, but he falls, on the -other hand, into the false idealism of modern times, according to which -thought is always subjective only, and thus not the existent, since -through thought an existent is transformed into what is thought.” - -_c._ We finally have the basis of the dialectic of Gorgias in respect -of the third point, that knowledge cannot be imparted, in this: “If the -existent were presented, it could still not be expressed and imparted. -Things are visible, audible, &c., or are experienced. The visible -is grasped through sight, the audible through hearing, and not the -contrary way; thus, the one cannot be indicated by the other. Speech, -by which the existent has to be expressed, is not the existent; what is -imparted is thus not the existent, but only words.[116] In this manner -Gorgias’ dialectic is the laying hold of this difference exactly as -again occurred in Kant; if I maintain this difference, certainly that -which is, cannot be known.” - -This dialectic is undoubtedly impregnable to those who maintain -sensuous Being to be real. But its truth is only this movement to -posit itself negatively as existent, and the unity is the reflection -that the existent, comprehended also as non-existent, becomes, in this -comprehension of it, universal. That this existent cannot be imparted, -must likewise be held most strongly, for _this_ individual cannot be -expressed. Philosophic truth is thus not only expressed as if there -were another truth in sensuous consciousness; but Being is present -in that philosophic truth expresses it. The Sophists thus also made -dialectic, universal Philosophy, their object, and they were profound -thinkers. - - -B.—SOCRATES. - -Consciousness had reached this point in Greece, when in Athens the -great form of Socrates, in whom the subjectivity of thought was brought -to consciousness in a more definite and more thorough manner, now -appeared. But Socrates did not grow like a mushroom out of the earth, -for he stands in continuity with his time, and thus is not only a -most important figure in the history of Philosophy—perhaps the most -interesting in the philosophy of antiquity—but is also a world-famed -personage. For a mental turning-point exhibited itself in him in the -form of philosophic thought. If we shortly recall the periods already -passed over, we find that the ancient Ionic philosophers certainly -thought, but without reflecting on the thought or defining its product -as thought. The Atomists made objective existence into thoughts, but -these were to them only abstractions, pure entities. Anaxagoras, on the -other hand, raised thought as such, into a principle which thereby -presented itself as the all-powerful Notion, as the negative power -over all that is definite and existent. Protagoras finally expresses -thought as real existence, but it is in this its movement, which is -the all-resolving consciousness, the unrest of the Notion. This unrest -is in itself at the same time something restful or secure. But the -fixed point of motion as such, is the ‘I,’ for it has the moments of -movement outside of it; as the self-retaining, which only abrogates -what is different, the ‘I’ is negative unity, but just in that very -way individual, and not yet the universal reflected within itself. Now -we here find the ambiguity of dialectic and sophistry, which rests -in the fact that if the objective disappears, the signification of -the fixed subjective is either that of the individual opposed to the -objective, and thereby the contingent and lawless will, or that of the -objective and universal in itself. Socrates expresses real existence -as the universal ‘I,’ as the consciousness which rests in itself; but -that is the good as such, which is free from existent reality, free -from individual sensuous consciousness of feeling and desire, free -finally from the theoretically speculative thought about nature, which, -if indeed thought, has still the form of Being and in which I am not -certain of my existence. - -Socrates herein adopted firstly the doctrine of Anaxagoras that -thought, the understanding, is the ruling and self-determining -universal, though this principle did not, as with the Sophists, attain -the form of formal culture or of abstract philosophizing. Thus, if with -Socrates, as with Protagoras, the self-conscious thought that abrogates -all that is determined, was real existence, with Socrates this was -the case in such a way that he at the same time grasped in thought -rest and security. This substance existing in and for itself, the -self-retaining, has become determined as end, and further as the true -and the good. - -To this determination of the universal, we have, in the second place, -to add that this good, which has by me to be esteemed as substantial -end, must be known by me; with this the infinite subjectivity, the -freedom of self-consciousness in Socrates breaks out. This freedom -which is contained therein, the fact that consciousness is clearly -present in all that it thinks, and must necessarily be at home -with itself, is in our time constantly and plainly demanded; the -substantial, although eternal and in and for itself, must as truly -be produced through me; but this my part in it is only the formal -activity. Thus Socrates’ principle is that man has to find from himself -both the end of his actions and the end of the world, and must attain -to truth through himself. True thought thinks in such a way that its -import is as truly objective as subjective. But objectivity has been -the significance of substantial universality, and not of external -objectivity; thus truth is now posited as a product mediated through -thought, while untrained morality, as Sophocles makes Antigone say -(vers. 454-457), is “the eternal law of the Gods”: - - “And no one knew from whence it came.” - -But though in modern times we hear much said of immediate knowledge and -belief, it is a misconception to maintain that their content, God, the -Good, Just, &c., although the content of feeling and conception, is -not, as spiritual content, also posited through thought. The animal has -no religion, because it only feels; but what is spiritual rests on the -mediation of thought, and pertains to man. - -Since Socrates thus introduces the infinitely important element -of leading back the truth of the objective to the thought of the -subject, just as Protagoras says that the objective first is through -relation to us, the battle of Socrates and Plato with the Sophists -cannot rest on the ground that these, as belonging to the old faith, -maintained against the others the religion and customs of Greece, for -the violation of which Anaxagoras was condemned. Quite the contrary. -Reflection, and the reference of any judgment to consciousness, is -held by Socrates in common with the Sophists. But the opposition into -which Socrates and Plato were in their philosophy necessarily brought -in regard to the Sophists, as the universal philosophic culture of -the times, was as follows:—The objective produced through thought, -is at the same time in and for itself, thus being raised above all -particularity of interests and desires, and being the power over -them. Hence because, on the one hand, to Socrates and Plato the -moment of subjective freedom is the directing of consciousness into -itself, on the other, this return is also determined as a coming out -from particular subjectivity. It is hereby implied that contingency -of events is abolished, and man has this outside within him, as the -spiritual universal. This is the true, the unity of subjective and -objective in modern terminology, while the Kantian ideal is only -phenomenal and not objective in itself. - -In the third place Socrates accepted the Good at first only in the -particular significance of the practical, which nevertheless is only -one mode of the substantial Idea; the universal is not only for me, -but also, as end existent in and for itself, the principle of the -philosophy of nature, and in this higher sense it was taken by Plato -and Aristotle. Of Socrates it is hence said, in the older histories -of Philosophy, that his main distinction was having added ethics as -a new conception to Philosophy, which formerly only took nature into -consideration. Diogenes Laertius, in like manner says (III., 56), that -the Ionics founded natural philosophy, Socrates ethics, and Plato -added to them dialectic. Now ethics is partly objective, and partly -subjective and reflected morality [Sittlichkeit und Moralität],[117] -and the teaching of Socrates is properly subjectively moral, because -in it the subjective side, my perception and meaning, is the prevailing -moment, although this determination of self-positing is likewise -sublated, and the good and eternal is what is in and for itself. -Objective morality is, on the contrary, natural, since it signifies the -knowledge and doing of what is in and for itself good. The Athenians -before Socrates were objectively, and not subjectively, moral, for -they acted rationally in their relations without knowing that they -were particularly excellent. Reflective morality adds to natural -morality the reflection that this is the good and not that; the Kantian -philosophy, which is reflectively moral, again showed the difference. - -Because Socrates in this way gave rise to moral philosophy, all -succeeding babblers about morality and popular philosophy constituted -him their patron and object of adoration, and made him into a cloak -which should cover all false philosophy. As he treated it, it was -undoubtedly popular; and what contributed to make it such was that -his death gave him the never-failing interest derived from innocent -suffering. Cicero (Tusc. Quæst. V. 4), whose manner of thought was, -on the one hand, of the present, and who, on the other hand, had the -belief that Philosophy should yield itself up, and hence succeeded in -attaining to no content in it, boasted of Socrates (what has often -enough been said since) that his most eminent characteristic was -to have brought Philosophy from heaven to earth, to the homes and -every-day life of men, or, as Diogenes Laertius expresses it (II. 21), -“into the market place.” There we have what has just been said. This -would seem as if the best and truest Philosophy were only a domestic -or fireside philosophy, which conforms to all the ordinary ideas of -men, and in which we see friends and faithful ones talk together -of righteousness, and of what can be known on the earth, without -having penetrated the depths of the heavens, or rather the depths of -consciousness. But this last is exactly what Socrates, as these men -themselves indicate, first ventured to do. And it was not incumbent on -him to reflect upon all the speculations of past Philosophy, in order -to be able to come down in practical philosophy to inward thought. This -gives a general idea of his principle. - -We must examine more closely this noteworthy phenomenon, and begin with -the history of Socrates’ life. This is, however, closely intertwined -with his interest in Philosophy, and the events of his life are bound -up with his principles. We have first of all to consider the beginning -of his life only. Socrates, whose birth occurs in the fourth year of -the 77th Olympiad (469 B.C.), was the son of Sophroniscus, a sculptor, -and of Phænarete, a midwife. His father brought him up to sculpture, -and it is said that Socrates acquired skill in the art, and long after, -statues of draped Graces, found in the Acropolis, were ascribed to -him. But his art did not satisfy him; a great desire for Philosophy, -and love of scientific research, got possession of him. He pursued his -art merely to get money for a necessary subsistence, and to be able to -apply himself to the study of the sciences; and it is told of Crito, an -Athenian, that he defrayed the cost of Socrates’ instruction by masters -in all the arts. During the exercise of his art, and specially after he -gave it up altogether, he read the works of ancient philosophers in so -far as he could get possession of them. At the same time he attended -Anaxagoras’ instructions, and, after his expulsion from Athens, at -which time Socrates was thirty-seven years old, those of Archelaus, -who was regarded as Anaxagoras’ successor, besides those of Sophists -celebrated in other sciences. Amongst these he heard Prodicus, a -celebrated teacher of oratory, whom, according to Xenophon (Memorab. -II. c. 1, §§ 21, 34), he mentions with affection, and other teachers of -music, poetry, etc. He was esteemed as on all sides a man of culture, -who was instructed in everything then requisite thereto.[118] - -Another feature in his life was that he fulfilled the duty of -protecting his country, which rested on him as an Athenian citizen. -Hence he made three campaigns in the Peloponnesian war, which occurred -during his life. The Peloponnesian war led to the dissolution of -Greek life, inasmuch as it was preparatory to it; and what took place -politically was by Socrates carried out in thinking consciousness. In -these campaigns he not only acquired the fame of a brave warrior, but, -what was best of all, the merit of having saved the lives of other -citizens. In the first, he was present at the tedious siege of Potidæa -in Thrace. Here Alcibiades had already attached himself to him, and, -according to Plato, he recited in the Banquet (p. 219-222, Steph.; p. -461-466, Bekk.), a eulogy on Socrates for being able to endure all -toil, hunger and thirst, heat and cold, with mind at rest and health -of body. In an engagement in this campaign he saw Alcibiades wounded -in the midst of the enemy, lifted him up, forced his way through, and -saved both him and his arms. The generals rewarded him with a wreath, -which was the prize of the bravest; Socrates did not, however, take -it, maintaining that it was given to Alcibiades. In this campaign -it is said that once, sunk in deep meditation, he stood immovable -on one spot the whole day and night, until the morning sun awoke -him from his trance—a condition in which he is said often to have -been. This was a cataleptic state, which may bear some relation to -magnetic somnambulism, in which Socrates became quite dead to sensuous -consciousness. From this physical setting free of the inward abstract -self from the concrete bodily existence of the individual, we have, in -the outward manifestation, a proof of how the depths of his mind worked -within him. In him we see pre-eminently the inwardness of consciousness -that in an anthropological way existed in the first instance in him, -and became later on a usual thing. He made his other campaign in Bœotia -at Delium, a small fortification which the Athenians possessed not -far from the sea, and where they had an unfortunate, though not an -important engagement. Here Socrates saved another of his favourites, -Xenophon; he saw him in the flight, for Xenophon, having lost his -horse, lay wounded on the ground. Socrates took him over his shoulders, -carried him off, defending himself at the same time with the greatest -tranquillity and presence of mind from the pursuing enemy. Finally -he made his last campaign at Amphipolis in Edonis, on the Strymonian -Bay.[119] - -Besides this, he occupied various civil offices. At the time when the -democratic constitution of Athens hitherto existing, was taken away -by the Lacedemonians, who now introduced everywhere an aristocratic -and indeed tyrannical rule, whereby they in great measure put -themselves at the head of affairs, he was chosen for the council, -which, as a representative body, took the place of the people. Here he -distinguished himself by his immovable firmness in what he held to be -right as against the wills of the thirty tyrants, as formerly against -the will of the people. For he sat in the tribunal which condemned -the ten generals to death, because, as admirals at the battle of -Arginusæ, though they certainly had conquered, yet, being kept back -through storm, they had not dragged out the bodies nor buried them -on the shore, and because they neglected to erect trophies; _i.e._ -really because they did not stand their ground, and thus appeared to -have been beaten. Socrates alone did not agree with this decision, -declaring himself more emphatically against the people than against -the rulers.[120] To-day he fares badly who says anything against -the people. “The people have excellent intelligence, understand -everything, and have only the most excellent intentions.” As to rulers, -governments, ministers, it is self-evident that “they understand -nothing, and only desire and bring forth what is bad.” - -Along with these to him more accidental relationships to the State, in -which he acted only from the ordinary sense of citizenship, without -spontaneously making the affairs of the State his real business, or -pressing on to the head of public affairs, the real business of his -life was to discuss moral philosophy with any who came in his way. His -philosophy, which asserts that real existence is in consciousness as a -universal, is still not a properly speculative philosophy, but remained -individual; yet the aim of his philosophy was that it should have a -universal significance. Hence we have to speak of his own individual -being, of his thoroughly noble character, which usually is depicted -as a complete catalogue of the virtues adorning the life of a private -citizen; and these virtues of Socrates are certainly to be looked at -as his own, and as made habitual to him by his own will. It has to be -noted that with the ancients these qualities have generally more of the -character of virtue, because with the ancients, in ordinary morality, -individuality, as the form of the universal, was given free scope, so -that virtues were regarded more as the actions of the individual will, -and thus as personal qualities; while with us they seem to be less what -is meritorious to the individual, or what comes from himself as this -unit. We are accustomed to think of them much more as what exists, as -duty, because we have a fuller consciousness of the universal, and -consider the pure individual, the personal inward consciousness, as -real existence and duty. With us virtues are hence actually either -elements in our dispositions and nature, or they have the form of the -universal and of what is necessary; but with Socrates they have the -form, not of ordinary morality or of a natural or necessary thing, but -of an independent determination. It is well known that his appearance -indicated naturally low and hateful qualities, which, as indeed he -says, he himself subdued. - -He lived amongst his fellow-citizens, and stands before us as one -of those great plastic natures consistent through and through, such -as we often see in those times—resembling a perfect classical work -of art which has brought itself to this height of perfection. Such -individuals are not made, but have formed themselves into what they -are; they have become that which they wished to be, and are true to -this. In a real work of art the distinguishing point is that some idea -is brought forth, a character is presented in which every trait is -determined by the idea, and, because this is so, the work of art is, -on the one hand, living, and, on the other, beautiful, for the highest -beauty is just the most perfect carrying out of all sides of the -individuality in accordance with the one inward principle. Such works -of art are also seen in the great men of every time. The most plastic -individual as a statesman is Pericles, and round him, like stars, -Sophocles, Thucydides, Socrates, &c., worked out their individuality -into an existence of its own—into a character which regulated their -whole being, and which was one principle running throughout the whole -of their existence. Pericles alone lived with the sole end of being a -statesman. Plutarch (in Pericle, c. 5, 7) says of him that, from the -time that he devoted himself to the business of the State, he laughed -no more, and never again went to a feast. Thus, too, Socrates formed -himself, through his art and through the power of self-conscious -will, into this particular character, and acquired this capacity for -the business of his life. Through his principle he attained that -far-reaching influence which has lasted to the present day in relation -to religion, science, and justice, for since his time the genius of -inward conviction has been the basis which must be fundamental. And -since this principle proceeded from the plasticity of his character, -it is very inappropriate when Tennemann regrets (Vol. II. p. 26) “that -though we know what he was, we do not know how he became such.” - -Socrates was a peaceful, pious example of the moral virtues—of wisdom, -discretion, temperance, moderation, justice, courage, inflexibility, -firm sense of rectitude in relation to tyrants and people; he was -equally removed from cupidity and despotism. His indifference to money -was due to his own determination, for, according to the custom of the -times, he could acquire it through the education of youth, like other -teachers. On the other side, this acquisition was purely matter of -choice, and not, as with us, something which is accepted, so that to -take nothing would be to break through a custom, thus to present the -appearance of wishing to become conspicuous, and to be more blamed than -praised. For this was not yet a State affair; it was under the Roman -emperors that there first were schools with payment. This moderation -of his life was likewise a power proceeding from conscious knowledge, -but this is not a principle found to hand, but the regulation of self -in accordance with circumstances; in company he was, however, a good -fellow. His sobriety in respect to wine is best depicted in Plato’s -“Symposium,” in a very characteristic scene in which we see what -Socrates called virtue. Alcibiades there appears, no longer sober, at a -feast given by Agathon, on the occasion of a success which his tragedy -had obtained on the previous day at the games. Since the company had -drunk much on the first day of the feast, the assembled guests, amongst -whom was Socrates, this evening took a resolution, in opposition to the -Greek custom at meals, to drink little. Alcibiades, finding that he -was coming in amongst abstemious men, and that there was no one else -in his own frame of mind, made himself king of the feast, and offered -the goblet to the others, in order to bring them into the condition -reached by himself; but with Socrates he said that he could do nothing, -because he remained as he was, however much he drank. Plato then makes -the individual who tells what happened at the Banquet, also tell that -he, with the others, at last fell asleep on the couch, and as he awoke -in the morning, Socrates, cup in hand, still talked with Aristophanes -and Agathon about comedy and tragedy, and whether one man could write -both comedies and tragedies, and then went at the usual time into the -public places, to the Lyceum, as if nothing had happened, and walked -about the whole day as usual.[121] This is not a moderation which -exists in the least possible enjoyment, no aimless abstemiousness and -self-mortification, but a power belonging to consciousness, which keeps -its self-possession in bodily excess. We see from this that we have -not to think of Socrates throughout after the fashion of the litany of -moral virtues. - -His behaviour to others was not only just, true, open, without -rudeness, and honourable, but we also see in him an example of the most -perfect Attic urbanity; i.e. he moves in the freest possible relations, -has a readiness for conversation which is always judicious, and, -because it has an inward universality, at the same time always has the -right living relationship to the individual, and bears upon the case -on which it operates. The intercourse is that of a most highly cultured -man who, in his relation to others, never places anything personal in -all his wit, and sets aside all that is unpleasant. Thus Xenophon’s, -but particularly Plato’s Socratic Dialogues belong to the highest type -of this fine social culture. - -Because the philosophy of Socrates is no withdrawal from existence now -and here into the free, pure regions of thought, but is in a piece -with his life, it does not proceed to a system; and the manner of his -philosophizing, which appears to imply a withdrawal from actual affairs -as it did to Plato, yet in that very way gives itself this inward -connection with ordinary life. For his more special business was his -philosophic teaching, or rather his philosophic social intercourse (for -it was not, properly speaking, teaching) with all; and this outwardly -resembled ordinary Athenian life in which the greater part of the -day was passed without any particular business, in loitering about -the market-place, or frequenting the public Lyceum, and there partly -partaking of bodily exercises, and partly and principally, talking -with one another. This kind of intercourse was only possible in the -Athenian mode of life, where most of the work which is now done by a -free citizen—by a free republican and free imperial citizen alike—was -performed by slaves, seeing that it was deemed unworthy of free men. -A free citizen could in Athens certainly be a handicraftsman, but he -had slaves who did the work, just as a master now has workmen. At -the present day such a life of movement would not be suitable to our -customs. Now Socrates also lounged about after this manner, and lived -in this constant discussion of ethical questions.[122] Thus what he -did was what came naturally to him, and what can in general be called -moralizing; but its nature and method was not that of preaching, -exhortation or teaching; it was not a dry morality. For amongst the -Athenians and in Attic urbanity, this had no place, since it is not a -reciprocal, free, and rational relationship. But with all men, however -different their characters, he entered on one kind of dialogue, with -all that Attic urbanity which, without presumption on his part, without -instructing others, or wishing to command them, while maintaining their -perfect right to freedom, and honouring it, yet causes all that is rude -to be suppressed. - -1. _The Socratic Method._ In this conversation Socrates’ philosophy is -found, as also what is known as the Socratic method, which must in its -nature be dialectic, and of which we must speak before dealing with -the content. Socrates’ manner is not artificial; the dialogues of the -moderns, on the contrary, just because no internal reason justifies -their form, are necessarily tedious and heavy. But the principle of -his philosophy falls in with the method itself, which thus far cannot -be called method, since it is a mode which quite coincides with the -moralizing peculiar to Socrates. For the chief content is to know the -good as the absolute, and that particularly in relation to actions. -Socrates gives this point of view so high a place, that he both puts -aside the sciences which involve the contemplation of the universal in -nature, mind, &c., himself, and calls upon others to do the same.[123] -Thus it can be said that in content his philosophy had an altogether -practical aspect, and similarly the Socratic method, which is essential -to it, was distinguished by the system of first bringing a person to -reflection upon his duty by any occasion that might either happen -to be offered spontaneously, or that was brought about by Socrates. -By going to the work-places of tailors and shoemakers, and entering -into discourse with them, as also with youths and old men, Sophists, -statesmen, and citizens of all kinds, he in the first place took -their interests as his topic—whether these were household interests, -the education of children, or the interests of knowledge or of truth. -Then he led them on from a definite case to think of the universal, -and of truths and beauties which had absolute value, since in every -case, from the individual’s own thoughts, he derived the conviction -and consciousness of that which is the definite right. This method has -two prominent aspects, the one the development of the universal from -the concrete case, and the exhibition of the notion which implicitly -exists in every consciousness,[124] and the other is the resolution of -the firmly established, and, when taken immediately in consciousness, -universal determinations of the sensuous conception or of thought, and -the causing of confusion between these and what is concrete. - -_a._ If we proceed from the general account of Socrates’ method -to a nearer view, in the first place its effect is to inspire men -with distrust towards their presuppositions, after faith had become -wavering and they were driven to seek that which is, in themselves. -Now whether it was that he wished to bring the manner of the Sophists -into disrepute, or that he was desirous to awaken the desire for -knowledge and independent thought in the youths whom he attracted to -himself, he certainly began by adopting the ordinary conceptions which -they considered to be true. But in order to bring others to express -these, he represents himself as in ignorance of them, and, with a -seeming ingenuousness, puts questions to his audience as if they -were to instruct him, while he really wished to draw them out. This -is the celebrated Socratic irony, which in his case is a particular -mode of carrying on intercourse between one person and another, and -is thus only a subjective form of dialectic, for real dialectic deals -with the reasons for things. What he wished to effect was, that when -other people brought forward their principles, he, from each definite -proposition, should deduce as its consequence the direct opposite of -what the proposition stated, or else allow the opposite to be deduced -from their own inner consciousness without maintaining it directly -against their statements. Sometimes he also derived the opposite from -a concrete case. But as this opposite was a principle held by men as -firmly as the other, he then went on to show that they contradicted -themselves. Thus Socrates taught those with whom he associated to know -that they knew nothing; indeed, what is more, he himself said that -he knew nothing, and therefore taught nothing. It may actually be -said that Socrates knew nothing, for he did not reach the systematic -construction of a philosophy. He was conscious of this, and it was also -not at all his aim to establish a science. - -On the one view, this irony seems to be something untrue. But when we -deal with objects which have a universal interest, and speak about -them to one and to another, it is always the case that one does not -understand another’s conception of the object. For every individual has -certain ultimate words as to which he presupposes a common knowledge. -But if we really are to come to an understanding, we find it is these -presuppositions which have to be investigated. For instance, if in -more recent times belief and reason are discussed as the subjects of -present intellectual interest, everyone pretends that he knows quite -well what reason, &c., is, and it is considered ill-bred to ask for an -explanation of this, seeing that all are supposed to know about it. A -very celebrated divine, ten years ago,[125] published ninety theses -on reason, which contained very interesting questions, but resulted -in nothing, although they were much discussed, because one person’s -assertions issued from the point of view of faith, and the other’s -from that of reason, and each remained in this state of opposition, -without the one’s knowing what the other meant. Thus what would make -an understanding possible is just the explanation of what we think is -understood, without really being so. If faith and knowledge certainly -differ from one another at the first, yet through this declaration of -their notional determinations the common element will at once appear; -in that way questions like these and the trouble taken with them may, -for the first time, become fruitful; otherwise men may chatter this way -and that for years, without making any advance. For if I say I know -what reason, what belief is, these are only quite abstract ideas; it is -necessary, in order to become concrete, that they should be explained, -and that it should be understood that what they really are, is unknown. -The irony of Socrates has this great quality of showing how to make -abstract ideas concrete and effect their development, for on that alone -depends the bringing of the Notion into consciousness. - -In recent times much has been said about the Socratic irony which, -like all dialectic, gives force to what is taken immediately, but only -in order to allow the dissolution inherent in it to come to pass; -and we may call this the universal irony of the world. Yet men have -tried to make this irony of Socrates into something quite different, -for they extended it into a universal principle; it is said to be -the highest attitude of the mind, and has been represented as the -most divine. It was Friedrich von Schlegel who first brought forward -this idea, and Ast repeated it, saying, “The most ardent love of all -beauty in the Idea, as in life, inspires Socrates’ words with inward, -unfathomable life.” This life is now said to be irony! But this irony -issues from the Fichtian philosophy, and is an essential point in the -comprehension of the conceptions of most recent times. It is when -subjective consciousness maintains its independence of everything, -that it says, “It is I who through my educated thoughts can annul all -determinations of right, morality, good, &c., because I am clearly -master of them, and I know that if anything seems good to me I can -easily subvert it, because things are only true to me in so far as they -please me now.” This irony is thus only a trifling with everything, and -it can transform all things into show: to this subjectivity nothing -is any longer serious, for any seriousness which it has, immediately -becomes dissipated again in jokes, and all noble or divine truth -vanishes away or becomes mere triviality. But the Greek gaiety, as it -breathes in Homer’s poems, is ironical, for Eros mocks the power of -Zeus and of Mars; Vulcan, limping along, serves the gods with wine, and -brings upon himself the uncontrollable laughter of the immortal gods. -Juno boxes Diana’s ears. Thus, too, there is irony in the sacrifices -of the ancients, who themselves consumed the best; in the pain that -laughs, in the keenest joy which is moved to tears, in the scornful -laughter of Mephistopheles, and in every transition from one extreme -to another—from what is best to what is worst. Sunday morning may be -passed in deep humility, profoundest contrition and self-abasement, -in striking the breast in penitence, and the evening in eating and -drinking to the full, going the round of pleasures, thus allowing self -to re-assert its independence of any such subjection. Hypocrisy, which -is of the same nature, is the truest irony. Socrates and Plato were -falsely stated to be the originators of this irony, of which it is -said that it is the “inmost and deepest life,” although they possessed -the element of subjectivity; in our time it was not permitted to us -to give effect to this irony. Ast’s “inmost, deepest life” is just -the subjective and arbitrary will, the inward divinity which knows -itself to be exalted above all. The divine is said to be the purely -negative attitude, the perception of the vanity of everything, in which -my vanity alone remains. Making the consciousness of the nullity of -everything ultimate, might indeed indicate depth of life, but it only -is the depth of emptiness, as may be seen from the ancient comedies -of Aristophanes. From this irony of our times, the irony of Socrates -is far removed; as is also the case with Plato, it has a significance -which is limited. Socrates’ premeditated irony may be called a manner -of speech, a pleasant rallying; there is in it no satirical laughter or -pretence, as though the idea were nothing but a joke. But his tragic -irony is his opposition of subjective reflection to morality as it -exists, not a consciousness of the fact that he stands above it, but -the natural aim of leading men, through thought, to the true good and -to the universal Idea. - -_b._ Now the second element is what Socrates has called the art of -midwifery—an art which came to him from his mother.[126] It is the -assisting into the world of the thought which is already contained in -the consciousness of the individual—the showing from the concrete, -unreflected consciousness, the universality of the concrete, or -from the universally posited, the opposite which already is within -it. Socrates hence adopts a questioning attitude, and this kind of -questioning and answering has thus been called the Socratic method; -but in this method there is more than can be given in questions and -replies. For the answer seems occasionally to be quite different from -what was intended by the question, while in printed dialogue, answers -are altogether under the author’s control; but to say that in actual -life people are found to answer as they are here made to do, is quite -another thing. To Socrates those who reply may be called pliable -youths, because they reply directly to the questions, which are so -formed that they make the answer very easy, and exclude any originality -in reply. To this plastic manner, which we see in the method of -Socrates, as represented by Plato and Xenophon, it is objected that we -do not answer in the same relation in which the questioner asks; while, -with Socrates, the relation which the questioner adopts is respected -in the reply. The other way, which is to bring forward another point -of view, is undoubtedly the spirit of an animated conversation, but -such emulation is excluded from this Socratic method, in which the -principal matter is to keep to the point. The spirit of dogmatism, -self-assertion, stopping short when we seem to get into difficulties, -and escaping from them by a jest, or by setting them aside—all these -attitudes and methods are here excluded; they do not constitute good -manners, nor do they have a place in Socrates’ dialogues. In these -dialogues, it is hence not to be wondered at that those questioned -answered so precisely to the point, while in the best modern dialogues -there is always an arbitrary element. - -This difference concerns only what is external and formal. But the -principal point, and the reason why Socrates set to work with questions -in bringing the good and right into consciousness in universal form, -was that he did not proceed from what is present in our consciousness -in a simple form through setting forth the conception allied to it -in pure necessity, which would be a deduction, a proof or, speaking -generally, a consequence following from the conception. But this -concrete, as it is in natural consciousness without thinking of it, -or universality immersed in matter, he analyzed, so that through -the separation of the concrete, he brought the universal contained -therein to consciousness as universal. We see this method also carried -on to a large extent in Plato’s dialogues, where there is, in this -regard, particular skill displayed. It is the same method which -forms in every man his knowledge of the universal; an education in -self-consciousness, which is the development of reason. The child, the -uncultured man, lives in concrete individual ideas, but to the man who -grows and educates himself, because he thereby goes back into himself -as thinking, reflection becomes reflection on the universal and the -permanent establishment of the same; and a freedom—formerly that of -moving in concrete ideas—is now that of so doing in abstractions and -in thoughts. We see such a development of universal from particular, -where a number of examples are given, treated in a very tedious way. -For us who are trained in presenting to ourselves what is abstract, -who are taught from youth up in universal principles, the Socratic -method of so-called deference, with its eloquence, has often something -tiresome and tedious about it. The universal of the concrete case is -already present to us as universal, because our reflection is already -accustomed to the universal, and we do not require, first of all, to -take the trouble of making a separation; and thus, if Socrates were now -to bring what is abstract before consciousness, we should not require, -in order to establish it as universal, that all these examples should -be adduced, so that through repetition the subjective certainty of -abstraction might arise. - -_c._ The next result of this method of procedure may be that -consciousness is surprised that what it never looked for should be -found in consciousness. If we reflect, for example, on the universally -known idea of Becoming, we find that what becomes is not and yet it is; -it is the identity of Being and non-being, and it may surprise us that -in this simple conception so great a distinction should exist. - -The result attained was partly the altogether formal and negative one -of bringing home to those who conversed with Socrates, the conviction -that, however well acquainted with the subject they had thought -themselves, they now came to the conclusion, “that what we knew has -refuted itself.” Socrates thus put questions in the intent that the -speaker should be drawn on to make admissions, implying a point of -view opposed to that from which he started. That these contradictions -arise because they bring their ideas together, is the drift of the -greater part of Socrates’ dialogues; their main tendency consequently -was to show the bewilderment and confusion which exist in knowledge. -By this means, he tries to awaken shame, and the perception that what -we consider as true is not the truth, from which the necessity for -earnest effort after knowledge must result. Plato, amongst others, -gives these examples in his Meno (p. 71-80, Steph.; p. 327-346, Bekk.). -Socrates is made to say, “By the gods, tell me what is virtue.” Meno -proceeds to make various distinctions: “Man’s virtue is to be skilful -in managing state affairs, and thereby to help friends and harm foes; -woman’s to rule her household; other virtues are those of boys, of -young men, of old men,” &c. Socrates interrupts him by saying, that -it is not that about which he inquires, but virtue in general, which -comprehends every thing in itself. Meno says “It is to govern and rule -over others.” Socrates brings forward the fact that the virtue of boys -and slaves does not consist in governing. Meno says that he cannot tell -what is common in all virtue. Socrates replies that it is the same as -figure, which is what is common in roundness, squareness, &c. There a -digression occurs. Meno says, “Virtue is the power of securing the good -desired.” Socrates interposes that it is superfluous to say the good, -for from the time that men know that something is an evil, they do not -desire it; and also the good must be acquired in a right way. Socrates -thus confounds Meno, and he sees that these ideas are false. The latter -says, “I used to hear of you, before I knew you, that you were yourself -in doubt (_ἀπορεῖς_), and also brought others into doubt, and now you -cast a spell on me too, so that I am at my wits’ end (_ἀπορίας_). You -seem, if I may venture to jest, to be like the torpedo fish, for it -is said of it that it makes torpid (_ναρκᾷν_) those who come near it -and touch it. You have done this to me, for I am become torpid in body -and soul, and I do not know how to answer you, although I have talked -thousands of times about virtue with many persons, and, as it seemed -to me, talked very well. But now I do not know at all what to say. -Hence you do well not to travel amongst strangers, for you might be -put to death as a magician.” Socrates again wishes to “inquire.” Now -Meno says, “How can you inquire about what you say you do not know? -Can you have a desire for what you do not know? And if you find it out -by chance, how can you know that it is what you looked for, since you -acknowledge that, you do not know it?” A number of dialogues end in the -same manner, both in Xenophon and Plato, leaving us quite unsatisfied -as to the result. It is so in the Lysis, where Plato asks the question -of what love and friendship secures to men; and similarly the Republic -commences by inquiring what justice is. Philosophy must, generally -speaking, begin with a puzzle in order to bring about reflection; -everything must be doubted, all presuppositions given up, to reach the -truth as created through the Notion. - -2. _The Principle of the Good._ This, in short, is Socrates’ method. -The affirmative, what Socrates develops in the consciousness, -is nothing but the good in as far as it is brought forth from -consciousness through knowledge—it is the eternal, in and for itself -universal, what is called the Idea, the true, which just in so far -as it is end, is the Good. In this regard Socrates is opposed to the -Sophists, for the proposition that man is the measure of all things, to -them still comprehends particular ends, while to Socrates the universal -brought forth through free thought is thereby expressed in objective -fashion. Nevertheless, we must not blame the Sophists because, in the -aimlessness of their time, they did not discover the principle of the -Good; for every discovery has its time, and that of the Good, which as -end in itself is now always made the starting point, had not yet been -made by Socrates. It now seems as if we had not yet shown forth much -of the Socratic philosophy, for we have merely kept to the principle; -but the main point with Socrates is that his knowledge for the first -time reached this abstraction. The Good is nevertheless no longer -as abstract as the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras, but is the universal which -determines itself in itself, realizes itself, and has to be realized -as the end of the world and of the individual. It is a principle, -concrete within itself, which, however, is not yet manifested in its -development, and in this abstract attitude we find what is wanting in -the Socratic standpoint, of which nothing that is affirmative can, -beyond this, be adduced. - -_a._ As regards the Socratic principle, the first determination is -the great determination which is, however, still merely formal, -that consciousness creates and has to create out of itself what is -the true. This principle of subjective freedom was present to the -consciousness of Socrates himself so vividly that he despised the -other sciences as being empty learning and useless to mankind; he has -to concern himself with his moral nature only in order to do what is -best—a one-sidedness which is very characteristic of Socrates. This -religion of the Good is to Socrates, not only the essential point to -which men have to direct their thoughts, but it is that exclusively. -We see him showing how from every individual this universal, this -absolute in consciousness may be found as his reality. Here we see -law, the true and good, what was formerly present as an existent, -return into consciousness. But it is not a single chance manifestation -in this individual Socrates, for we have to comprehend Socrates and -his manifestation. In the universal consciousness, in the spirit of -the people to which he belongs, we see natural turn into reflective -morality, and he stands above as the consciousness of this change. -The spirit of the world here begins to change, a change which was -later on carried to its completion. From this higher standpoint, -Socrates, as well as the Athenian people and Socrates in them, have -to be considered. The reflection of consciousness into itself begins -here, the knowledge of the consciousness of self as such, that it is -real existence—or that God is a Spirit, or again, in a cruder and -more sensuous form, that God takes human form. This epoch begins -where essence is given up as Being—even though it be, as hitherto, -abstract Being, Being as thought. But this epoch in a naturally moral -people in the highest state of development, makes its appearance as -the destruction threatening them or breaking in upon them unprevented. -For its morality, as was usually so with the ancients, consisted in -the fact that the Good was present as a universal, without its having -had the form of the conviction of the individual in his individual -consciousness, but simply that of the immediate absolute. It is the -authoritative, present law, without testing investigation, but yet -an ultimate ground on which this moral consciousness rests. It is -the law of the State; it has authority as the law of the gods, and -thus it is universal destiny which has the form of an existent, and -is recognized as such by all. But moral consciousness asks if this -is actually law in itself? This consciousness turned back within -itself from everything that has the form of the existent, requires to -understand, to know, that the above law is posited in truth, _i.e._ -it demands that it should find itself therein as consciousness. In -thus returning into themselves the Athenian people are revealed to us: -uncertainty as to existent laws as existent has arisen, and a doubt -about what was held to be right, the greatest freedom respecting all -that is and was respected. This return into itself represents the -highest point reached by the mind of Greece, in so far as it becomes -no longer the mere existence of these moralities, but the living -consciousness of the same, which has a content which is similar, but -which, as spirit, moves freely in it. This is a culture which we never -find the Lacedæmonians reach. This deepest life of morality is so to -speak a free personal consciousness of morality or of God, and a happy -enjoyment of them. Consciousness and Being have here exactly the same -value and rank; what is, is consciousness; neither is powerful above -another. The authority of law is no oppressive bond to consciousness, -and all reality is likewise no obstacle to it, for it is secure in -itself. But this return is just on the point of abandoning the content, -and indeed of positing itself as abstract consciousness, without -the content, and, as existent, opposed to it. From this equilibrium -of consciousness and Being, consciousness takes up its position as -independent. This aspect of separation is an independent conception, -because consciousness, in the perception of its independence, no -longer immediately acknowledges what is put before it, but requires -that this should first justify itself to it, _i.e._ it must comprehend -itself therein. Thus this return is the isolation of the individual -from the universal, care for self at the cost of the State; to us, -for instance, it is the question as to whether I shall be in eternal -bliss or condemnation, whereas philosophic eternity is present now -in time, and is nothing other than the substantial man himself. The -State has lost its power, which consisted in the unbroken continuity -of the universal spirit, as formed of single individuals, so that the -individual consciousness knew no other content and reality than law. -Morals have become shaken, because we have the idea present that man -creates his maxims for himself. The fact that the individual comes to -care for his own morality, means that he becomes reflectively moral; -when public morality disappears, reflective morality is seen to have -arisen. We now see Socrates bringing forward the opinion, that in -these times every one has to look after his own morality, and thus -he looked after his through consciousness and reflection regarding -himself; for he sought the universal spirit which had disappeared from -reality, in his own consciousness. He also helped others to care for -their morality, for he awakened in them this consciousness of having -in their thoughts the good and true, _i.e._ having the potentiality -of action and of knowledge. This is no longer there immediately, but -must be provided, just as a ship must make provision of water when it -goes to places where none is to be found. The immediate has no further -authority but must justify itself to thought. Thus we comprehend the -special qualities of Socrates, and his method in Philosophy, from the -whole; and we also understand his fate from the same. - -This direction of consciousness back into itself takes the form—very -markedly in Plato—of asserting that man can learn nothing, virtue -included, and that not because the latter has no relation to science. -For the good does not come from without, Socrates shows; it cannot -be taught, but is implied in the nature of mind. That is to say, man -cannot passively receive anything that is given from without like the -wax that is moulded to a form, for everything is latent in the mind -of man, and he only seems to learn it. Certainly everything begins -from without, but this is only the beginning; the truth is that this -is only an impulse towards the development of spirit. All that has -value to men, the eternal, the self-existent, is contained in man -himself, and has to develop from himself. To learn here only means -to receive knowledge of what is externally determined. This external -comes indeed through experience, but the universal therein belongs to -thought, not to the subjective and bad, but to the objective and true. -The universal in the opposition of subjective and objective, is that -which is as subjective as it is objective; the subjective is only a -particular, the objective is similarly only a particular as regards -the subjective, but the universal is the unity of both. According to -the Socratic principle, nothing has any value to men to which the -spirit does not testify. Man in it is free, is at home with himself, -and that is the subjectivity of spirit. As it is said in the Bible, -“Flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone,” that which is held by me as -truth and right is spirit of my spirit. But what spirit derives from -itself must come from it as from the spirit which acts in a universal -manner, and not from its passions, likings, and arbitrary desires. -These, too, certainly come from something inward which is “implanted -in us by nature,” but which is only in a natural way our own, for it -belongs to the particular; high above it is true thought, the Notion, -the rational. Socrates opposed to the contingent and particular inward, -that universal, true inward of thought. And Socrates awakened this real -conscience, for he not only said that man is the measure of all things, -but man as thinking is the measure of all things. With Plato we shall, -later on, find it formulated that what man seems to receive he only -remembers. - -As to the question of what is the Good, Socrates recognized its -determination as being not only a determination in particularity to -the exclusion of the natural side, as determination is understood in -empirical science, but even in relation to the actions of men, he holds -the Good to be still undetermined, and the ultimate determinateness, or -the determining, is what we may call subjectivity generally. That the -Good should be determined, primarily signifies that while, at first, in -opposition to the Being of reality, it was a general maxim only, that -to which the activity of individuality was still wanting, in the second -place it was not permitted to be inert, to be mere thought, but had to -be present as the determining and actual, and thus as the effectual. It -is such only through subjectivity, through the activity of man. That -the Good is a determinate thus further means that individuals know what -the Good is, and we call this standpoint reflective morality, while -natural morality does right unconsciously. Thus to Socrates virtue is -perception. For to the proposition of the Platonic Protagoras that -all other virtues have a relationship to one another, but that it is -not so with valour, since many brave men are to be found who are the -most irreligious, unjust, intemperate and uncultured of people (such -as a band of robbers), Plato makes Socrates answer that valour, like -all virtues, also is a science, that is, it is the knowledge and the -right estimation of what is to be feared.[127] By this the distinctive -qualities of valour are certainly not unfolded. The naturally moral and -upright man is such without his having considered the matter at all; it -is his character, and what is good is securely rooted within him. When, -on the other hand, consciousness is concerned, the question arises as -to whether I directly desire the good or not. Hence this consciousness -of morality easily becomes dangerous, and causes the individual to -be puffed up by a good opinion of himself, which proceeds from the -consciousness of his own power to decide for the good. The ‘I’ is then -the master, he who chooses the Good, and in that there is the conceit -of my knowing that I am an excellent man. With Socrates this opposition -of the good and the subject as choosing is not reached, for what is -dealt with is only the determination of the Good and the connection -therewith of subjectivity; this last, as an individual person who can -choose, decides upon the inward universal. We have here on the one side -the knowledge of the Good, but, on the other, it is implied that the -subject is good, since this is his ordinary character; and the fact -that the subject is such, was by the ancients called virtue. - -We understand from this the following criticism which Aristotle makes -(Magna Mor. I. 1) on the quality of virtue as expounded by Socrates. -He says: “Socrates spoke better of virtue than did Pythagoras, but -not quite justly, for he made virtues into a science (_ἐπιστήμας_). -But this is impossible, since, though all knowledge has some basis -(_λόγος_) this basis only exists in thought. Consequently, he -places all the virtues in the thinking (_λογιστικῷ_) side of the -soul. Hence it comes to pass that he does away with the feeling -(_ἄλογον_) part of the soul, that is, the inclination (_πᾶθος_) and -the habits (_ἠθος_),” which, however, also pertain to virtue. “But -Plato rightly distinguished the thinking and the feeling sides of -the soul.” This is a good criticism. We see that what Aristotle -misses in the determination of virtue in Socrates, is the side of -subjective actuality, which we now call the heart. Certainly virtue is -determination in accordance with universal, and not with particular -ends, but perception is not the only element in virtue. For in order -that the good perceived should be virtue, it must come to pass that the -whole man, the heart and mind, should be identical with it, and this -aspect of Being or of realization generally, is what Aristotle calls -_τὸ ἄλογον_. If we understand the reality of the good as universal -morality, substantiality is wanting to the perception; but matter, -when we regard the inclination of the individual subjective will as -this reality. This double want may also be considered as a want of -content and of activity, in so far as to the universal development is -wanting; and in the latter case, determining activity comes before us -as negative only in reference to the universal. Socrates thus omits, -in characterizing virtue, just what we saw had also disappeared in -actuality, that is, first the real spirit of a people, and then reality -as the sympathies of the individual. For it is just when consciousness -is not yet turned back into itself, that the universal good appears -to the individual as the object of his sympathy. To us, on the other -hand, because we are accustomed to put on one side the good or virtue -as practical reason, the other side, which is opposed to a reflective -morality, is an equally abstract sensuousness, inclination, passion, -and hence the bad. But in order that the universal should be reality, -it must be worked out through consciousness as individual, and the -carrying into effect pertains to this individuality. A passion, -as for example, love, ambition, is the universal itself, as it is -self-realizing, not in perception, but in activity; and if we did not -fear being misunderstood, we should say that for the individual the -universal is his own interests. Yet this is not the place in which to -unravel all the false ideas and contradictions present in our culture. - -Aristotle (Eth. Nicom. VI. 13), supplementing the one-sidedness of -Socrates, further says of him: “Socrates in one respect worked on right -lines, but not in the other. For to call virtue scientific knowledge is -untrue, but to say that it is not without scientific basis is right. -Socrates made virtues into perceptions (_λόγους_), but we say that -virtue exists with perception.” This is a very true distinction; the -one side in virtue is that the universal of end belongs to thought. But -in virtue, as character, the other side, active individuality, real -soul, must necessarily come forth; and indeed with Socrates the latter -appears in a characteristic form of which we shall speak below (p. 421 -et seq.). - -_b._ If we consider the universal first, it has within it a positive -and a negative side, which we find both united in Xenophon’s -“Memorabilia,” a work which aims at justifying Socrates. And if we -inquire whether he or Plato depicts Socrates to us most faithfully -in his personality and doctrine, there is no question that in regard -to the personality and method, the externals of his teaching, we -may certainly receive from Plato a satisfactory, and perhaps a more -complete representation of what Socrates was. But in regard to the -content of his teaching and the point reached by him in the development -of thought, we have in the main to look to Xenophon. - -The fact that the reality of morality had become shaken in the mind -of the people, came to consciousness in Socrates; he stands so high -because he gave expression to what was present in the times. In this -consciousness he elevated morality into perception, but this action is -just the bringing to consciousness of the fact that it is the power of -the Notion which sublates the determinate existence and the immediate -value of moral laws and the sacredness of their implicitude. When -perception likewise positively acknowledges as law that which was -held to be law (for the positive subsists through having recourse to -laws), this acknowledgment of them always passes through the negative -mode, and no longer has the form of absolute being-in-itself: it is, -however, just as far from being a Platonic Republic. To the Notion -too, because to it the determinateness of laws in the form in which -they have value to unperceiving consciousness has dissolved, only the -purely implicit universal Good is the true. But since this is empty -and without reality, we demand, if we are not satisfied with a dull -monotonous round, that again a movement should be made towards the -extension of the determination of the universal. Now because Socrates -remains at the indeterminateness of the good, its determination -means for him simply the expression of the particular good. Then it -comes to pass that the universal results only from the negation of -the particular good; and since this last is just the existing laws -of Greek morality, we have here the doubtlessly right, but dangerous -element in perception, the showing in all that is particular only its -deficiencies. The inconsistency of making what is limited into an -absolute, certainly becomes unconsciously corrected in the moral man; -this improvement rests partly on the morality of the subject and partly -on the whole of the social life; and unfortunate extremes resulting in -conflict are unusual and unfrequent. But since the dialectic sublates -the particular, the abstract universal also becomes shaken. - -_α_. Now as regards the positive side, Xenophon tells us in the fourth -book of the Memorabilia (c. 2, § 40), how Socrates, once having -made the need for perception sensible to the youths, then actually -instructed them, and no longer wandered through mere subtleties in -his talk, but taught them the good in the clearest and most open way. -That is, he showed them the good and true in what is determined, going -back into it because he did not wish to remain in mere abstraction. -Xenophon gives an example of this (Memorab. IV. c. 4, §§ 12-16, 25) -in a dialogue with the Sophist Hippias. Socrates there asserts that -the just man is he who obeys the law, and that these laws are divine. -Xenophon makes Hippias reply by asking how Socrates could declare it to -be an absolute duty to obey the laws, for the people and the governors -themselves often condemn them by changing them, which is allowing that -they are not absolute. But Socrates answers by demanding if those who -conduct war do not again make peace, which is not, any more than in the -other case, to condemn war, for each was just in its turn. Socrates -thus says, in a word, that the best and happiest State is that in which -the citizens are of one mind and obedient to law. Now this is the one -side in which Socrates looks away from the contradiction and makes -laws and justice, as they are accepted by each individually, to be -the affirmative content. But if we here ask what these laws are, they -are, we find, just those which have a value at some one time, as they -happen to be present in the State and in the idea; at another time they -abrogate themselves as determined, and are not held to be absolute. - -_β_. We hence see this other negative side in the same connection -when Socrates brings Euthydemus into the conversation, for he asks -him whether he did not strive after the virtue without which neither -the private man nor the citizen could be useful to himself or to his -people or the State. Euthydemus declares that this undoubtedly is -so. But without justice, replies Socrates, this is not possible, and -he further asks whether Euthydemus had thus attained to justice in -himself. Euthydemus answers affirmatively, for he says that he thinks -he is no less just than any other man. Socrates now replies, “Just -as workmen can show their work, the just will be able to say what -their works are.” This he also agrees to, and replies that he could -easily do so. Socrates now proposes if this is so to write, “on the -one hand under _Δ_ the actions of the just, and on the other, under -_Α_, those of the unjust?” With the approbation of Euthydemus, lies, -deceit, robbery, making a slave of a free man, thus fall on the side of -the unjust. Now Socrates asks, “But if a general subdues the enemy’s -State, would this not be justice?” Euthydemus says “Yes.” Socrates -replies, “Likewise if he deceives and robs the enemy and makes slaves?” -Euthydemus has to admit the justice of this. It is thus shown “that -the same qualities come under the determination both of justice and of -injustice.” Here it strikes Euthydemus to add the qualification that -he intended that Socrates should understand the action to be only in -reference to friends; as regards them it is wrong. Socrates accepts -this, but proceeds, “If a general at the decisive moment of the battle -saw his own army in fear, and he deceived them by falsely saying that -help was coming in order to lead them on to victory, could it be -deemed right?” Euthydemus acknowledges that it could. Socrates says, -“If a father gives a sick child a medicine which it does not wish to -take, in its food, and makes it well through deceit, is this right?” -Euthydemus—“Yes.” Socrates—“Or is anyone wrong who takes arms from -his friend secretly or by force, when he sees him in despair, and in -the act of taking his own life?” Euthydemus has to admit that this is -not wrong.[128] Thus it is again shown here, that as regards friends -also, the same determinations have to hold good on both sides, as -justice as well as injustice. Here we see that abstention from lying, -deceit, and robbery, that which we naturally hold to be established, -contradicts itself by being put into connection with something -different, and something which holds equally good. This example further -explains how through thought, which would lay hold of the universal in -the form of the universal only, the particular becomes uncertain. - -_γ_. The positive, which Socrates sets in the place of what was -fixed and has now become vacillating, in order to give a content to -the universal, is, on the one hand, and in opposition to this last, -obedience to law (p. 416), that is, the mode of thought and idea which -is inconsistent; and, on the other hand, since such determinations -do not hold good for the Notion, it is perception, in which the -immediately posited has now, in the mediating negation, to justify -itself as a determination proceeding out of the constitution of the -whole. But it is both true that we do not find this perception present -in Socrates, for it remains in its content undetermined, and that -in reality it is a contingent, which is seen in the fact, that the -universal commands, such as “Thou shalt not kill,” are connected with -a particular content which is conditioned. Now whether the universal -maxim in this particular case has value or not, depends first on the -circumstances; and it is the perception which discovers the conditions -and circumstances whereby exceptions to this law of unconditioned -validity arise. However, because through this contingency in the -instances, the fixed nature of the universal principle disappears, -since it, too, appears as a particular only, the consciousness of -Socrates arrives at pure freedom in each particular content. This -freedom, which does not leave the content as it is in its dissipated -determination to the natural consciousness, but makes it to be -penetrated by the universal, is the real mind which, as unity of the -universal content and of freedom, is the veritable truth. Thus if we -here consider further what is the true in this consciousness, we pass -on to the mode in which the realization of the universal appeared to -Socrates himself. - -Even the uneducated mind does not follow the content of its -consciousness as this content appears in it; but, as mind, it corrects -that which is wrong in its consciousness, and is thus implicitly, -if not explicitly as consciousness, free. That is, though this -consciousness expresses the universal law, “Thou shalt not kill,” as a -duty, that consciousness—if no cowardly spirit dwells within it—will -still bravely attack and slay the enemy in war. Here, if it is asked -whether there is a command to kill one’s enemies, the reply would be -affirmative, as likewise when a hangman puts to death a criminal. But -when in private life we become involved with adversaries, this command -to kill one’s enemies will not occur to us. We may thus call this the -mind which thinks at the right time, first of the one, and then of -the other; it is spirit, but an unspiritual consciousness. The first -step towards reaching a spiritual consciousness is the negative one -of acquiring freedom for one’s consciousness. For since perception -attempts to prove individual laws, it proceeds from a determination to -which, as a universal basis, particular duty is submitted; but this -basis is itself not absolute, and falls under the same dialectic. -For example, were moderation commanded as a duty on the ground that -intemperance undermined the health, health is the ultimate which is -here considered as absolute; but it is at the same time not absolute, -for there are other duties which ordain that health, and even life -itself, should be risked and sacrificed. The so-called conflict of -duties is nothing but duty, which is expressed as absolute, showing -itself as not absolute; in the constant contradiction morals become -unsettled. For a consciousness which has become consistent, law, -because it has then been brought into contact with its opposite, has -been sublated. For the positive truth has not yet become known in -its determination. But to know the universal in its determination, -_i.e._ the limitation of the universal which comes to us as fixed -and not contingent, is only possible in connection with the whole -system of actuality. Thus if with Socrates the content has become -spiritualized, yet manifold independent grounds have merely taken the -place of manifold laws. For the perception is not yet expressed as the -real perception of these grounds over which it rules; but the truth -of consciousness simply is this very movement of pure perception. -The true ground is, however, spirit, and the spirit of the people—a -perception of the constitution of a people, and the connection of the -individual with this real universal spirit. Laws, morals, the actual -social life, thus have in themselves their own corrective against the -inconsistent, which consists of the expression of a definite content -as absolute. In ordinary life we merely forget this limitation of -universal principles, and these still hold their place with us; but -the other point of view is thus when the limitation comes before our -consciousness. - -When we have the perfect consciousness that in actual life fixed duties -and actions do not exist, for each concrete case is really a conflict -of many duties which separate themselves in the moral understanding, -but which mind treats as not absolute, comprehending them in the -unity of its judgment, we call this pure, deciding individuality, the -knowledge of what is right, or conscience, just as we call the pure -universal of consciousness not a particular but an all-comprehensive -one, duty. Now both sides here present, the universal law and the -deciding spirit which is in its abstraction the active individual, -are also necessary to the consciousness of Socrates as the content -and the power over this content. That is, because with Socrates the -particular law has become vacillating, there now comes in the place -of the universal single mind, which, with the Greeks, was unconscious -determination through unreflective morality, individual mind as -individuality deciding for itself. Thus with Socrates the deciding -spirit is transformed into the subjective consciousness of man, since -the power of deciding originates with himself; and the first question -now is, how this subjectivity appears in Socrates himself. Because -the person, the individual, now gives the decision, we come back to -Socrates as person, as subject, and what follows is a development -of his personal relations. But since the moral element is generally -placed in the personality of Socrates, we see the contingent nature -of the instruction and of the culture which was obtained through -Socrates’ character; for it was the actual basis on which men fortified -themselves in associating with Socrates, by actual communication with -him and by their manner of life. Thus it was true that “the intercourse -with his friends was, on the whole, beneficial and instructive to them, -but in many cases they became unfaithful to Socrates,”[129] because -not everyone attains to perception, and he who possesses it may remain -at the negative. The education of the citizens, life in the people, -is quite a fresh force in the individual, and does not mean that he -educates himself through arguments; hence, however truly educative the -intercourse with Socrates was, this contingency still entered into it. -We thus see as an unhappy symptom of disorder, how Socrates’ greatest -favourites, and those endowed with the most genial natures (such as -Alcibiades, that genius of levity, who played with the Athenian people, -and Critias, the most active of the Thirty) afterwards experienced the -fate of being judged in their own country, one as an enemy and traitor -to his fellows, and the other as an oppressor and tyrant of the State. -They lived according to the principle of subjective perception, and -thus cast a bad light on Socrates, for it is shown in this how the -Socratic principle in another form brought about the ruin of Greek -life.[130] - -_c._ The characteristic form in which this subjectivity—this implicit -and deciding certainty—appears in Socrates, has still to be mentioned. -That is, since everyone here has this personal mind which appears to -him to be his mind, we see how in connection with this, we have what -is known under the name of the Genius (_δαιμόνιον_) of Socrates; for -it implies that now man decides in accordance with his perception -and by himself. But in this Genius of Socrates—notorious as a much -discussed _bizarrerie_ of his imagination—we are neither to imagine -the existence of protective spirit, angel, and such-like, nor even of -conscience. For conscience is the idea of universal individuality, of -the mind certain of itself, which is at the same time universal truth. -But the Genius of Socrates is rather all the other and necessary sides -of his universality, that is, the individuality of mind which came to -consciousness in him equally with the former. His pure consciousness -stands over both sides. The deficiency in the universal, which -lies in its indeterminateness, is unsatisfactorily supplied in an -individual way, because Socrates’ judgment, as coming from himself, -was characterized by the form of an unconscious impulse. The Genius -of Socrates is not Socrates himself, not his opinions and conviction, -but an oracle which, however, is not external, but is subjective, -his oracle. It bore the form of a knowledge which was directly -associated with a condition of unconsciousness; it was a knowledge -which may also appear under other conditions as a magnetic state. It -may happen that at death, in illness and catalepsy, men know about -circumstances future or present, which, in the understood relations -of things, are altogether unknown. These are facts which are usually -rudely denied. That in Socrates we should discover what comes to pass -through reflection in the form of the unconscious, makes it appear to -be an exceptional matter, revealed to the individual only, and not as -being what it is in truth. Thereby it certainly receives the stamp -of imagination, but there is nothing more of what is visionary or -superstitious to be seen in it, for it is a necessary manifestation, -though Socrates did not recognize the necessity, this element being -only generally before his imagination. - -In connection with what follows, we must yet further consider the -relationship of the Genius to the earlier existent form of decision, -and that into which it led Socrates; regarding both Xenophon expresses -himself in his history most distinctly. Because the standpoint of the -Greek mind was natural morality, in which man did not yet determine -himself, and still less was what we call conscience present, since -laws were, in their fundamental principles, regarded as traditional, -these last now presented an appearance of being sanctioned by the gods. -We know that the Greeks undoubtedly had laws on which to form their -judgments, but on the other hand, both in private and public life, -immediate decisions had to be made. But in them the Greeks, with all -their freedom, did not decide from the subjective will. The general -or the people did not take upon themselves to decide as to what was -best in the State, nor did the individual do so in the family. For in -making these decisions, the Greeks took refuge in oracles, sacrificial -animals, soothsayers, or, like the Romans, asked counsel of birds -in flight. The general who had to fight a battle was guided in his -decision by the entrails of animals, as we often find in Xenophon’s -Anabasis. Pausanias tormented himself thus a whole day long before -he gave the command to fight.[131] This element, the fact that the -people had not the power of decision but were determined from without, -was a real factor in Greek consciousness; and oracles were everywhere -essential where man did not yet know himself inwardly as being -sufficiently free and independent to take upon himself to decide as we -do. This subjective freedom, which was not yet present with the Greeks, -is what we mean in the present day when we speak of freedom; in the -Platonic Republic we shall see more of it. Our responsibility for what -we do is a characteristic of modern times; we wish to decide according -to grounds of common sense, and consider this as ultimate. The Greeks -did not possess the knowledge of this infinitude. - -In the first book of Xenophon’s Memorabilia (chap. I, §§ 7-9), on the -occasion of the defence by Socrates of his _δαιμόνιον_, Socrates says -at the very beginning: “The gods have reserved to themselves what is -most important in knowledge. Architecture, agriculture, forging, are -human arts, as also government, the science of law, management of the -household and generalship. In all this man can attain to skill, but -for the other, divination is necessary. He who cultivates a field does -not know who will enjoy the fruit, nor does he who builds a house know -who will inhabit it; the general does not know whether the army should -be brought into the field; he who rules a State whether it is good for -him” (the individual) “or bad. Nor does he who marries a wife know -whether he will experience happiness or whether grief and sorrow will -not come through this to him; neither can he who has powerful relations -in the State, know whether, on account of these, he may not be banished -from the State. Because of this uncertainty, men have to take refuge in -divination.” Regarding it Xenophon expresses himself (ibid. §§ 3, 4) to -the effect that it manifests itself in different ways through oracles, -sacrifices, flight of birds, &c., but to Socrates this oracle is his -Genius. To hold the future, or what is foreseen by the somnambulist or -at death to be a higher kind of insight, is a perversion which easily -arises even in our ideas; but looked at more closely, we find in this -the particular interests of individuals merely, and the knowledge of -what is right and moral is something much higher. If anyone wishes -to marry or to build a house, &c., the result is important to the -individual only. The truly divine and universal is the institution of -agriculture, the state, marriage, &c.; compared to this it is a trivial -matter to know whether, when I go to sea, I shall perish or not. The -Genius of Socrates moreover reveals itself in him through nothing -other than the counsel given respecting these particular issues, such -as when and whether his friends ought to travel. To anything true, -existing in and for itself in art and science, he made no reference, -for this pertains to the universal mind, and these dæmonic revelations -are thus much more unimportant than those of his thinking mind. There -is certainly something universal in them, since a wise man can often -foresee whether anything is advisable or not. But what is truly divine -pertains to all, and though talents and genius are also personal -characteristics, they find their first truth in their works which are -universal. - -Now because with Socrates judgment from within first begins to break -free from the external oracle, it was requisite that this return into -itself should, in its first commencement, still appear in physiological -guise (_supra_, pp. 390, 391). The Genius of Socrates stands midway -between the externality of the oracle and the pure inwardness of the -mind; it is inward, but it is also presented as a personal genius, -separate from human will, and not yet as the wisdom and free will of -Socrates himself. The further investigation of this Genius consequently -presents to us a form which passes into somnambulism, into this double -of consciousness; and in Socrates there clearly appears to be something -of the kind, or something which is magnetic, for, as we already -mentioned (p. 390), he is said often to have fallen into trances and -catalepsy. In modern times we have seen this in the form of a rigid -eye, an inward knowledge, perception of this thing and that, of what -is gone, of what is best to do, &c.; but magnetism carries science -no further than this. The Genius of Socrates is thus to be taken as -an actual state, and is remarkable because it is not morbid but was -necessarily called up through a special condition of his consciousness. -For the turning point in the whole world-famed change of views -constituting the principle of Socrates, is that in place of the oracle, -the testimony of the mind of the individual has been brought forward -and that the subject has taken upon itself to decide. - -3. _The Fate of Socrates._ With this Genius of Socrates as one of the -chief points of his indictment, we now enter upon the subject of his -fate, which ends with his condemnation. We may find this fate out of -harmony with his professed business of instructing his fellow-citizens -in what is good, but taken in connection with what Socrates and his -people were, we shall recognize the necessity of it. The contemporaries -of Socrates, who came forward as his accusers before the Athenian -people, laid hold on him as the man who made known that what was held -as absolute was not absolute. Socrates, with this new principle, and as -one who was an Athenian citizen whose express business was this form -of instruction, came, through this his personality, into relationship -with the whole Athenian people; and this relationship was not merely -with a certain number or with a commanding number, but it was a living -relationship with the spirit of the Athenian people. The spirit of this -people in itself, its constitution, its whole life, rested, however, -on a moral ground, on religion, and could not exist without this -absolutely secure basis. Thus because Socrates makes the truth rest on -the judgment of inward consciousness, he enters upon a struggle with -the Athenian people as to what is right and true. His accusation was -therefore just, and we have to consider this accusation as also the end -of his career. The attacks which Socrates experienced are well known, -and were from two sources; Aristophanes attacked him in the “Clouds,” -and then he was formally accused before the people. - -Aristophanes regarded the Socratic philosophy from the negative side, -maintaining that through the cultivation of reflecting consciousness, -the idea of law had been shaken, and we cannot question the justice -of this conception. Aristophanes’ consciousness of the one-sidedness -of Socrates may be regarded as a prelude to his death; the Athenian -people likewise certainly recognized his negative methods in condemning -him. It is known that Aristophanes brought upon the stage along with -Socrates, not only such men as Aeschylus, and more specially Euripides, -but also the Athenians generally and their generals—the personified -Athenian people and the gods themselves—a freedom which we would not -dream of were it not historically authenticated. We have not here to -consider the real nature of the Comedy of Aristophanes, nor the wanton -way in which he was said to have treated Socrates. As to the first, it -should not startle us, nor do we require to justify Aristophanes or to -excuse him. The Comedy of Aristophanes is in itself as real a part of -the Athenian people, and Aristophanes is as essential a figure, as were -the sublime Pericles, the happy Alcibiades, the divine Sophocles, and -the moral Socrates, for he belongs as much as any other to this circle -of luminaries (Vol. I., p. 322). Thus much can alone be said, that it -certainly goes against our German seriousness to see how Aristophanes -brings on the boards men living in the State, by name, in order to make -a jest of them; and we feel this specially in regard to so upright a -man as Socrates. - -By chronological considerations, some have tried hard to refute the -fact that Aristophanes’ representations had no influence on the -condemnation of Socrates. It is seen that, on the one hand, Socrates -was treated quite unjustly; but then we must recognize the merit of -Aristophanes, who in his “Clouds” was perfectly right. This poet, who -exposed Socrates to scorn in the most laughable and bitter way, was -thus no ordinary joker and shallow wag who mocked what is highest and -best, and sacrificed all to wit with a view to making the Athenians -laugh. For everything has to him a much deeper basis, and in all his -jokes there lies a depth of seriousness. He did not wish merely to -mock; and moreover to mock what was worthy of honour would be perfectly -bald and flat. It is a pitiful wit which has no substance, and does not -rest on contradictions lying in the matter itself. But Aristophanes -was no bad jester. It is, generally speaking, not possible to joke -in an external way about what does not contain matter for joking or -irony in itself. For what really is comic is to show a man or a thing -as they disclose themselves in their extent; and if the thing is -not itself its contradiction, the comic element is superficial and -groundless. Hence, when Aristophanes makes merry over the Democracy, -there is a deep political earnestness at heart, and from all his works -it appears what a noble, excellent, true Athenian citizen he was. -We thus have a real patriot before us, who, though it involved the -punishment of death, did not fear in one of his works to counsel peace. -In him, as one who had a patriotism of the most enlightened kind, we -find the blissful self-satisfied enjoyment of a people giving free -rein to itself. There is, in what is humorous, a self-security which, -though with all seriousness it strives after some particular thing, -while the opposite of what it aims at always comes to pass, never has -for that reason any doubts nor any reflection about itself, since it -remains perfectly certain of itself and of what concerns it. We enjoy -in Aristophanes this side of the free Athenian spirit, this perfect -enjoyment of itself in loss, this untroubled certainty of itself in -all miscarriage of the result in real life, and this is the height of -humour. - -In the “Clouds” we do not indeed see this natural humour, but a -contradiction with definite intention. Aristophanes indeed depicts -Socrates humorously too, for he brings forth in his moral works the -opposite of that from which he starts, and his scholars derive delight -from the far-extending discoveries reached through him, which they -think are made by their own good luck, but which afterwards turn -hateful to them, and become the very opposite of what they intended. -The wonderful perception which the followers of Socrates are here -represented as having attained, is just a perception of the nullity of -the laws of the determinate good as it is to the natural consciousness. -Aristophanes made fun of the fact that Socrates occupied himself with -elementary researches as to how far fleas spring, and of his putting -wax on their feet in order to discover this. This is not historic, -but it is well known that Socrates had in his philosophy the side -which Aristophanes showed up with such acrimony. Shortly, the fable of -the “Clouds” is this: Strepsiades, an honourable Athenian citizen of -the old school, had great trouble with his new-fashioned extravagant -son, who, spoiled by mother and uncle, kept horses and led a life -out of keeping with his position. The father thus got into trouble -with his creditors, and went in distress to Socrates, and became -his disciple. There the old man learned that not this or that, but -another is the right, or rather he learned the stronger (_κρείττων_) -and weaker reasons (_ἕττων λόγος_). He learned the dialectic of laws, -and how, by reasoning, the payment of debts can be disregarded, and -he then required that his son should go to the School of Socrates; -and the latter likewise profited from his wisdom. But we find the -result ensuing from the universal which has now through the Socratic -dialectic become empty, in the private interest or the wrong spirit -of Strepsiades and his son, which spirit is merely the negative -consciousness of the content of laws. Equipped with this new wisdom of -reasons, and the discovery of reasons, Strepsiades is armed against the -chief evil that presses on him, as regards his threatening creditors. -These now come one after another to obtain payment. But Strepsiades -knows how to put them off with excellent reasons, and to argue them -away, for he pacifies them by all sorts of _titulos_, and shows them -that he does not need to pay them; indeed he even mocks them, and is -very glad that he learned all this from Socrates. But soon the scene -changes, and the whole affair alters. The son comes, behaves in a very -unseemly way to his father, and finally beats him. The father cries -to the supreme power, as if this were the last indignity, but the son -shows him, with equally good reasons, obtained by the method derived -by him from Socrates, that he had a perfect right to strike him. -Strepsiades ends the comedy with execrations on the Socratic dialectic, -with a return to his old ways, and with the burning of Socrates’ -house. The exaggeration which may be ascribed to Aristophanes, is that -he drove this dialectic to its bitter end, but it cannot be said that -injustice is done to Socrates by this representation. Indeed we must -admire the depth of Aristophanes in having recognized the dialectic -side in Socrates as being a negative, and—though after his own way—in -having presented it so forcibly. For the power of judging in Socrates’ -method is always placed in the subject, in conscience, but where this -is bad, the story of Strepsiades must repeat itself. - -With regard to the formal public accusation of Socrates, we must not, -like Tennemann (Vol. II., p. 39 seq.), say of Socrates’ treatment, -that “it is revolting to humanity that this excellent man had to -drink the cup of poison as a sacrifice to cabals—so numerous in -democracies. A man like Socrates, who had made right” (right is not -being discussed, but we may ask what right? The right of moral freedom) -“the sole standard of his action, and did not stray from the straight -path, must necessarily make many enemies” (Why? This is foolish; it -is a moral hypocrisy to pretend to be better than others who are -then called enemies) “who are accustomed to act from quite different -motives. When we think of the corruption, and of the rule of the thirty -tyrants, we must simply wonder that he could have worked on to his -sixtieth year unmolested. But since the Thirty did not venture to lay -hands on him themselves, it is the more to be wondered at that in the -reconstituted and just rule and freedom which followed the overthrow -of despotism”—in that very way the danger in which their principle -was, came to be known—“a man like Socrates could be made a sacrifice -to cabals. This phenomenon is probably explained by the fact that the -enemies of Socrates had first of all to gain time in order to obtain -a following, and that under the rule of the Thirty, they played too -insignificant a part,” and so on. - -Now, as regards the trial of Socrates, we have to distinguish two -points, the one the matter of the accusation, the judgment of the -court, and the other the relation of Socrates to the sovereign people. -In the course of justice there are thus these two parts—the relation -of the accused to the matter on account of which he is accused, and -his relation to the competency of the people, or the recognition of -their majesty. Socrates was found guilty by the judges in respect of -the content of his accusation, but was condemned to death because -he refused to recognize the competency and majesty of the people as -regards the accused. - -a. The accusation consisted of two points: “That Socrates did not -consider as gods those who were held to be such by the Athenian -people, but introduced new ones; and that he also led young men -astray.”[132] The leading away of youth was his casting doubt on what -was held to be immediate truth. The first accusation has in part the -same foundation, for he made it evident that what was usually so -considered, was not acceptable to the gods; and in part it is to be -taken in connection with his Dæmon, not that he called this his god. -But with the Greeks this was the direction which the individuality of -judgment took; they took it to be a contingency of the individual, -and hence, as contingency of circumstances is an external, they also -made the contingency of judgment into something external, _i.e._ they -consulted their oracles—conscious that the individual will is itself -a contingent. But Socrates, who placed the contingency of judgment -in himself, since he had his Dæmon in his own consciousness, thereby -abolished the external universal Dæmon from which the Greeks obtained -their judgments. This accusation, as also Socrates’ defence, we wish -now to examine further; Xenophon represents both to us, and Plato has -also supplied us with an Apology. Meanwhile we may not rest content -with saying that Socrates was an excellent man who suffered innocently, -&c. (p. 430), for in this accusation it was the popular mind of Athens -that rose against the principle which became fatal to him. - -_α_. As regards the first point of the accusation, that Socrates did -not honour the national gods, but introduced new ones, Xenophon[133] -makes him answer that he always brought the same sacrifices as others -to the public altars, as all his fellow-citizens could see—his -accusers likewise. But as to the charge that he introduced new Dæmons, -in that he heard the voice of God showing him what he should do, he -appealed to them whether by soothsayers the cry and flight of birds, -the utterances of men (like the voice of Pythia), the position of -the entrails of sacrificial animals, and even thunder and lightning -were not accepted as divine revelations. That God knows the future -beforehand, and, if He wishes, reveals it in these ways, all believe -with him; but God can also reveal the future otherwise. He could show -that he did not lie in maintaining that he heard the voice of God, -from the testimony of his friends, to whom he often announced what was -said; and in its results this was always found to be true. Xenophon -(Memorab. I. c. 1, § 11) adds, “No one ever saw or heard Socrates do -or say anything godless or impious, for he never tried to find out the -nature of the Universe, like most of the others, when they sought to -understand how what the Sophists called the world began.” That is, from -them came the earlier atheists, who, like Anaxagoras, held that the sun -was a stone.[134] - -The effect which the defence against this part of the accusation made -on the judges is expressed thus by Xenophon:[135] “One section of -them was displeased because they did not believe what Socrates said, -and the other part because they were envious that he was more highly -honoured of the gods than they.” This effect is very natural. In our -times this also happens in two ways. Either the individual is not -believed when he boasts of special manifestations, and particularly -of manifestations which have to do with individual action and life; -it is neither believed that such manifestations took place at all, or -that they happened to this subject. Or if anyone does have dealings -with such divinations, rightly enough his proceedings are put an end -to, and he is shut up. By this it is not denied in a general way -that God foreknows everything, or that He can make revelations to -individuals; this may be admitted _in abstracto_, but not in actuality, -and it is believed in no individual cases. Men do not believe that to -him, to this individual, there has been a revelation. For why to him -more than to others? And why just this trifle, some quite personal -circumstances—as to whether someone should have a successful journey, -or whether he should converse with another person, or whether or not he -should in a speech properly defend himself? And why not others amongst -the infinitely many things which may occur to the individual? Why not -much more important things, things concerning the welfare of whole -States? Hence it is not believed of an individual, in spite of the fact -that if it is possible, it must be to the individual that it happens. -This unbelief, which thus does not deny the general fact and general -possibility, but believes it in no particular case, really does not -believe in the actuality and truth of the thing. It does not believe -it because the absolute consciousness—and it must be such—certainly -knows nothing of a positive kind of trivialities such as form the -subject of these divinations and also those of Socrates; in spirit such -things immediately vanish away. The absolute consciousness does not -know about the future as such, any more than about the past; it knows -only about the present. But because in its present, in its thought, -the opposition of future and past to present becomes apparent, it -likewise knows about future and past, but of the past as something -which has taken shape. For the past is the preservation of the present -as reality, but the future is the opposite of this, the Becoming of -the present as possibility, and thus the formless. From out of this -formlessness the universal first comes into form in the present; and -hence in the future no form can be perceived. Men have the dim feeling -that when God acts it is not in a particular way, nor for particular -objects. Such things are held to be too paltry to be revealed by -God in a particular case. It is acknowledged that God determines -the individual, but by this the totality of individuality, or all -individualities, is understood; hence it is said that God’s way of -working is found in universal nature. - -Now while with the Greeks judgment had the form of a contingency -externally posited through the flight and cries of birds, in our -culture we decide by an inward contingency, because I myself desire to -be this contingency, and the knowledge of individuality is likewise -a consciousness of this contingency. But if the Greeks, for whom -the category of the contingency of consciousness was an existent, a -knowledge of it as an oracle, had this individuality as a universal -knowledge of which everyone could ask counsel, in Socrates—in whom -what was here externally established had become inward consciousness, -as with us, though not yet fully, being still represented as an actual -voice, and conceived of as something which he separated from his -individuality—the decision of the single individual had the form of -personality as a particular, and it was not a universal individuality. -This his judges could not in justice tolerate, whether they believed it -or not. With the Greeks such revelations had to have a certain nature -and method; there were, so to speak, official oracles (not subjective), -such as Pythia, a tree, etc. Hence when this appeared in any particular -person like a common citizen, it was considered incredible and wrong; -the Dæmon of Socrates was a medium of a different kind to any formerly -respected in the Greek Religion. It is so much the more noteworthy, -that nevertheless the oracle of the Delphian Apollo, Pythia, declared -Socrates to be the wisest Greek.[136] Socrates it was who carried -out the command of the God of knowledge, “Know Thyself,” and made -it the motto of the Greeks, calling it the law of the mind, and not -interpreting it as meaning a mere acquaintanceship with the particular -nature of man. Thus Socrates is the hero who established in the place -of the Delphic oracle, the principle that man must look within himself -to know what is Truth. Now seeing that Pythia herself pronounced that -utterance, we find in it a complete revolution in the Greek mind, and -the fact that in place of the oracle, the personal self-consciousness -of every thinking man has come into play. This inward certainty, -however, is undoubtedly another new god, and not the god of the -Athenians existing hitherto, and thus the accusation of Socrates was -quite just. - -_β_. If we now consider the second point of the accusation, that -Socrates led youth astray, we find that he first sets against it the -fact that the oracle of Delphi declared that none could be nobler, -juster or wiser than he.[137] And then he sets against this accusation -his whole manner of life, and asks whether by the example that he -gave, particularly to those with whom he went about, he ever led any -into evil.[138] The general accusation had to be further defined -and witnesses came forward. “Melitus said that he knew some whom he -advised to obey him rather than their parents,”[139] This point of the -accusation principally related to Anytus, and since he made it good by -sufficient testimony, the point was undoubtedly proved, in accordance -with law. Socrates explained himself further on this point when he -left the court. For Xenophon tells us (Apol. Socr. §§ 27, 29—31) that -Anytus was inimical to Socrates, because he said to Anytus, a respected -citizen, that he should not bring up his son to the trade of a tanner, -but in manner befitting a free man. Anytus was himself a tanner, and -although his business was mostly conducted by slaves, it was in itself -not ignominious, and Socrates’ expression was hence wrong, although, -as we have seen (p. 366), quite in the spirit of Greek thought. -Socrates added that he had made acquaintance with this son of Anytus -and discovered no evil in him, but he prophesied that he would not -remain at this servile work to which his father kept him. Nevertheless, -because he had no rational person near to look after him, he would come -to have evil desires and be brought into dissolute ways. Xenophon added -that Socrates’ prophecy had come to pass literally, and that the young -man gave himself up to drink, and drank day and night, becoming totally -depraved. This can be easily understood, for a man who feels himself to -be fit for something better (whether truly so or not) and through this -discord in his mind is discontented with the circumstances in which he -lives, yet capable of attaining to no other, is led out of this disgust -into listlessness, and is thus on the way to the evil courses which -so often ruin men. The prediction of Socrates is thus quite natural. -(_Supra_, p. 424.) - -To this definite accusation that he led sons into disobedience to -their parents, Socrates replied by asking the question whether in -selecting men for public offices, such as that of general, parents, -or those experienced in war, were selected. Similarly in all cases -those most skilful in an art or science are picked out. He demanded -whether it was not matter of astonishment that he should be brought -before a judge because he was preferred to parents by the sons in -their aspirations after the highest human good which is to be made -a noble man.[140] This reply of Socrates is, on the one hand, quite -just, but we see at the same time that we cannot call it exhaustive, -for the real point of the accusation is not touched. What his judges -found unjust was the intrusion morally of a third into the absolute -relation between parents and children. On the whole not much can be -said on this point, for all depends on the mode of intervention, and -if it is necessary in certain cases, it need not take place generally, -and least of all when some private individual takes that liberty. -Children must have the feeling of unity with their parents; this is -the first immediately moral relationship; every teacher must respect -it, keep it pure, and cultivate the sense of being thus connected. -Hence when a third person is called into this relation between parents -and children, what happens through the new element introduced, is -that the children are for their own good prevented from confiding in -their parents, and made to think that their parents are bad people -who harm them by their intercourse and training; and hence we find -this revolting. The worst thing which can happen to children in regard -to their morality and their mind, is that the bond which must ever -be held in reverence should become loosened or even severed, thereby -causing hatred, disdain, and ill-will. Whoever does this, does injury -to morality in its truest form. This unity, this confidence, is the -mother’s milk of morality on which man is nurtured; the early loss of -parents is therefore a great misfortune. The son, like the daughter, -must indeed come out of his natural unity with the family and become -independent, but the separation must be one which is natural or -unforced, and not defiant and disdainful. When a pain like this has -found a place in the heart, great strength of mind is required to -overcome it and to heal the wound. If we now speak of the example given -us by Socrates, he seems, through his intervention, to have made the -young man dissatisfied with his position. Anytus’ son might, indeed, -have found his work generally speaking uncongenial, but it is another -thing when such dislike is brought into consciousness and established -by the authority of a man such as Socrates. We may very well conjecture -that if Socrates had to do with him, he strengthened and developed in -him the germ of the feeling of incongruity. Socrates remarked on the -subject of his capacities, saying that he was fit for something better, -and thus established a feeling of dissatisfaction in the young man, and -strengthened his dislike to his father, which thus became the reason of -his ruin. Hence this accusation of having destroyed the relationship of -parents and children may be regarded as not unfounded, but as perfectly -well established. It was also thought very bad in Socrates’ case -particularly, and made a matter of reproach that he had such followers -as Critias and Alcibiades, who brought Athens almost to the brink of -ruin (_supra_, p. 421). For when he mixed himself in the education -which others gave their children, men were justified in the demand that -the result should not belie what he professed to do for the education -of youth. - -The only question now is, how the people came to take notice of -this, and in how far such matters can be objects of legislation and -be brought into court. In our law, as regards the first part of the -accusation, divination such as Cagliostro’s is illegal, and it would -be forbidden as it formerly was by the Inquisition. Respecting the -second point, such a moral interference is no doubt more recognized -with us, where there is a particular office having this duty laid -upon it; but this interference must keep itself general, and dare -not go so far as to call forth disobedience to parents, which is the -first immoral principle. But should such questions come before the -court? This first of all brings up the question of what is the right -of the State, and here great laxity is now allowed. Nevertheless, -when some professor or preacher attacks a particular religion, the -legislature would certainly take notice of it, and it would have a -complete right to do so, although there would be an outcry when it -did it. There is undoubtedly a limit which in liberty of thought and -speech is difficult to define and rests on tacit agreement; but there -is a point beyond which we find what is not allowed, such as direct -incitement to insurrection. It is indeed said, that “bad principles -destroy themselves by themselves and find no entrance.” But that is -only true in part, for with the populace the eloquence of sophistry -stirs up their passions. It is also said, “This is only theoretic, -no action follows.” But the State really rests on thought, and its -existence depends on the sentiments of men, for it is a spiritual and -not a physical kingdom. Hence it has in so far maxims and principles -which constitute its support, and if these are attacked, the Government -must intervene. Added to this, it was the case that in Athens quite -a different state of things was present than with us; in order to be -able to judge rightly of Socrates’ case we must first consider the -Athenian State and its customs. According to Athenian laws, _i.e._ -according to the spirit of the absolute State, both these things done -by Socrates were destructive of this spirit, while in our constitution -the universal of the states is a stronger universal, which last -undoubtedly permits of individuals having freer play, since they cannot -be so dangerous to this universal. Hence it would undoubtedly in the -first place mean the subversion of the Athenian State, if this public -religion on which everything was built and without which the State -could not subsist, went to pieces; with us the State may be called an -absolute and independent power. The Dæmon is now, in fact, a deity -differing from any known, and because it stood in contradiction to the -public religion, it gave to it a subjective arbitrariness. But since -established religion was identified with public life so closely that it -constituted a part of public law, the introduction of a new god who -formed self-consciousness into a principle and occasioned disobedience, -was necessarily a crime. We may dispute with the Athenians about this, -but we must allow that they are consistent. In the second place, the -moral connection between parents and children is stronger, and much -more the moral foundation of life with the Athenians than with us, -where subjective freedom reigns; for family piety is the substantial -key-note of the Athenian State. Socrates thus attacked and destroyed -Athenian life in two fundamental points; the Athenians felt and became -conscious of it. Is it then to be wondered at that Socrates was found -guilty? We might say that it had to be so. Tennemann (Vol. II., p. -41) says: “Though these charges contained the most palpable untruths, -Socrates was condemned to death because his mind was too lofty for -him to descend to the common unworthy means, by which the judgment of -the court was usually perverted.” But all this is false; he was found -guilty of these deeds, but not for that reason condemned to death. - -_b._ We here come to the second occurrence in his history. In -accordance with Athenian laws, the accused had, after the Heliasts -(resembling the English jury) pronounced him guilty, the liberty of -suggesting (_ἀντιτιμᾶσθαι_) a penalty different from the punishment -which the accuser proposed; this implied a mitigation of the punishment -without a formal appeal—an excellent provision in Athenian law, -testifying to its humanity. In this penalty the punishment in itself is -not brought into question, but only the kind of punishment; the judges -had decided that Socrates deserved punishment. But when it was left -to the accused to determine what his punishment should be, it might -not be arbitrary, but must be in conformity with the crime, a money -or bodily punishment (_ὄ, τι χρὴ παθεῖν ἢ ἀποτῖθαι_).[141] But it was -implied in the guilty persons constituting himself his own judge, that -he submitted himself to the decision of the court and acknowledged -himself to be guilty. Now Socrates declined to assign a punishment for -himself consisting either of fine or banishment, and he had the choice -between these and death, which his accusers proposed. He declined -to choose the former punishment because he, according to Xenophon’s -account (Apol. Socr. § 23), in the formality of the exchange-penalty -(_τὸ ὐποτιμᾶσθαι_), as he said, would acknowledge guilt; but there was -no longer any question as to the guilt, but only as to the kind of -punishment. - -This silence may indeed be considered as moral greatness, but, on the -other hand, it contradicts in some measure what Socrates says later on -in prison, that he did not wish to flee, but remained there, because -it seemed better to the Athenians and better to him to submit to the -laws (Vol. I., p. 342). But the first submission would have meant that -as the Athenians had found him guilty, he respected this decision, and -acknowledged himself as guilty. Consistently he would thus have held -it better to impose his punishment, since thereby he would not only -have submitted himself to the laws, but also to the judgment. We see in -Sophocles (Antig. verses 925, 926), the heavenly Antigone, that noblest -of figures that ever appeared on earth, going to her death, her last -words merely stating— - - “If this seems good unto the gods, - Suffering, we may be made to know our error.” - -Pericles also submitted himself to the judgment of the people as -sovereign; we saw him (Vol. I., p. 328) going round the citizens -entreating for Aspasia and Anaxagoras. In the Roman Republic we -likewise find the noblest men begging of the citizens. There is nothing -dishonouring to the individual in this, for he must bend before the -general power, and the real and noblest power is the people. This -acknowledgment the people must have direct from those who raise -themselves amongst them. Here, on the contrary, Socrates disclaims the -submission to, and humiliation before the power of the people, for he -did not wish to ask for the remission of his punishment. We admire in -him a moral independence which, conscious of its own right, insists -upon it and does not bend either to act otherwise, or to recognize as -wrong what it itself regards as right. Socrates hence exposed himself -to death, which could not be regarded as the punishment for the fault -of which he was found guilty; for the fact that he would not himself -determine the punishment, and thus disdained the juridical power of -the people, was foremost in leading to his condemnation. In a general -way he certainly recognized the sovereignty of the people, but not in -this individual case; it has, however, to be recognized, not only in -general, but in each separate case. With us the competency of the court -is presupposed, and the criminal judged without further ado; to-day -the whole matter is also open to the light of day and accepted as an -acknowledged fact. But with the Athenians we find the characteristic -request that the prisoner should, through the act of imposing on -himself a penalty, sanction the judge’s sentence of guilt. In England -this is certainly not the case, but there still remains a like form of -asking the accused by what law he wishes to be judged. He then answers, -by the law of the land and by the judges of his country. Here we have -the recognition of legal operations. - -Socrates thus set his conscience in opposition to the judges’ sentence, -and acquitted himself before its tribunal. But no people, and least -of all a free people like the Athenians, has by this freedom to -recognize a tribunal of conscience which knows no consciousness of -having fulfilled its duty excepting its own consciousness. To this -government and law, the universal spirit of the people, may reply: “If -you have the consciousness of having done your duty, we must also have -the consciousness that you have so done.” For the first principle of -a State is that there is no reason or conscience or righteousness or -anything else, higher than what the State recognizes as such. Quakers, -Anabaptists, &c., who resist any demands made on them by the State, -such as to defend the Fatherland, cannot be tolerated in a true State. -This miserable freedom of thinking and believing what men will, is not -permitted, nor any such retreat behind personal consciousness of duty. -If this consciousness is no mere hypocrisy, in order that what the -individual does should be recognized as duty, it must be recognized as -such by all. If the people can make mistakes the individual may do so -much more easily, and he must be conscious that he can do this much -more easily than the people. Now law also has a conscience and has to -speak through it; the law-court is the privileged conscience. Now if -the miscarriage of justice in a trial is shown by every conscience -clamouring for something different, the conscience of the court alone -possesses any value as being the universal legalized conscience, which -does not require to recognize the particular conscience of the accused. -Men are too easily convinced of having fulfilled their duty, but the -judge finds out whether duty is in fact fulfilled, even if men have the -consciousness of its being so. - -We should expect nothing else of Socrates than that he should go to -meet his death in the most calm and manly fashion. Plato’s account -of the wonderful scene his last hours presented, although containing -nothing very special, forms an elevating picture, and will be to us a -permanent representation of a noble deed. The last dialogue of Plato -is popular philosophy, for the immortality of the soul is here first -brought forward; yet it brings no consolation, for, as Homer makes -Achilles say in the nether world, he would prefer to be a ploughboy on -the earth. - -But though the people of Athens asserted through the execution of this -judgment the rights of their law as against the attacks of Socrates, -and had punished the injury caused to their moral life by Socrates, -Socrates was still the hero who possessed for himself the absolute -right of the mind, certain of itself and of the inwardly deciding -consciousness, and thus expressed the higher principle of mind with -consciousness. Now because, as has been said, this new principle by -effecting an entrance into the Greek world, has come into collision -with the substantial spirit and the existing sentiments of the Athenian -people, a reaction had to take place, for the principle of the Greek -world could not yet bear the principle of subjective reflection. The -Athenian people were thus, not only justified, but also bound to react -against it according to their law, for they regarded this principle as -a crime. In general history we find that this is the position of the -heroes through whom a new world commences, and whose principle stands -in contradiction to what has gone before and disintegrates it: they -appear to be violently destroying the laws. Hence individually they -are vanquished, but it is only the individual, and not the principle, -which is negated in punishment, and the spirit of the Athenian people -did not in the removal of the individual, recover its old position. -The false form of individuality is taken away, and that, indeed, in a -violent way, by punishment; but the principle itself will penetrate -later, if in another form, and elevate itself into a form of the -world-spirit. This universal mode in which the principle comes forth -and permeates the present is the true one; what was wrong was the fact -that the principle came forth only as the peculiar possession of one -individual. His own world could not comprehend Socrates, but posterity -can, in as far as it stands above both. It may be conceived that the -life of Socrates had no need to have such an end, for Socrates might -have lived and died a private philosopher, and his teaching might have -been quietly accepted by his disciples, and have spread further still -without receiving any notice from State or people; the accusation thus -would seem to have been contingent. But it must be said that it was -through the manner of that event that this principle became so highly -honoured. The principle is not merely something new and peculiar to -itself, but it is an absolutely essential moment in the self-developing -consciousness of self which is designed to bring to pass as a totality, -a new and higher actuality. The Athenians perceived correctly that this -principle not only meant opinion and doctrine, for its true attitude -was that of a direct and even hostile and destructive relation to -the actuality of the Greek mind; and they proceeded in accordance -with this perception. Hence, what follows in Socrates’ life is not -contingent, but necessarily follows upon his principle. Or the honour -of having recognized that relation, and indeed of having felt that they -themselves were tinged with this principle, is due to the Athenians. - -_c._ The Athenians likewise repented of their condemnation of Socrates, -and punished some of his accusers with death itself, and others -with banishment; for according to Athenian laws, the man who made -an accusation, and whose accusation was found to be false, usually -underwent the same punishment that otherwise the criminal would -have borne. This is the last act in this drama. On the one hand the -Athenians recognized through their repentance the individual greatness -of the man; but on the other (and this we find by looking closer) -they also recognized that this principle in Socrates, signifying -the introduction of new gods and disrespect to parents, has—while -destructive and hostile to it—been introduced even into their own -spirit, and that they themselves are in the dilemma of having in -Socrates only condemned their own principle. In that they regretted -the just judgment of Socrates, it seems to be implied that they wished -that it had not occurred. But from the regret it does not follow -that in itself it should not have occurred, but only that it should -not have happened for their consciousness. Both together constitute -the innocence which is guilty and atones for its guilt; it would -only be senseless and despicable if there were no guilt. An innocent -person who comes off badly is a simpleton; hence it is a very flat and -uninteresting matter when tyrants and innocent persons are represented -in tragedies, just because this is an empty contingency. A great man -would be guilty and overcome the great crisis that ensues; Christ thus -gave up his individuality, but what was brought forth by him remained. - -The fate of Socrates is hence really tragic, not in the superficial -sense of the word and as every misfortune is called tragic. The death -of an estimable individual must, in such a sense, be specially tragic, -and thus it is said of Socrates, that because he was innocent and -condemned to death, his fate was tragic. But such innocent suffering -would only be sad and not tragic, for it would not be a rational -misfortune. Misfortune is only rational when it is brought about by the -will of the subject, who must be absolutely justified and moral in what -he does, like the power against which he wars—which must therefore not -be a merely natural power, or the power of a tyrannic will. For it is -only in such a case that man himself has any part in his misfortune, -while natural death is only an absolute right which nature exercises -over men. Hence, in what is truly tragic there must be valid moral -powers on both the sides which come into collision; this was so with -Socrates. His is likewise not merely a personal, individually romantic -lot; for we have in it the universally moral and tragic fate, the -tragedy of Athens, the tragedy of Greece. Two opposed rights come into -collision, and the one destroys the other. Thus both suffer loss and -yet both are mutually justified; it is not as though the one alone -were right and the other wrong. The one power is the divine right, -the natural morality whose laws are identical with the will which -dwells therein as in its own essence, freely and nobly; we may call it -abstractly objective freedom. The other principle, on the contrary, -is the right, as really divine, of consciousness or of subjective -freedom; this is the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and -evil, _i.e._ of self-creative reason; and it is the universal principle -of Philosophy for all successive times. It is these two principles -which we see coming into opposition in the life and the philosophy of -Socrates. - -The Athenian people had come into a period of culture, in which this -individual consciousness made itself independent of the universal -spirit and became for itself. This was perceived by them in Socrates, -but at the same time it was felt that it meant ruin, and thus they -punished an element which was their own. The principle of Socrates is -hence not the transgression of one individual, for all were implicated; -the crime was one that the spirit of the people committed against -itself. Through this perception the condemnation of Socrates was -retracted; Socrates appeared to have committed no crime, for the spirit -of the people has now generally reached the consciousness which turns -back from the universal into itself. This meant the disintegration -of this people, whose mind and spirit consequently soon disappeared -from the world, but yet out of its ashes a higher took its rise, -for the world-spirit had raised itself into a higher consciousness. -The Athenian State, indeed, endured for long, but the bloom of its -character soon faded. It is characteristic of Socrates that he -grasped the principle of the inwardness of knowledge, not practically -merely, as did Critias and Alcibiades (_supra_, pp. 421, 438), but in -thought, making it valid to thought, and this is the higher method. -Knowledge brought about the Fall, but it also contains the principle -of Redemption. Thus what to others was only ruin, to Socrates, because -it was the principle of knowledge, was also a principle of healing. -The development of this principle, which constitutes the content -of all successive history, is explicitly the reason that the later -philosophers withdrew from the affairs of the State, restricted -themselves to cultivating an inner world, separated from themselves -the universal aim of the moral culture of the people, and took up a -position contrary to the spirit of Athens and the Athenians. From this -it came to pass that particularity of ends and interests now became -powerful in Athens. This has, in common with the Socratic principle, -the fact that what seems right and duty, good and useful to the -subject in relation to himself as well as to the State, depends on his -inward determination and choice, and not on the constitution and the -universal. This principle of self-determination for the individual has, -however, become the ruin of the Athenian people, because it was not yet -identified with the constitution of the people; and thus the higher -principle must in every case appear to bring ruin with it where it is -not yet identified with the substantial of the people. The Athenian -life became weak, and the State outwardly powerless, because its -spirit was divided within itself. Hence it was dependent on Lacedæmon, -and we finally see the external subordination of these States to the -Macedonians. - -We are done with Socrates. I have been more detailed here because all -the features of the case have been so completely in harmony, and he -constitutes a great historic turning point. Socrates died at sixty-nine -years of age, in Olympiad 95, 1 (399-400 B.C.), an Olympiad after the -end of the Peloponnesian war, twenty-nine years after the death of -Pericles, and forty-four years before the birth of Alexander. He saw -Athens in its greatness and the beginning of its fall; he experienced -the height of its bloom and the beginning of its misfortunes. - - -C. THE SOCRATICS. - -The result of the death of Socrates was, that the little company of -his friends went off from Athens to Megara, where Plato also came. -Euclides had settled there and received them gladly.[142] When -Socrates’ condemnation was retracted and his accusers punished, -certain of the Socratics returned, and all was again brought into -equilibrium. The work of Socrates was far-reaching and effectual in the -kingdom of Thought, and the stimulation of a great amount of interest -is always the principal service of a teacher. Subjectively, Socrates -had the formal effect of bringing about a discord in the individual; -the content was subsequently left to the free-will and liking of each -person, because the principle was subjective consciousness and not -objective thought. Socrates himself only came so far as to express -for consciousness generally the simple existence of one’s own thought -as the Good, but as to whether the particular conceptions of the Good -really properly defined that of which they were intended to express the -essence, he did not inquire. But because Socrates made the Good the -end of the living man, he made the whole world of idea, or objective -existence in general, rest by itself, without seeking to find a -passage from the Good, the real essence of what is known as such, to -the thing, and recognizing real essence as the essence of things. For -when all present speculative philosophy expresses the universal as -essence, this, as it first appears, has the semblance of being a single -determination, beside which there are a number of others. It is the -complete movement of knowledge that first removes this semblance, and -the system of the universe then shows forth its essence as Notion, as a -connected whole. - -The most varied schools and principles proceeded from this doctrine of -Socrates, and this was made a reproach against him, but it was really -due to the indefiniteness and abstraction of his principle. And in -this way it is only particular forms of this principle which can at -first be recognized in philosophic systems which we call Socratic. -Under the name of Socratic, I understand, however, those schools -and methods which remained closer to Socrates and in which we find -nothing but the one-sided understanding of Socratic culture. One part -of these kept quite faithfully to the direct methods of Socrates, -without going any further. A number of his friends are mentioned as -being of this description, and these, inasmuch as they were authors, -contented themselves with correctly transcribing dialogues after his -manner, which were partly those he actually had held with them, and -partly those they had heard from others; or else with working out -similar dialogues in his method. But for the rest they abstained from -speculative research, and by directing their attention to what was -practical, adhered firmly and faithfully to the fulfilment of the -duties of their position and circumstances, thereby maintaining calm -and satisfaction. Xenophon is the most celebrated of those mentioned, -but besides him a number of other Socratics wrote dialogues. Æschines, -some of whose dialogues have come down to us, Phædo, Antisthenes and -others are mentioned, and amongst them a shoemaker, Simon, “with whom -Socrates often spoke at his workshop, and who afterwards carefully -wrote out what Socrates said to him.” The title of his dialogues, as -also those of the others which are left to us, are to be found in -Diogenes Laërtius (II. 122, 123; 60, 61; 105; VI. 15-18); they have, -however, only a literary interest, and hence I will pass them by. - -But another section of the Socratics went further than Socrates, -inasmuch as they, starting from him, laid hold of and matured one of -the particular aspects of his philosophy and of the standpoint to -which philosophic knowledge was brought through him. This standpoint -maintained the absolute character of self-consciousness within itself, -and the relation of its self-existent universality to the individual. -In Socrates, and from him onward, we thus see knowledge commencing, the -world raising itself into the region of conscious thought, and this -becoming the object. We no longer hear question and answer as to what -Nature is, but as to what Truth is; or real essence has determined -itself not to be the implicit, but to be what it is in knowledge. We -hence have the question of the relationship of self-conscious thought -to real essence coming to the front as what concerns us most. The true -and essence are not the same; the true is essence as thought, but -essence is the simply implicit. This simple is, indeed, thought, and is -in thought, but when it is said that essence is pure Being or Becoming, -as the being-for-self of the atomists, and then that the Notion is -thought generally (the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras), or finally measure, this -is asserted directly, and in an objective manner. Or it is the simple -unity of the objective and of thought; it is not purely objective—for -Being cannot be seen, heard, &c.; nor is it pure thought in opposition -to the existent—for this is the explicitly existent self-consciousness -which separates itself from essence. It is finally not the unity -going back into itself from the difference in the two sides, which is -understanding and knowledge. In these self-consciousness on the one -hand presents itself as being-for-self, and on the other, as Being; -it is conscious of this difference, and from this difference turns -back into the unity of both. This unity, the result, is the known, the -true. One element in the true is the certainty of itself; this moment -has attained to reality—in consciousness and for consciousness. It is -through this movement and the investigation of the subject, that the -succeeding period of Philosophy is distinguished, because it does not -contemplate essence as left to itself, and as purely objective, but as -in unity with the certainty of itself. It is not to be understood by -this that such knowledge had itself been made into essence, so that it -is held to be the content and definition of absolute essence, or that -essence had been determined for the consciousness of these philosophers -as the unity of Being and Thought, _i.e._ as if they had thought of it -thus; but they could merely no longer speak of essence and actuality -without this element of self-certainty. And this period is hence, so to -speak, the middle period, which is really the movement of knowledge, -and considers knowledge as the science of essence, which first brings -about that unity. - -From what has been said, it can now be seen what philosophic systems -can come before us. That is to say, because in this period the relation -of Thought to Being, or of the universal to the individual, is made -explicit, we see, on the one hand, as the object of Philosophy, the -contradiction of consciousness coming to consciousness—a contradiction -as to which the ordinary modes of thought have no knowledge, for they -are in a state of confusion, seeing that they go on unthinkingly. On -the other hand we have Philosophy as perceiving knowledge itself, -which, however, does not get beyond its Notion, and which, because it -is the unfolding of a more extensive knowledge of a content, cannot -give itself this content, but can only think it, _i.e._ determine it -in a simple manner. Of those Socratics who hold a place of their own, -there are, according to this, three schools worthy of consideration; -first the Megaric School, at whose head stands Euclid of Megara, and -then the Cyrenaic and Cynic Schools; and from the fact that they -all three differ very much from one another, it is clearly shown -that Socrates himself was devoid of any positive system. With these -Socratics the determination of the subject for which the absolute -principle of the true and good likewise appears as end, came into -prominence; this end demands reflection and general mental cultivation, -and also requires that men should be able to tell what the good and -true really are. But though these Socratic schools as a whole rest at -saying that the subject itself is end, and reaches its subjective end -through the cultivation of its knowledge, the form of determination in -them is still the universal, and it is also so that it does not remain -abstract, for the development of the determinations of the universal -gives real knowledge. The Megarics were most abstract, because they -held to the determination of the good which, as simple, was to them -the principle; the unmoved and self-related simplicity of thought -becomes the principle of consciousness as individual, as it is of -conscious knowledge. The Megaric school associated with the assertion -of the simplicity of the good, the dialectic, that all that was defined -and limited is not true. But because with the Megarics the principal -point was to know the universal, and this universal was to them the -Absolute which had to be retained in this form of the universal, this -thought, as Notion which holds a negative position in relation to all -determinateness and thus to that of Notion also, was equally turned -against knowledge and perception. - -The Cyrenaics take knowledge in its subjective signification, and -as signifying individuality as certainty of self, or feeling; to -this as to that which is essential, they restrict the exercise -of consciousness, and, generally speaking, make existence for -consciousness consist therein. Now because they thereby sought to -define the Good more closely, they called it simply pleasure or -enjoyment, by which, however, anything can be understood. This -principle of the Cyrenaic school would seem to have been far removed -from that of Socrates, since we at once think of the transient -existence of feeling as directly in opposition to the Good; this, -however, is not the case. The Cyrenaics likewise upheld the universal, -for, if it is asked what the Good is, we find they certainly made -pleasurable feeling, which presents the appearance of a determinate, -to be its content, but seeing that a cultured mind is also requisite, -enjoyment, as it is obtained through thought, is here indicated. - -The Cynics also further defined the principle of the Good, but in -another way from the Cyrenaics; its content, they said, lay in man’s -keeping to what is in conformity with nature and to the simple needs of -nature. They similarly call all that is particular and limited in the -aims of men that which is not to be desired. To the Cynics, too, mental -culture through the knowledge of the universal is the principle; -but through this knowledge of the universal the individual end must -be attained, and this is, that the individual should keep himself in -abstract universality, in freedom and independence, and be indifferent -to all he formerly esteemed. Thus we see pure thought recognized in its -movement with the individual, and the manifold transformations of the -universal coming to consciousness. These three schools are not to be -treated at length. The principle of the Cyrenaics became later on more -scientifically worked out in Epicureanism, as that of the Cynics did in -Stoicism. - - -1. THE MEGARICS. - -Because Euclides (who is regarded as the founder of the Megaric way -of thinking) and his school held to the forms of universality, and, -above all, sought, and with success, to show forth the contradictions -contained in all particular conceptions, they were reproached with -having a rage for disputation, and hence the name of Eristics was -given them. The instrument for bringing all that is particular into -confusion and annulling this particular, was supplied by dialectic, -which, indeed, was brought by them to very great perfection, but, as -was privately stated, they did it in a kind of anger, so that others -said that they should not be called a School (_σχολή_) but a gall -(χολή).[143] With a dialectic thus constituted, we find them taking -the place of the Eleatic School and of the Sophists; and it seems as -though the Eleatic School had merely been reproduced,[144] since they -were essentially identical with it. But this was only partly true—in -that the Eleatic dialecticians maintained Being as the one existence -in relation to which nothing particular is a truth, and the Megarics -considered Being as the Good. The Sophists, on the other hand, did not -seek their impulse in simple universality as fixed and as enduring; and -similarly we shall find in the Sceptics, dialecticians who maintain -that the subjective mind rests within itself. Besides Euclides, -Diodorus and Menedemus are mentioned as distinguished Eristics, but -particularly Eubulides, and later on Stilpo, whose dialectic likewise -related to contradictions which appeared in external conception and in -speech, so that it in great measure passed into a mere play upon words. - - -_a._ EUCLIDES. - -Euclides, who is not to be confused with the mathematician, is he -of whom it is said that during the enmity between Athens and his -birthplace, Megara, and in the period of most violent animosity, he -often secretly went to Athens, dressed as a woman, not fearing even -the punishment of death in order to be able to hear Socrates and -be in his company.[145] Euclides is said, in spite of his stubborn -manner of disputing, to have been, even in his disputation, a most -peaceful man. It is told that once in a quarrel his opponent was so -irritated, that he exclaimed, “I will die if I do not revenge myself -upon you!” Euclides replied, “And I will die if I do not soften your -wrath so much by the mildness of my speech that you will love me as -before.”[146] It was Euclides who said that “the Good is one,” and it -alone is, “though passing under many names; sometimes it is called -Understanding, sometimes God; at another time Thought (_νοῦς_), and so -on. But what is opposed to the good does not exist.”[147] This doctrine -Cicero (_ibid._) calls noble, and says that it differs but little -from the Platonic. Since the Megarics make the Good, as the simple -identity of the true, into a principle, it is clearly seen that they -expressed the Good as the absolute existence in a universal sense, -as did Socrates; but they no longer, like him, recognized all the -approximate conceptions, or merely opposed them as being indifferent -to the interests of man, for they asserted definitely that they were -nothing at all. Thus they come into the category of the Eleatics, -since they, like them, showed that only Being is, and that all else, -as negative, does not exist. While the dialectic of Socrates was thus -incidental, in that he merely shook some current moral ideas, or the -very first conceptions of knowledge, the Megarics, on the contrary, -raised their philosophic dialectic into something more universal and -real, for they applied themselves more to what is formal in idea and -speech, though not yet, like the later Sceptics, to the determinations -of pure Notions; for knowledge, thought, was not yet present in -abstract conceptions. Of their own dialectic not much is told, but -more is said of the embarrassment into which they brought ordinary -consciousness, for they were in all kinds of ways alert in involving -others in contradictions. Thus they applied dialectic after the manner -of an ordinary conversation, just as Socrates applied his mind to every -side of ordinary subjects, and as we also, in our conversation, try to -make an assertion interesting and important. A number of anecdotes are -told of their disputations, from which we see that what we call joking -was their express business. Others of their puzzles certainly deal with -a positive category of thought; they take these and show how, if they -are held to be true, they bring about a contradiction. - - -_b._ EUBULIDES. - -Of the innumerable multitude of ways in which they tried to confuse our -knowledge in the categories, many are preserved with their names, and -the principal of these are the Sophisms, whose discovery is ascribed -to Eubulides of Miletus, a pupil of Euclides.[148] The first thing -which strikes us when we hear them is that they are common sophisms -which are not worth contradiction, and scarcely of being heard, least -of all have they a real scientific value. Hence we call them stupid, -and look at them as dreary jokes, but it is in fact easier to set them -aside than to refute them. We let ordinary speech pass, and are content -with it, so long as everyone knows what the other means (when this is -not so—we trust that God understands us), but these sophisms seem in -a way to mislead common speech, for they show the contradictory and -unsatisfactory nature of it when taken strictly as it is spoken. To -confuse ordinary language so that we do not know how to reply, seems -foolish, as leading to formal contradictions, and if it is done we are -blamed for taking mere empty words and playing upon them. Our German -seriousness, therefore, dismisses this play on words as shallow wit, -but the Greeks honoured the word in itself, and the mere treatment -of a proposition as well as the matter. And if word and thing are in -opposition, the word is the higher, for the unexpressed thing is really -irrational, since the rational exists as speech alone. - -It is in Aristotle, and in his Sophistical Elenchi that we first find -numerous examples of these contradictions (coming from the old Sophists -equally with the Eristics), and also their solutions. Eubulides, -therefore, likewise wrote against Aristotle,[149] but none of this -has come down to us. In Plato we also find, as we saw before (p. -370), similar jokes and ambiguities mentioned to make the Sophists -ridiculous, and to show with what insignificant matters they took up -their time. The Eristics went yet further, for they, like Diodorus, -became jesters to courts, such as to that of the Ptolemies.[150] -From historic facts we see that this dialectic operation of confusing -others and showing how to extricate them again was a general amusement -of the Greek philosophers, both in public places and at the tables -of kings. Just as the Queen of the East came to Solomon to put -riddles to him, we find at the tables of kings witty conversation and -assemblages of philosophers joking and making merry over one another. -The Greeks were quite enamoured of discovering contradictions met -with in speech and in ordinary ideas. The contradiction does not -make its appearance as a pure contradiction in the conception, but -only as interwoven with concrete ideas; such propositions neither -apply to the concrete content nor to the pure Notion. Subject and -predicate, of which every proposition consists, are different, but in -the ordinary idea we signify their unity; this simple unity, which -does not contradict itself, is to ordinary ideas the truth. But in -fact, the simple self-identical proposition is an unmeaning tautology; -for in any affirmation, differences are present, and because their -diversity comes to consciousness, there is contradiction. But the -ordinary consciousness is then at an end, for only where there is -a contradiction is there the solution, self-abrogation. Ordinary -consciousness has not the conception that only the unity of opposites -is the truth—that in every statement there is truth and falsehood, if -truth is to be taken in the sense of the simple, and falsehood in the -sense of the opposed and contradictory; in it the positive, the first -unity, and the negative, this last opposition, fall asunder. - -In Eubulides’ propositions the main point was that because the truth -is simple, a simple answer is required; that thus the answer should -not, as happened in Aristotle (De Sophist. Elench. c. 24), have regard -to certain special considerations; and, after all, this is really -the demand of the understanding. Thus the mistake is to desire an -answer of yes or no, for since no one ventures on either, perplexity -ensues, because it is a fool’s part not to know what to reply. The -simplicity of the truth is thus grasped as the principle. With us -this appears in the form of making such statements as that one of -opposites is true, the other false; that a statement is either true -or not true; that an object cannot have two opposite predicates. That -is the first principle of the understanding, the _principium exclusi -tertii_, which is of great importance in all the sciences. This stands -in close connection with the principle of Socrates and Plato (_supra_, -pp. 455, 456), “The true is the universal;” which is abstractly the -identity of understanding, according to which what is said to be true -cannot contradict itself. This comes more clearly to light in Stilpo -(p. 464). The Megarics thus kept to this principle of our logic of -the understanding, in demanding the form of identity for the Truth. -Now in the cases that they put, they did not keep to the universal, -but sought examples in ordinary conception, by means of which they -perplexed people; and this they formed into a kind of system. We shall -bring forward some examples that are preserved to us; some are more -important, but others are insignificant. - -_α_. One Elench was called the Liar (_ψευδόμενος_); in it the question -is put: “If a man acknowledges that he lies, does he lie or speak -the truth?”[151] A simple answer is demanded, for the simple whereby -the other is excluded, is held to be the true. If it is said that he -tells the truth, this contradicts the content of his utterance, for he -confesses that he lies. But if it is asserted that he lies, it may be -objected that his confession is the truth. He thus both lies and does -not lie; but a simple answer cannot be given to the question raised. -For here we have a union of two opposites, lying and truth, and their -immediate contradiction; in different forms this has at all times come -to pass, and has ever occupied the attention of men. Chrysippus, a -celebrated Stoic, wrote six books on the subject,[152] and another, -Philetas of Cos, died in the decline which he contracted through -over-study of these paradoxes.[153] We have the same thing over again -when, in modern times, we see men worn out by absorbing themselves in -the squaring of the circle—a proposition which has well nigh become -immortal. They seek a simple relation from something incommensurable, -_i.e._ they fall into the error of demanding a simple reply where -the content is contradictory. That little history has perpetuated -and reproduced itself later on; in Don Quixote the very same thing -appears. Sancho, governor of the island of Barataria, was tested by -many insidious cases as he sat in judgment, and, amongst others, with -the following: In his domain there was a bridge which a rich man had -erected for the good of passengers—but with a gallows close by. The -crossing of the bridge was restricted by the condition that everyone -must say truly where he was going, and if he lied, he would be hung -upon the gallows. Now one man came to the bridge, and to the question -whither he went, answered that he had come here to be hung on the -gallows. The bridge-keepers were much puzzled by this. For if they -hanged him, he would have spoken the truth and ought to have passed, -but if he crossed he would have spoken an untruth. In this difficulty -they applied to the wisdom of the governor, who uttered the wise saying -that in such dubious cases the mildest measures should be adopted, -and thus the man should be allowed to pass. Sancho did not break his -head over the matter. The result which the statement was to have, is -made its content, with the condition that the opposite of the content -should be the consequence. Hanging, understanding it to be truly -expressed, should not have hanging as result; non-hanging as an event, -should, on the other hand, have hanging as result. Thus death is made -the consequence of suicide, but by suicide death itself is made into -the content of the crime, and cannot thus be the punishment. - -I will give another similar example along with the answer. Menedemus -was asked whether he had ceased to beat his father. This was an attempt -to place him in a difficulty, since to answer either yes or no, would -be equally risky. For if he said ‘yes,’ then he once beat him, and if -‘no,’ then he still beats him. Menedemus hence replied that he neither -ceased to beat him, nor had beaten him; and with this his opponents -were not satisfied.[154] Through this answer, which is two-sided, the -one alternative, as well as the other, being set aside, the question -is in fact answered; and this is also so in the former question as to -whether the man spoke truly who said he lied, when the reply is made, -“He speaks the truth and lies at the same time, and the truth is this -contradiction.” But a contradiction is not the true, and cannot enter -into our ordinary conceptions; hence Sancho Panza likewise set it aside -in his judgment. If the consciousness of opposition is present, our -ordinary ideas keep the contradictory sides apart; but in fact the -contradiction appears in sensuous things, such as space, time, &c., -and has in them only to be demonstrated. These sophisms thus not only -appear to be contradictory, but are so in truth: this choice between -two opposites, which is set before us in the example, is itself a -contradiction. - -_β_. The Concealed one (_διαλανθάνων_) and the Electra[155] proceed -from the contradiction of knowing and not knowing someone at the same -time. I ask someone ‘Do you know your father?’ He replies ‘Yes.’ I -then ask ‘Now if I show you someone hidden behind a screen, will you -know him?’ ‘No.’ ‘But it is your father, and thus you do not know your -father.’ It is the same in the Electra. ‘Can it be said that she knows -her brother Orestes who stands before her or not?’ These twists and -turns seem superficial, but it is interesting to consider them further. -(_αα_) To know means, on the one hand, to have someone as ‘this one,’ -and not vaguely and in general. The son thus knows his father when he -sees him, _i.e._ when he is a ‘this’ for him; but hidden, he is not a -‘this’ for him, but a ‘this’ abrogated. The hidden one as a ‘this’ in -ordinary conception, becomes a general, and loses his sensuous being, -thereby is in fact not a true ‘this.’ The contradiction that the son -both knows and does not know his father, thus becomes dissolved through -the further qualification that the son knows the father as a sensuous -‘this,’ and not as a ‘this’ of idea. (_ββ_) On the other hand Electra -knows Orestes, not as a sensuous ‘this,’ but in her own idea; the -‘this’ of idea and the ‘this’ here, are not the same to her. In this -way there enters into these histories the higher opposition of the -universal and of the ‘this,’ in as far as to have in the ordinary idea, -means in the element of the universal; the abrogated ‘this’ is not only -an idea, but has its truth in the universal. The universal is thus -found in the unity of opposites, and thus it is in this development -of Philosophy the true existence, in which the sensuous being of the -‘this’ is negated. It is the consciousness of this in particular which, -as we shall soon see (p. 465), is indicated by Stilpo. - -_γ_. Other quibbles of the same kind have more meaning, like the -arguments which are called the Sorites (_σωρείτης_) and the Bald -(_φαλακρός_).[156] Both are related to the false infinite, and the -quantitative progression which can reach no qualitative opposite, and -yet at the end finds itself at a qualitative absolute opposite. The -Bald head is the reverse of the problem of the Sorites. It is asked, -“Does one grain of corn make a heap, or does one hair less make a bald -head?” The reply is “No.” “Nor one again?” “No, it does not.” This -question is now always repeated while a grain is always added, or a -hair taken away. When at last it is said that there is a heap or a bald -head, it is found that the last added grain or last abstracted hair has -made the heap or the baldness, and this was at first denied. But how -can a grain form a heap which already consists of so many grains? The -assertion is that one grain does not make a heap; the contradiction, -that one thus added or taken away brings about the change into the -opposite—the many. For to repeat one is just to obtain many, the -repetition causes certain ‘many’ grains to come together. The one thus -becomes its opposite,—a heap, and the taking of one away brings about -baldness. One and a heap are opposed to one another, but yet one; or -the quantitative progression seems not to change but merely to increase -or diminish, yet at last it has passed into its opposite. We always -separate quality and quantity from one another, and only accept in -the many a quantitative difference; but this indifferent distinction -of number or size here turns finally into qualitative distinction, -just as an infinitely small or infinitely great greatness is no longer -greatness at all. This characteristic of veering round is of the -greatest importance, although it does not come directly before our -consciousness. To give one penny or one shilling is said to be nothing, -but with all its insignificance the purse becomes emptied, which is -a very qualitative difference. Or, if water is always more and more -heated, it suddenly, at 80° Reamur, turns into steam. The dialectic -of this passing into one another of quantity and quality is what our -understanding does not recognize; it is certain that qualitative is -not quantitative, and quantitative not qualitative. In those examples -which seem like jokes, there is in this way genuine reflection on the -thought-determinations which are in question. - -The examples which Aristotle brings forward in his Elenchi, all show a -very formal contradiction, appearing in speech, since even in it the -individual is taken into the universal. “Who is that? It is Coriscus. -Is Coriscus not masculine? Yes. _That_ is neuter sex, and thus Coriscus -is said to be neuter.”[157] Or else Aristotle (De Sophist. Elench. c. -24) quotes the argument: “To thee a dog is father (_σὸς ὁ κύων πατήρ_). -Thou art thus a dog;” that is what Plato, as we already mentioned (p. -370), made a Sophist say: it is the wit of a journeyman such as we -find in Eulenspiegel. Aristotle is really at great pains to remove the -confusion, for he says the ‘thy’ and the ‘father’ are only accidentally -(_παρὰ τὸ συμβεβηκός_), and not in substance (_κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν_) joined -to one another. In the invention of such witticisms, the Greeks of that -and of later times were quite indefatigable. With the Sceptics we shall -later on see the dialectic side further developed and brought to a -higher standpoint. - - -_c._ STILPO. - -Stilpo, a native of Megara, is one of the most celebrated of the -Eristics. Diogenes tells us that “he was a very powerful debater, and -excelled all so greatly in readiness of speech that all Greece, in -looking to him, was in danger (μικροῦ δεῆσαι) of becoming Megareans.” -He lived in the time of Alexander the Great, and after his death (Ol. -114, 1; 324 B.C.) in Megara, when Alexander’s generals fought together. -Ptolemy Soter, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Antigonus’ son, when they -conquered Megara, bestowed many honours on him. “In Athens all came out -of their work-places to see him, and when anyone said that they admired -him like a strange animal, he replied, No, but like a true man.”[158] -With Stilpo it was pre-eminently true that the universal was taken -in the sense of the formal abstract identity of the understanding. -The main point in his examples is, however, always the fact of his -having given prominence to the form of universality as opposed to the -particular. - -_α_. Diogenes (II. 119) first quotes from him in relation to the -opposition of the ‘this’ and the universal, “Whoever speaks of any -man (_ἄνθρωπον εἶναι_), speaks of no one, for he neither speaks of -this one nor that. For why should it rather be of this one than that? -Hence it is not of this one.” That man is the universal, and that no -one is specially indicated, everyone readily acknowledges, but some -one still remains present to us in our conception. But Stilpo says -that the ‘this’ does not exist at all, and cannot be expressed—that -the universal only exists. Diogenes Laërtius certainly understands -this as though “Stilpo abolished distinction of genera (_ἀνῄρει καὶ -τὰ εἴδη_),” and Tennemann (Vol II., p. 158) supports him. But from -what is quoted from him the opposite may clearly be deduced—that he -upheld the universal and did away with the individual. And the fact -that the form of universality is maintained, is further expressed in a -number of anecdotes which are taken by Stilpo from common life. Thus -he says: “The cabbage is not what is here shown (_τὸ λάχανον οὐκ ἔστι -τὸ δεικνύμενον_). For the cabbage has existed for many thousand years, -and hence this (what is seen) is not cabbage,” _i.e._ the universal -only is, and this cabbage is not. If I say _this_ cabbage, I say -quite another thing from what I mean, for I say all other cabbages. -An anecdote is told in the same reference. “He was conversing with -Crates, a Cynic, and broke off to buy some fish;” Crates said, “What, -you would avoid the question?” (for even in ordinary life anyone is -laughed at or thought stupid who is unable to reply, and here where -the subject was so important and where it would seem better to reply -anything than nothing at all, no answer was forthcoming). Stilpo -replied, “By no means, for I have the conversation, but I leave you, -since the conversation remains but the fish will be sold.” What is -indicated in these simple examples seems trivial, because the matter is -trivial, but in other forms it seems important enough to be the subject -of further inquiry. - -That the universal should in Philosophy be given a place of such -importance that only the universal can be expressed, and the ‘this’ -which is meant, cannot, indicates a state of consciousness and thought -which the philosophic culture of our time has not yet reached. As -regards the ordinary human understanding, or the scepticism of our -times, or in general the Philosophy which asserts that sensuous -certainty (that which we see, hear, &c.), is the truth, or else that -it is true that there are sensuous things outside of us—as to these, -nothing, so far as the reasons for disbelieving them are concerned, -need be said. For because the direct assertion that the immediate is -the true is made, such statements only require to be taken with respect -to what they say, and they will always be found to say something -different from what they mean. What strikes us most is that they cannot -say what they mean; for if they say the sensuous, this is a universal; -it is all that is sensuous, a negative of the ‘this,’ or ‘this’ is all -‘these.’ Thought contains only the universal, the ‘this’ is only in -thought; if I say ‘this’ it is the most universal of all. For example, -here is that which I show; now I speak; but here and now is all here -and now. Similarly when I say ‘I,’ I mean myself, this individual -separated from all others. But I am even thus that which is thought of -and cannot express the self which I mean at all. ‘I’ is an absolute -expression which excludes every other ‘I,’ but everyone says ‘I’ of -himself, for everyone is an ‘I.’ If we ask who is there, the answer ‘I’ -indicates every ‘I.’ The individual also is thus the universal only, -for in the word as an existence born of the mind, the individual, if -it is meant, cannot find a place, since actually only the universal is -expressed. If I would distinguish myself and establish my individuality -by my age, my place of birth, through what I have done and where I have -been or am at a particular time, it is the same thing. I am now so many -years old, but this very now which I say is all now. If I count from a -particular period such as the birth of Christ, this epoch is again only -fixed by the ‘now’ which is ever displaced. I am now thirty-five years -old, and now is 1805 A.D.; each period is fixed only through the other, -but the whole is undetermined. That ‘now’ 1805 years have passed since -Christ’s birth, is a truth which soon will become empty sound, and the -determinateness of the ‘now’ has a before and after of determinations -without beginning or end. Similarly everyone is at a ‘here’—this -here, for everyone is in a ‘here.’ This is the nature of universality, -which makes itself evident in speech. We hence help ourselves through -names with which we define perfectly anything individual, but we allow -that we have not expressed the thing in itself. The name as name, is -no expression which contains what I am; it is a symbol, and indeed a -contingent symbol, of the lively recollection. - -_β_. Inasmuch as Stilpo expressed the universal as the independent, -he disintegrated everything. Simplicius says (in Phys. Arist. p. 26), -“Since the so-called Megarics took it as ascertained that what has -different determinations is different (_ὧν οἱλόγοι ἕτεροι, ταῦτα ἕτερα -ἐστιν_), and that the diverse are separated one from the other (_τὰ -ἕτερα κεχώρισται ἀλλήλων_), they seemed to prove that each thing is -separated from itself (_αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ κεχωρισμένον ἔκασον_). Hence since -the musical Socrates is another determination (_λόγος_) from the -wise Socrates, Socrates was separated from himself.” That means that -because the qualities of things are determinations for themselves, each -of these is fixed independently, but yet the thing is an aggregate of -many independent universalities. Stilpo asserted this. Now because, -according to him, universal determinations are in their separation -only the true reality, and the individual is the unseparated unity of -different ideas, to him nothing individual has any truth. - -_γ_. It is very remarkable that this form of identity came to be -known in Stilpo, and he in this way only wished to know propositions -identically expressed. Plutarch quotes from him: “A different -predicate may in no case be attributed to any object (_ἕτερον ἑτέρου -μὴ κατηγορεῖσθαι_). Thus we could not say that the man is good or the -man is a general, but simply that man is only man, good is only good, -the general is only the general. Nor could we say ten thousand knights, -but knights are only knights, ten thousand are only ten thousand, -&c. When we speak of a horse running, he says that the predicate is -not identical with the object to which it is attributed. For the -concept-determination man is different (_τοῦ τί ἦν εἶναι τὸν λόγον_) -from the concept-determination good. Similarly horse and running are -distinct: when we are asked for a definition of either, we do not give -the same for both. Hence those who say something different of what is -different are wrong. For if man and good were the same, and likewise -horse and running, how could good be used of bread and physic, and -running of lions and dogs”?[159] Plutarch remarks here that Colotes -attacks Stilpo in a bombastic manner (_τραγῷδίαν ἐπάγει_) as though -he ignored common life (_τὸν βίον ἀναιρεῖσθαι_). “But what man,” -Plutarch reflects, “lived any the worse for this? Is there any man who -hears this said, and who does not know that it is an elaborate joke -(_παῖζοντός ἐστιν εὐμούσως_)?” - - -2. THE CYRENAIC SCHOOL. - -The Cyrenaics took their name from Aristippus of Cyrene in Africa, the -originator and head of the school. Just as Socrates wished to develop -himself as an individual, his disciples, or those of the Cyrenaic -and Cynic Schools, made individual life and practical philosophy -their main object. Now if the Cyrenaics did not rest content with the -determination of good in general, seeing that they inclined to place -it in the enjoyment of the individual, the Cynics appear to be opposed -to the whole doctrine, for they expressed the particular content of -satisfaction as natural desires in a determination of negativity -with regard to what is done by others. But as the Cyrenaics thereby -satisfied their particular subjectivity, so also did the Cynics, and -both schools have hence on the whole the same end—the freedom and -independence of the individual. Because we are accustomed to consider -happiness, which the Cyrenaics made the highest end of man, to be -contentless, because we obtain it in a thousand ways, and it may be -the result of most various causes, this principle appears at first -to us as trivial, and indeed, generally speaking, it is so; we are -likewise accustomed to believe that there is something higher than -pleasure. The philosophic development of this principle which, for the -rest, has not much in it, is mainly ascribed to Aristippus’ follower, -Aristippus the younger. But Theodorus, Hegesias, and Anniceris, of -the later Cyrenaics, are specially mentioned as having scientifically -worked out the Aristippian principle, until it degenerated and merged -into Epicureanism. But the consideration of the further progress of the -Cyrenaic principle is specially interesting because this progression, -in the essential nature of things, is carried quite beyond the -principle, and has really abrogated it. Feeling is the indeterminate -individual. But if thought, reflection, mental culture, are given a -place in this principle, through the principle of the universality -of thought that principle of contingency, individuality, mere -subjectivity, disappears; and the only really remarkable thing in this -school is that this greater consistency in the universal is therefore -an inconsistency as regards the principle. - - -_a._ ARISTIPPUS. - -Aristippus went about with Socrates for a long time, and educated -himself under him, although at the same time he was a strong and -highly cultivated man before he sought out Socrates at all. He heard -of him either in Cyrene or at the Olympian Games, which, as Greeks, -the Cyrenians likewise visited. His father was a merchant, and he -himself came to Athens on a journey which had commerce as its object. -He was first amongst the Socratics to ask money of those whom he -instructed; he also sent money to Socrates, who, however, returned -it.[160] He did not content himself with the general expressions, good -and beautiful, to which Socrates adhered, but took existence reflected -in consciousness in its extreme determinateness as individuality; and -because universal existence, as thought, was to him, from the side of -reality, individual consciousness, he fixed on enjoyment as the only -thing respecting which man had rationally to concern himself. The -character and personality of Aristippus is what is most important, -and what is preserved to us in his regard is his manner and life -rather than his philosophic doctrines. He sought after enjoyment as a -man of culture, who in that very way had raised himself into perfect -indifference to all that is particular, all passions and bonds of every -kind. When pleasure is made the principle, we immediately have the idea -before us that in its enjoyment we are dependent, and that enjoyment -is thus opposed to the principle of freedom. But neither of the -Cyrenaic teaching, nor the Epicurean, whose principle is on the whole -the same, can this be stated. For by itself the end of enjoyment may -well be said to be a principle in opposition to Philosophy; but when it -is considered in such a way that the cultivation of thought is made the -only condition under which enjoyment can be attained, perfect freedom -of spirit is retained, since it is inseparable from culture. Aristippus -certainly esteemed culture at its highest, and proceeded from this -position—that pleasure is only a principle for men of philosophic -culture; his main principle thus was that what is found to be pleasant -is not known immediately but only by reflection. - -Aristippus lived in accordance with these principles, and what in him -interests us most is the number of anecdotes told about him, because -they contain traces of a mentally rich and free disposition. Since in -his life he went about to seek enjoyment, not without understanding -(and thereby he was in his way a philosopher), he sought it partly with -the discretion which does not yield itself to a momentary happiness, -because a greater evil springs therefrom; and partly (as if philosophy -were merely preservation from anxiety) without that anxiety which on -every side fears possible evil and bad results; but above all without -any dependence on things, and without resting on anything which is -itself of a changeable nature. He enjoyed, says Diogenes, the pleasures -of the moment, without troubling himself with those which were not -present; he suited himself to every condition, being at home in all; -he remained the same whether he were in regal courts or in the most -miserable conditions. Plato is said to have told him that it was given -to him alone to wear the purple and the rags. He was specially attached -to Dionysius, being very popular with him; he certainly clung to him, -but always retained complete independence. Diogenes, the Cynic, for -this reason called him the royal dog. When he demanded fifty drachms -from someone who wished to hand over to him his son, and the man found -the sum too high, saying that he could buy a slave for it, Aristippus -answered, “Do so, and you will have two.” When Socrates asked him, “How -do you have so much money?” he replied, “How do you have so little?” -When a courtesan said to him that she had a child by him, he replied, -“You know as little whether it is mine as, were you walking through -briars, would you know which thorn pricked you.” A proof of his perfect -indifference is given in the following: When Dionysius once spat at -him, he bore it patiently, and when blamed, said, “The fishermen let -themselves be wet by the sea to catch the little fish, and I, should I -not bear this to catch such a good one?” When Dionysius asked him to -choose one of three courtesans, he took them all with him, observing -that it had been a dangerous thing even to Paris to choose out one; -but after leading them to the vestibule of the house, he let all three -go. He made nothing of the possession of money as contrasted with the -results which appear to follow from pursuing pleasure, and hence he -wasted it on dainties. He once bought a partridge at fifty drachms -(about twenty florins). When someone rebuked him, he asked, “Would -you not buy it for a farthing?” And when this was acknowleged, he -answered, “Now fifty drachms are no more than that to me.” Similarly -in journeying in Africa, the slave thought it hard to be troubled with -a sum of money. When Aristippus knew this he said, “Throw away what is -too much and carry what you can.” - -As regards the value of culture, he replied to the question as to how -an educated man differs from an uneducated, that a stone would not -fit in with the other, _i.e._ the difference is as great as that of a -man from the stone. This is not quite wrong, for man is what he ought -to be as man, through culture; it is his second nature through which -he first enters into possession of that which he has by nature, and -thus for the first time he is Mind. We may not, however, think in this -way of our uncultured men, for with us such men through the whole of -their conditions, through customs and religion, partake of a source -of culture which places them far above those who do not live in such -conditions. Those who carry on other sciences and neglect Philosophy, -Aristippus compares to the wooers of Penelope in the Odyssey, who might -easily have Melantho and the other maidens, but who could not obtain -the queen.[161] - -The teaching of Aristippus and his followers is very simple, for he -took the relation of consciousness to existence in its most superficial -and its earliest form, and expressed existence as Being as it is -immediately for consciousness, _i.e._ as feeling simply. A distinction -is now made between the true, the valid, what exists in and for itself, -and the practical and good, and what ought to be our end; but in -regard to both the theoretic and practical truth, the Cyrenaics make -sensation what determines. Hence their principle is more accurately -not the objective itself, but the relation of consciousness to the -objective; the truth is not what is in sensation the content, but is -itself sensation, it is not objective, but the objective subsists only -in it. “Thus the Cyrenaics say, sensations form the real criterion; -they alone can be known, and are infallible, but what produces feeling -is neither knowable nor infallible. Thus when we perceive a white and -sweet, we may assert this condition as ours with truth and certainty. -But that the causes of these feelings are themselves a white and sweet -object we cannot with certainty affirm. What these men say about ends -is also in harmony with this, for sensations also extend to ends. The -sensations are either pleasant or unpleasant or neither of the two. -Now they call the unpleasant feelings the bad, the end of which is -pain; the pleasant is the good, whose invariable end is happiness. Thus -feelings are the criteria of knowledge and the ends for action. We -live because we follow them from testimony (_ἐναργείᾳ_) received and -satisfaction (_εὑδοκήσει_) experienced, the former in accordance with -theoretic intuitions (_κατὰ τὰ ἄλλα πάθη_), and the latter with what -gives us pleasure.”[162] That is to say, as end, feeling is no longer -a promiscuous variety of sensuous affections (_τὰ ἄλλα πάθη_), but the -setting up of the Notion as the positive or negative relation to the -object of action, which is just the pleasant or the unpleasant. - -Here we enter on a new sphere where two kinds of determinations -constitute the chief points of interest; these are everywhere treated -of in the many Socratic schools which were being formed, and though not -by Plato and Aristotle, they were specially so by the Stoics, the new -Academy, &c. That is to say, the one point is determination itself in -general, the criterion; and the second is what determination for the -subject is. And thus the idea of the wise man results—what the wise -do, who the wise are, &c. The reason that these two expressions are -now so prominent is one which rests on what has gone before. On the -one hand the main interest is to find a content for the good, for else -men may talk about it for years. This further definition of the good -is just the criterion. On the other hand the interest of the subject -appears, and that is the result of the revolution in the Greek mind -made by Socrates. When the religion, constitution, laws of a people, -are held in esteem, and when the individual members of a people are -one with them, the question of what the individual has to do on his -own account, will not be put. In a moralized, religious condition of -things we are likely to find the end of man in what is present, and -these morals, religion and laws are also present in him. When, on -the contrary, the individual exists no longer in the morality of his -people, no longer has his substantial being in the religion, laws, -&c., of his land, he no longer finds what he desires, and no longer -satisfies himself in his present. But if this discord has arisen, the -individual must immerse himself in himself, and there seek his end. Now -this is really the cause that the question of what is the essential -for the individual arises. After what end must he form himself and -after what strive? Thus an ideal for the individual is set up, and -this is the wise man: what was called the ideal of the wise man is -the individuality of self-consciousness which is conceived of as -universal essence. The point of view is the same when we now ask, What -can I know? What should I believe? What ought I to hope? What is the -highest interest of the subject? It is not what is truth, right, the -universal end of the world, for instead of asking about the science -of the implicitly and explicitly objective, the question is what is -true and right in as far as it is the insight and conviction of the -individual, his end and a mode of his existence? This talk about wise -men is universal amongst the Stoics, Epicureans, &c., but is devoid -of meaning. For the wise man is not in question, but the wisdom of -the universe, real reason. A third definition is that the universal -is the good; the real side of things is enjoyment and happiness as a -simple existence and immediate actuality. How then do the two agree? -The philosophic schools which now arise and their successors have set -forth the harmony of both determinations, which are the higher Being -and thought. - - -_b._ THEODORUS. - -Of the later Cyrenaics, Theodorus must be mentioned first; he is -famous for having denied the existence of the gods, and being, for -this reason, banished from Athens. Such a fact can, however, have -no further interest or speculative significance, for the positive -gods which Theodorus denied, are themselves not any object of -speculative reason. He made himself remarkable besides for introducing -the universal more into the idea of that which was existence for -consciousness, for “he made joy and sorrow the end, but in such a -way that the former pertained to the understanding and the latter -to want of understanding. He defined the good as understanding and -justice, and the bad as the opposite; enjoyment and pain, however, -were indifferent.”[163] When we reach the consciousness that the -individual sensuous feeling, as it is immediately, is not to be -considered as real existence, it is then said that it must be accepted -with understanding; _i.e._ feeling, just as it is, is not reality. -For the sensuous generally, as sensation, theoretic or practical, is -something quite indeterminate, this or that unit; a criticism of this -unit is hence required, _i.e._ it must be considered in the form of -universality, and hence this last necessarily reappears. But this -advance on individuality is culture, which, through the limitation of -individual feelings and enjoyments, tries to make these harmonious, -even though it first of all only calculates as to that by which the -greater pleasure is to be found. Now, to the question as to which of -the many enjoyments which I, as a many-sided man, can enjoy, is the -one which is in completest harmony with me, and in which I thus find -the greatest satisfaction, it must be replied that the completest -harmony with me is only found in the accordance of my particular -existence and consciousness with my actual substantial Being. Theodorus -comprehended this as understanding and justice, in which we know where -to seek enjoyment. But when it is said that felicity must be sought -by reflection, we know that these are empty words and thoughtless -utterances. For the feeling in which felicity is contained, is in its -conception the individual, self-changing, without universality and -subsistence. Thus the universal, understanding, as an empty form, -adheres to a content quite incongruous with it; and thus Theodorus -distinguished the Good in its form, from the end as the Good in its -nature and content. - - -_c._ HEGESIAS. - -It is remarkable that another Cyrenaic, Hegesias, recognized this -incongruity between sensation and universality, which last is opposed -to the individual, having what is agreeable as well as disagreeable -within itself. Because, on the whole, he took a firmer grasp of the -universal and gave it a larger place, there passed from him all -determination of individuality, and with it really the Cyrenaic -principle. It came to his knowledge that individual sensation is in -itself nothing; and, as he nevertheless made enjoyment his end, it -became to him the universal. But if enjoyment is the end, we must ask -about the content; if this content is investigated, we find every -content a particular which is not in conformity with the universal, and -thus falls into dialectic. Hegesias followed the Cyrenaic principle -as far as to this consequence of thought. That universal is contained -in an expression of his which we often enough hear echoed, “There is -no perfect happiness. The body is troubled with manifold pains, and -the soul suffers along with it; it is hence a matter of indifference -whether we choose life or death. In itself nothing is pleasant or -unpleasant.” That is to say, the criterion of being pleasant or -unpleasant, because its universality is removed, is thus itself made -quite indeterminate; and because it has no objective determinateness -in itself, it has become unmeaning; before the universal, which is -thus held secure, the sum of all determinations, the individuality of -consciousness as such, disappears, but with it even life itself as -being unreal. “The rarity, novelty, or excess of enjoyment begets in -some cases enjoyment and in others discontent. Poverty and riches have -no meaning for what is pleasant, since we see that the rich do not -enjoy pleasures more than the poor. Similarly, slavery and liberty, -noble and ignoble birth, fame and lack of fame, are equivalent as -regards pleasure. Only to a fool can living be a matter of moment; to -the wise man it is indifferent,” and he is consequently independent. -“The wise man acts only after his own will, and he considers none -other equally worthy. For even if he attain from others the greatest -benefits, this does not equal what he gives himself. Hegesias and -his friends also take away sensation, because it gives no sufficient -knowledge,” which really amounts to scepticism. “They say further that -we ought to do what we have reason to believe is best. The sinner -should be forgiven, for no one willingly sins, but is conquered by a -passion. The wise man does not hate, but instructs; his endeavours go -not so much to the attainment of good, as to the avoidance of evil, for -his aim is to live without trouble and sorrow.”[164] This universality, -which proceeds from the principle of the freedom of the individual -self-consciousness, Hegesias expressed as the condition of the perfect -indifference of the wise men—an indifference to everything into which -we shall see all philosophic systems of the kind going forth, and which -is a surrendering of all reality, the complete withdrawal of life into -itself. It is told that Hegesias, who lived in Alexandria, was not -allowed to teach the Ptolemies of the time, because he inspired many -of his hearers with such indifference to life that they took their -own.[165] - - -_d._ ANNICERIS. - -We also hear of Anniceris and his followers, who, properly speaking, -departed from the distinctive character of the principle of the -Cyrenaic school, and thereby gave philosophic culture quite another -direction. It is said of them that “they acknowledged friendship in -common life, along with gratitude, honour to parents, and service for -one’s country. And although the wise man has, by so doing, to undergo -hardship and work, he can still be happy, even if he therein obtains -few pleasures. Friendships are not to be formed on utilitarian grounds -alone, but because of the good will that develops; and out of love to -friends, even burdens and difficulties are to be undertaken.”[166] -The universal, the theoretically speculative element in the school, -is thus lost; it sinks more into what is popular. This is then the -second direction which the Cyrenaic school has taken; the first was -the overstepping of the principle itself. A method of philosophizing -in morals arises, which later on prevailed with Cicero and the -Peripatetics of his time, but the interest has disappeared, so far as -any consistent system of thought is concerned. - - -3. THE CYNIC SCHOOL. - -There is nothing particular to say of the Cynics, for they possess -but little Philosophy, and they did not bring what they had into a -scientific system; it was only later that their tenets were raised by -the Stoics into a philosophic discipline. With the Cynics, as with the -Cyrenaics, the point was to determine what should be the principle -for consciousness, both as regards its knowledge and its actions. -The Cynics also set up the Good as a universal end, and asked in -what, for individual men, it is to be sought. But if the Cyrenaic, -in accordance with his determinate principle, made the consciousness -of himself as an individual, or feeling, into real existence for -consciousness, the Cynic took this individuality, in as far as it has -the form of universality directly for me, _i.e._ in as far as I am a -free consciousness, indifferent to all individuality. Thus they are -opposed to the Cyrenaics for while to these feeling, which, because -it has to be determined through thought, is undoubtedly extended into -universality and perfect freedom, is made the principle, the former -begin with perfect freedom and independence as the property of man. -But since this is the same indifference of self-consciousness which -Hegesias expressed as real existence, the extremes in the Cynic and -Cyrenaic modes of thought destroy themselves by their own consequences, -and pass into one another. With the Cyrenaics there is the impulse to -turn things back into consciousness, according to which nothing is -real existence for me; the Cynics had also only to do with themselves, -and the individual self-consciousness was likewise principle. But -the Cynic, at least in the beginning, set up for the guidance of men -the principle of freedom and indifference, both in regard to thought -and actual life, as against all external individuality, particular -ends, needs, and enjoyments; so that culture not only sought after -indifference to these and independence within itself, as with the -Cyrenaics, but for express privation, and for the limitation of -needs to what is necessary and what nature demands. The Cynics thus -maintained as the content of the good, the greatest independence of -nature, _i.e._ the slightest possible necessities; this meant a rebound -from enjoyment, and from the pleasures of feeling. The negative is -here the determining; later on this opposition of Cynics and Cyrenaics -likewise appeared between Stoics and Epicureans. But the same negation -which the Cynics made their principle, had already shown itself in the -further development which the Cyrenaic philosophy had taken. The School -of the Cynics had no scientific weight; it only constitutes an element -which must necessarily appear in the knowledge of the universal, and -which is that consciousness must know itself in its individuality, as -free from all dependence on things and on enjoyment. To him who relies -upon riches or enjoyment such dependence is in fact real consciousness, -or his individuality is real existence. But the Cynics so enforced that -negative moment that they placed freedom in actual renunciation of -so-called superfluities; they only recognized this abstract unmoving -independence, which did not concern itself with enjoyment or the -interests of an ordinary life. But true freedom does not consist in -flying from enjoyment and the occupations which have as their concern -other men and other ends in life; but in the fact that consciousness, -though involved in all reality, stands above it and is free from it. - - -_a._ ANTISTHENES. - -Antisthenes, an Athenian and friend of Socrates, was the first who -professed to be a Cynic. He lived at Athens, and taught in a gymnasium, -called Cynosarges, and he was called the “simple dog” (_ἁπλοκύων_). -His mother was Thracian, which was often made a reproach to him—a -reproach which to us would be unmeaning. He replied that the mother of -the gods was a Phrygian, and that the Athenians, who make so much of -their being native born, are in no way nobler than the native fish and -grasshoppers. He educated himself under Gorgias and Socrates, and went -daily from the Piræus to the city to hear Socrates. He wrote several -works, the titles of which Diogenes mentions, and, according to all -accounts, was esteemed a highly cultivated and upright man.[167] - -Antisthenes’ principles are simple, because the content of his teaching -remains general; it is hence superfluous to say anything further -about it. He gives general rules, which consist of such excellent -maxims as that “virtue is self-sufficing, and requires nothing more -than a Socratic strength of character. The good is excellent, the bad -discreditable. Virtue consists of works, and does not require many -reasons or theories. The end of man is a virtuous life. The wise man -is contented with himself, for he possesses everything that others -seem to possess. His own virtue satisfies him; he is at home all over -the world. If he lacks fame, this is not to be regarded as an evil, -but as a good,” &c.[168] We here, once more, have the tedious talk -about the wise man, which by the Stoics, as also by the Epicureans, -was even more spun out and made more tedious. In this ideal, where the -determination of the subject is in question, its satisfaction is placed -in simplifying its needs. But when Antisthenes says that virtue does -not require reasons and theories, he forgets that he himself acquired, -through the cultivation of mind, its independence and the power of -renouncing all that men desire. We see directly that virtue has now -obtained another signification; it no longer is unconscious virtue, -like the simple virtue of a citizen of a free people, who fulfils -his duties to fatherland, place, and family, as these relationships -immediately require. The consciousness which has gone beyond itself -must, in order to become Mind, now lay hold of and comprehend all -reality, i.e. be conscious of it as its own. But conditions such as -are called by names like innocence or beauty of soul, are childish -conditions, which are certainly to be praised in their own place, but -from which man, because he is rational, must come forth, in order -to re-create himself from the sublated immediacy. The freedom and -independence of the Cynics, however, which consists only in lessening -to the utmost the burden imposed by wants, is abstract, because it, as -negative in character, has really to be a mere renunciation. Concrete -freedom consists in maintaining an indifferent attitude towards -necessities, not avoiding them, but in their satisfaction remaining -free, and abiding in morality and in participation in the moral life -of man. Abstract freedom, on the contrary, surrenders its morality, -because the individual withdraws into his subjectivity, and is -consequently an element of immorality. - -Yet Antisthenes bears a high place in this Cynical philosophy. But -the attitude he adopted comes very near to that of rudeness, vulgarity -of conduct and shamelessness; and later on Cynicism passed into such. -Hence comes the continual mockery of, and the constant jokes against -the Cynics; and it is only their individual manners and individual -strength of character which makes them interesting. It is even told -of Antisthenes that he began to attribute value to external poverty -of life. Cynicism adopted a simple wardrobe—a thick stick of wild -olive, a ragged double mantle without any under garment, which served -as bed by night, a beggar’s sack for the food that was required, -and a cup with which to draw water.[169] This was the costume with -which these Cynics used to distinguish themselves. That on which -they placed highest value was the simplification of their needs; it -seems very plausible to say that this produces freedom. For needs -are certainly dependence upon nature, and this is antagonistic to -freedom of spirit; the reduction of that dependence to a minimum is -thus an idea which commends itself. But at the same time this minimum -is itself undetermined, and if such stress is laid on thus merely -following nature, it follows that too great a value is set on the needs -of nature and on the renunciation of others. This is what is also -evident in the monastic principle. The negative likewise contains an -affirmative bias towards what is renounced; and the renunciation and -the importance of what is renounced is thus made too marked. Socrates -hence declares the clothing of the Cynics to be vanity. For “when -Antisthenes turned outside a hole in his cloak, Socrates said to him, -I see thy vanity through the hole in thy cloak.”[170] Clothing is not -a thing of rational import, but is regulated through needs that arise -of themselves. In the North the clothing must be different from that in -Central Africa; and in winter we do not wear cotton garments. Anything -further is meaningless, and is left to chance and to opinion; in modern -times, for instance, old-fashioned clothing had a meaning in relation -to patriotism. The cut of my coat is decided by fashion, and the tailor -sees to this; it is not my business to invent it, for mercifully others -have done so for me. This dependence on custom and opinion is certainly -better than were it to be on nature. But it is not essential that men -should direct their understanding to this; indifference is the point of -view which must reign, since the thing itself is undoubtedly perfectly -indifferent. Men are proud that they can distinguish themselves in -this, and try to make a fuss about it, but it is folly to set oneself -against the fashion. In this matter I must hence not decide myself, nor -may I draw it within the radius of my interests, but simply do what is -expected of me. - - -_b._ DIOGENES. - -Diogenes of Sinope, the best known Cynic, distinguished himself even -more than Antisthenes by the life he led, as also by his biting and -often clever hits, and bitter and sarcastic retorts; but he likewise -received replies which were often aimed as well. He is called the Dog, -just as Aristippus was called by him the royal Dog, for Diogenes bore -the same relation to idle boys as Aristippus did to kings. Diogenes -is only famed for his manner of life; with him, as with the moderns, -Cynicism came to signify more a mode of living than a philosophy. He -confined himself to the barest necessities, and tried to make fun of -others who did not think as he, and who laughed at his ways. That he -threw away his cup when he saw a boy drinking out of his hands is well -known. To have no wants, said Diogenes, is divine; to have as few as -possible is to come nearest to the divine. He lived in all sorts of -places, in the streets of Athens, in the market in tubs; and he usually -resided and slept in Jupiter’s Stoa in Athens; he hence remarked that -the Athenians had built him a splendid place of residence.[171] Thus -the Cynics thought not only of dress, but also of other wants. But a -mode of life such as that followed by the Cynics, which professed to -be a result of culture, is really conditioned by the culture of the -mind. The Cynics were not anchorites; their consciousness was still -essentially related to other consciousness. Antisthenes and Diogenes -lived in Athens, and could only exist there. But in culture the mind -is also directed to the most manifold needs, and to the methods of -satisfying these. In more recent times the needs have much increased, -and hence a division of the general wants into many particular wants -and modes of satisfaction has arisen; this is the function of the -activity of the understanding, and in its application luxury has a -place. We may declaim against the morality of this, but in a State all -talents, natural inclinations and customs must have free scope and be -brought into exercise, and every individual may take what part he will, -only he must in the main make for the universal. Thus the chief point -is to place no greater value on such matters than what is demanded, or -generally, to place no importance either on possessing or dispensing -with them. - -Of Diogenes we have only anecdotes to relate. In a voyage to Ægina he -fell into the hands of sea-robbers, and was to be sold as a slave in -Crete. Being asked what he understood, he replied, “To command men,” -and told the herald to call out, “Who will buy a ruler?” A certain -Xeniades of Corinth bought him, and he instructed his sons. - -There are very many stories told of his residence in Athens. There he -presented a contrast in his rudeness and disdainfulness to Aristippus’ -fawning philosophy. Aristippus set no value on his enjoyments any more -than on his wants, but Diogenes did so on his poverty. Diogenes was -once washing his greens when Aristippus passed by, and he called out, -“If you knew how to wash your greens yourself, you would not run after -kings.” Aristippus replied very aptly, “If you knew how to associate -with men, you would not wash greens.” In Plato’s house he once walked -on the beautiful carpets with muddy feet, saying, “I tread on the pride -of Plato.” “Yes, but with another pride,” replied Plato, as pointedly. -When Diogenes stood wet through with rain, and the bystanders pitied -him, Plato said, “If you wish to compassionate him, just go away. His -vanity is in showing himself off and exciting surprise; it is what -made him act in this way, and the reason would not exist if he were -left alone.” Once when he got a thrashing, as anecdotes often tell, he -laid a large plaster on his wounds, and wrote on it the names of those -who had struck him in order that they might be blamed of all. When -youths standing by him said, “We are afraid that you will bite us,” he -replied, “Don’t mind, a dog never eats turnips.” At a feast a guest -threw bones to him like a dog, and he went up to him and behaved to him -like a dog. He gave a good answer to a tyrant who asked him from what -metal statues should be cast: “From the metal from which the statues of -Harmodius and Aristogiton were cast.” He tried to eat raw meat, which -did not, however, agree with him; he could not digest it, and died at a -very great age, as he lived—in the streets.[172] - - -_c._ LATER CYNICS. - -Antisthenes and Diogenes, as already mentioned, were men of great -culture. The succeeding Cynics are not any the less conspicuous by -their exceeding shamelessness, but they were, generally speaking, -nothing more than swinish beggars, who found their satisfaction in the -insolence which they showed to others. They are worthy of no further -consideration in Philosophy, and they deserve in its full the name of -dogs, which was early given to them; for the dog is a shameless animal. -Crates, of Thebes, and Hipparchia, a Cynic, celebrated their nuptials -in the public market.[173] This independence of which the Cynics -boasted, is really subjection, for while every other sphere of active -life contains the affirmative element of free intelligence, this means -the denying oneself the sphere in which the element of freedom can be -enjoyed. - - - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Zur Philosophie und Geschichte. Pt. V. pp. 184—186. (Edition of -1828, in 12 vols.) - -[2] S. Marheineke: “Lehrbuch des Christlichen Glaubens und Lebens.” -Berlin, 1823. § 133, 134. - -[3] “_Meinung ist mein._” - -[4] Cf. Hegels Werke, vol. VI. § 13, pp. 21, 22. - -[5] Flatt: De Theismo Thaleti Milesio abjudicando. Tub. 1785. 4. - -[6] Grundzüge des gegenwärtigen Zeitalters, pp. 211, 212; cf. Anweisung -zum Seligen Leben, pp. 178, 348. - -[7] Sanchuniathonis Fragm. ed. Rich. Cumberland, Lond. 1720, 8; German -by J. P. Kassel, Magdeburg, 1755, 8, pp. 1-4. - -[8] That is to say in the Lectures preceding these, delivered in the -Winter Session 1825—1826. - -[9] Confucius, Sinarum philosophus, s. scientia Sinensis, latine -exposita studio et opera Prosperi Juonetta, Herdtrich, Rougemont, -Couplet, PP. S. J., Paris, 1687, fol. - -[10] Mémoires concernant les Chinois (Paris, 1776, sqq.), Vol. II., pp. -1-361. Antiquité des Chinois, par le Père Amiot, pp. 20, 54, &c. - -[11] Die Philosophie im Fortgang der Weltgeschichte, Vol. I., p. 157. - -[12] Cf. Windischmann, ibid., p. 125. - -[13] Mémoire sur la vie et les opinions de Lao-Tseu, par Abel Rémusat -(Paris, 1823), p. 18 sqq.; Extrait d’une lettre de Mr. Amiot, 16 -Octobre, 1787, de Peking (Mémoires concernant les Chinois, T. xv.), p. -208, sqq. - -[14] Dr. Legge states in “The Religions of China” that Tâo was not -the name of a person, but of a concept or idea. Of the English -terms most suitable for it, he suggests the Way in the sense of -Method.—[Translator’s note.] - -[15] Abel Rémusat, l.c. p. 31, seq.; Lettre sur les caractères des -Chinois (Mémoires concernant les Chinois, Tome 1) p. 299, seq. - -[16] Rémusat thought that he discovered in these three syllables the -word Jehovah.—[Translator’s note.] - -[17] Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and -Ireland, Vol. I., Part I. London, 1824, pp. 19-43. (II., on the -Philosophy of the Hindus, Part I., by Henry Thomas Colebrooke, read -June 21, 1823). - -[18] Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society, Vol. i., Part I., pp. -92—118. (VII. Essay on the Philosophy of the Hindus, Part II., by Henry -Thomas Colebrooke.) - -[19] Brucker, Hist. Phil. T. I. p. 460; Plutarch, De plac. phil. I. 3. - -[20] Herod. II. 20; Senec. Quæst. natur. IV. 2; Diog. Laert. I. 37. - -[21] Diog. Laert. 1. § 34, et Menag. ad. h. 1. - -[22] Cf. Ritter: Geschichte der Ionischen Philosophie, p. 15. - -[23] Plutarch, De plac. phil. I. 3; Cicero, De Natura Deorum, I. 10. -Aristot. Phys. III. 4. - -[24] Cf. Aristot. Phys. I. 4. - -[25] Simplicius ad Arist. Phys. (I. 2), p. 5, 6. - -[26] Stobæi Eclog. Physic. c. 11., p. 294, ed. Heeren. - -[27] Simplicius ad Phys. Arist. p. 6, b. - -[28] Cf. Plutarch Quæst. convival. VIII. 8. - -[29] Diog. Laert. I. 119; Menagius ad h. 1. - -[30] In irrisione gentilium, c. 12 (citante Fabricio ad Sext. Emp. Hyp. -Pyrrh. III. 4, § 30). - -[31] Cf. Porphyr. De vita Pythag., §§ 14, 15; et Ritterhus, ad. h. I. - -[32] Cf. Porphyr. De vita Pyth. 6, Iamblich. De vita Pyth. XXIX. 158. - -[33] Diog. Laert. I. 12; VIII. 8; Iamblich. VIII. 44; XII. 58. - -[34] Porphyr. De vita Pyth. 25, 21, 22; Iamblich. De vita Pyth. 36; -VII. 33, 34; XXXII. 220-222. - -[35] Diog. Laert. VIII. 11, Porphyr., 18-20; Iamblich. II. 9, 10, XXIV. -108, 109; Menag. et Casaub. ad Diog. Laert. VIII. 19. - -[36] Porphyr. 37; Iamblich. XVII. 71-74; XVIII. 80-82; XXVIII. 150; XX. -94, 95; Diog. Laert. VIII. 10. - -[37] Iamblich. XXI. 100; XXIX. 165; Diog. Laert. VIII. 22; Porphyr. 40. - -[38] Porphyr. 32-34; Iamblich. XXIX. 163, 164; XX. 96; XXI. 97; XXIV. -107; Diog. Laert. VIII. 19, 21, 39. - -[39] Diog. Laert., VIII. 39, 40; Iamblich. XXXV. 248-264; Porphyrius, -54-59; Anonym. De vita Pyth. (apud Photium), 2. - -[40] Cf. Platon. Timæum, p. 20, Steph. (p. 8, ed. Bekk.). - -[41] Sext. Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 18, § 152; adv. Math. X. § 250, 251. - -[42] Mathem. c. 5, p. 30, ed. Bullialdi: cf. Aristoxen. ap. Stob. Ecl. -Phys. 2, p. 16. - -[43] Gnomicorum poetarum opera: Vol. I. Pythagoreorum aureum carmen, -ed. Glandorf Fragm. I. v. 45-48; Sext. Empir. adv. Math. IV. § 2, et -Fabric. ad h. 1. - -[44] Burney points out the fallacy of this statement in his History of -Music. [Translator’s note.] - -[45] Sext. Empiricus Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 18, § 155; adv. Math. IV. §§ 6, -7; VII. §§ 95-97; X. § 283. - -[46] Diog. Laert. VIII. §§ 4, 5, 14; Porphyrius, §§ 26, 27; Iamblichus, -c. XIV. § 63. (Homer’s Iliad XVI. v. 806-808; XVII. v. 45, seq.). - -[47] Gnomicorum poëtarum opera, Vol. I. Pyth. aureum carmen, ed. -Glandorf. Fragm. I. v. 1-4. - -[48] Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Hyp. I. 33, § 225; Simpl. ad Phys. Arist. pp. -5, 6; Plut. de plac. philos. II. 4. - -[49] That Xenophanes is here meant is shown from the titles of the -collected Becker manuscripts, as also from comparing this passage with -the verses remaining to us, which are by Xenophanes, though they were -earlier ascribed to Zeno; this was done by Hegel when he did not, as -in many lectures, take the Eleatic passages together. The editor found -a justification in this for placing the passage in its proper place. -[Note by editor.] - -[50] Adv. Math. VII. 47-52; 110, 111; VIII. 326; Pyrrh. Hyp. II. 4, § -18. - -[51] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. X. 313, 314; Simplic. in Phys. Arist., p. -41. - -[52] Platon. Theaet. p. 183. Steph. (p. 263, ed. Bekk.); Sophist, p. -217 (p. 127). - -[53] Diog. Laert. IX. 23; et Casaubonus ad. h. 1. - -[54] Plutarch, De plac. phil. II. 7; Euseb. XV. 38; Stob. Ecl. Phys. c. -23, p. 482-484; Simplicius in Arist. Phys. p. 9 a, 7 b; Arist. Met. I. -4; Brandis Comment. Eleat. p. 162. - -[55] De Sensu, p. 1, ed. Steph. 1557 (citante Fülleborn, p. 92). - -[56] This obscure clause has been differently interpreted. Dr. -Hutchison Stirling, in his annotations on Schwegler’s “History -of Philosophy,” says: “Zeller accepts (and Hegel, by quoting and -translating the whole passage, already countenanced him in advance) the -equivalent of Theophrastus for _τὸ πλέον, τὸ ὑπέρβαλλον_ namely, and -interprets the clause itself thus:—‘The preponderating element of the -two is thought occasions and determines the ideas;’ that is as is the -preponderating element (the warm or the cold) so is the state of mind. -In short, _the more is the thought_ is the linguistic equivalent of the -time for _according to the more is the thought_.” [Translator’s note.] - -[57] As a matter of fact, since a comparison of this reasoning with -the fragments of Melissus which Simplicius (in Arist. Physica and De -Cœlo) has retained, places this conjecture beyond doubt, the editor is -constrained to place it here, although Hegel, when he dealt with the -Eleatics separately, put it under the heading of Xenophanes. [Note by -Editor.] - -[58] Cf. Plat. Parmenid. pp. 126, 127, Steph. (pp. 3—5 Bekk.). - -[59] Diog. Laert. IX. 26, 27, et Menag. ad h. 1. Valer. Max. III. 3 -ext. 2, 3. - -[60] Diog. Laert. VI. 39, Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 8, § 66. - -[61] Plat. Cratyl. p. 402, Steph. (p. 42, Bekk.); Aristot. Met. I. 6, -XIII. 4. - -[62] Johannes Philoponus ad Aristot. de Anima (I. 2) fol. 4 a. - -[63] Clemens Alex.: Stromata V. 14, p. 712, ed. Pott. (cit. Steph. -Poës. phil. p. 131). - -[64] Cf. Stobaei Ecl. Phys. 22, p. 454. - -[65] Diog. Laërt. IX. 7; Simplic. ad Arist. Phys. p. 6; Stob. Eclog. -Phys. c. 3, p. 58-60. - -[66] Plutarch. de plac. phil. I. 28. - -[67] Heraclides; Allegoriæ Homericæ, pp. 442, 443, ed. Gale. - -[68] In writing of them Hegel very seldom separates these two -philosophers, though he does so in the Jena edition. - -[69] See Hegel’s “Werke,” Vol. III. p 181, et seq. - -[70] Ib. p. 112. - -[71] Plutarch, de plac. phil. I., 26; Stobæi Ecl. Phys. 20, p. 394. -(Tennemann, Vol. I. p. 278.) - -[72] Empedocles Agrigentinus. De vita et philosophia ejus exposuit, -carminum reliquias ex antiquis scriptoribus collegit, recensuit, -illustravit, præfationem et indices adjecit Magister Frid. Guil. Sturz, -Lipsiæ, 1805. - -[73] Empedoclis et Parmenidis fragmenta, &c., restituta et illustrata -ab Amadeo Peyron. - -[74] Cf. Plat. Parmenid. p. 127 (p. 4). - -[75] Metaph. I. 3 and 8; De gener. et corrupt. I. 1. - -[76] Adv. Math. VII. 120; IX. 10; X. 317. - -[77] Arist. De anim. I. 2; Fabricius ad Sext. adv. Math. VII. 92, p. -389, not. T; Sextus adv. Math. I. 303; VII. 121. - -[78] Hegel certainly used in his lectures, to follow the usual -order, and treat Empedocles before the Atomists. But since, in the -course of his treatment of them, he always connected the Atomists -with the Eleatics and Heraclitus, and took Empedocles, in so far as -he anticipated design, as the forerunner of Anaxagoras, the present -transposition is sufficiently justified. If we further consider that -Empedocles swayed to and fro between the One of Heraclitus and the -Many of Leucippus, without, like them, adhering to either of these -one-sided determinations, it is clear that both moments are assumptions -through whose variations he opened a way for the Anaxagorean conception -of end, which, by comprehending them, is the essential unity from -which proceeds the manifold of phenomena, as from their immanent -source.—[Note by Editor.] - -[79] Anaxagoræ Clazomenii fragmenta, quæ supersunt omnia, edita ab E. -Schaubach, Lipsiæ, 1827. - -[80] Plin. Hist. Nat. VII. 53; Brucker, T. I. pp. 493, 494, not. - -[81] Diog. Laert. II. 16; Plutarch in Lysandro, 12. - -[82] Diog. Laert. II., 12-14; Plutarch, in Pericle, c. 32. - -[83] Cf. Aristot. Phys. VIII. 5; Met. XII. 10. - -[84] Cf. Sext. Empiric. Hypotyp Pyrrh. III. 4, § 33. - -[85] Diog. Laert. II. 6; Sext. Emp. adv. Math. IX. 6; Arist. Phys. -VIII. 1. - -[86] Platonis Protagoras, pp. 310-314, Steph. (pp. 151-159, Bekk.). - -[87] Plat. Protag., pp. 314-317 (pp. 159-164). - -[88] Plat. Protag. pp. 318-320 (pp. 166-170). - -[89] Plat. Protag. pp. 320-323 (pp. 170-176). - -[90] Ibid. pp. 323, 324 (pp. 176-178). - -[91] Plat. Protag. pp. 324-328 (pp. 178-184.) - -[92] Plat. Meno., p. 91 (p. 371). - -[93] Plat. Gorg. pp. 452 et 457 (pp. 15 et 24). - -[94] Plat. Euthydem. pp. 283, 284 (pp. 416-418). - -[95] Ibid. p. 298 (p. 446). - -[96] Xenoph. Memorab. II. c. 1, § 21 _seq._ - -[97] Diog. Laert. IX. 50. - -[98] Ibid. 54. - -[99] Plat. Protag. p. 338 fin. (p. 204). - -[100] Plutarch in Pericle, c. 36. - -[101] Diog. Laërt. IX. 51, 52; 55, 56 (Sext. Empir. adv. Math. IX. 56). - -[102] Plat. Theætet. p. 152 (p. 195); Sext. Emp. Pyrrh. Hyp. I, c. 32, -§ 216. - -[103] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 388, 60; Plat. Theætet. p. 152. (p. -195-197). - -[104] Plat. Theætet. p. 154 (p. 201). - -[105] Plat. Theæt. pp. 153, 154 (pp. 199, 200); pp. 156, 157 (pp. -204-206); pp. 158-160 (pp. 208-213). - -[106] Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Hyp. I. c. 32, §§ 217-219. - -[107] Diodorus Siculus: XII. p. 106 (ed. Wesseling). - -[108] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 66. - -[109] Ibid. 67. - -[110] Aristotel. de Xenophane, Zenone et Gorgia, c. 5. - -[111] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 68-70. - -[112] Ibid. 71. - -[113] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 73, 74. - -[114] Ibid. 75, 76. - -[115] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 77-80. - -[116] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 83, 84. - -[117] The distinction between these two words is a very important -one. Schwegler, in explaining Hegel’s position in his “History of -Philosophy,” states that Hegel asserts that Socrates set _Moralität_, -the subjective morality of individual conscience, in the place of -_Sittlichkeit_, “the spontaneous, natural, half-unconscious (almost -instinctive) virtue that rests in obedience to established custom -(use and wont, natural objective law, that is at bottom, according to -Hegel, rational, though not yet subjectively cleared, perhaps, into -its rational principles).” As Dr. Stirling says in his Annotations -to the same work (p. 394), “There is a period in the history of the -State when people live in tradition; that is a period of unreflected -_Sittlichkeit_, or natural observance. Then there comes a time when the -observances are questioned, and when the right or truth they involve -is reflected into the subject. This is a period of Aufklärung, and for -_Sittlichkeit_ there is substituted _Moralität_, subjective morality: -the subject will approve nought but what he finds inwardly true to -himself, to his conscience.”—[TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.] - -[118] Diog. Laert. II, 44 (cf. Menag. ad h. 1); 18-20, 22. - -[119] Diog. Laert. II. 22, 23; Plat. Apol. Socr. p. 28 (p. 113). - -[120] Diog. Laert. II. 24; Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 18; Plat. Apol. -Socrat. p. 32 (pp. 120-122); Epist. VII. pp. 324, 325 (p. 429). - -[121] Plat. Convivium, pp. 212, 176, 213, 214, 223 (pp. 447, 376-378, -449, 450, 468, 469). - -[122] Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 10. - -[123] Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 11-16; Aristot. Metaph. I. 6. - -[124] Aristot. Metaph. XIII. 4 - -[125] From the Lectures of the winter 1825-1826.—(NOTE BY EDITOR.) - -[126] Platonis Theætetus, p. 210 (p. 322). - -[127] Plat. Protag. p. 349 (pp. 224, 225); pp. 360, 361 (pp. 245-247). - -[128] Xenoph. Memorab. IV. c. 2, §§ 11-17. - -[129] Xenoph. Memorab. IV. c. 1, § 1; c. 2, § 40. - -[130] Cf. Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 2, §§ 12-16, sqq. - -[131] Herodot. IX. 33, seq. - -[132] Xenoph. Apologia Socrat. § 10; Memorab. I. c. 1, § 1 Plat. -Apologia Socrat. p. 24 (p. 104). - -[133] Apologia Socrat. §§ 11—13; Memorab. I. c. 1, §§ 2—6; 19. - -[134] Plat. Apol. Socrat. p. 26 (108, 109). - -[135] Apologia Socrat. § 14 (cf. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 17). - -[136] Plato. Apol. Socrat. p. 21 (p. 97). - -[137] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. § 14. - -[138] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. §§ 16—19; Memorab. I. c. 2, §§ 1—8. - -[139] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. § 20; cf. Memorab. I. c. 2, § 49 seq. - -[140] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. §§ 20, 21; Memorab. I. c. 2, §§ 51—55; -Plat. Apol. Socrat. pp. 24—26 (pp. 103—107). - -[141] Meier und Schömann: Der Attische Process, pp. 173-177. - -[142] Diog. Laërt. II. 106. - -[143] Diog. Laërt. VI. 24. - -[144] Cicer. Acad. Quæst. II. 42. - -[145] Menag. ad Diog. Laërt. II. 106; Aul. Gellius: Noct. Atticæ, VI. -10. - -[146] Plutarch. de fraterno amore, p. 489, D. (ed. Xyl.); Stobæi -Sermones: LXXXIV. 15 (T. III. p. 160, ed. Gaisford); Brucker. Hist. -Crit. Philos. T. I. p. 611. - -[147] Diog. Laërt. II. 106. - -[148] Diog. Laërt. II. 108. - -[149] Diog. Laërt. II. 109. - -[150] Diog. Laërt. II. 111, 112. - -[151] Diog. Laërt. II. 108; Cicero, Acad. Quæst. IV. 29; De divinat. -II. 4. - -[152] Diog. Laërt. VII. 196. - -[153] Athenæus IX. p. 401 (ed. Casaubon, 1597); Suidas, s. v. Φιλητᾶς, -T. III. p. 600; Menag. ad Diog. Laërt. II. 108. - -[154] Diog. Laërt. II. 135. - -[155] Diog. Laërt. II. 108; Bruckeri Hist. Crit. Phil. T. I. p. 613. - -[156] Diog. Laërt. II. 108; Cicer. Acad. Quæst. IV. 29; Bruck. Hist. -Crit. Philos. T. I. p. 614, not. s. - -[157] Aristoteles: De Soph. Elench. c. 14; Buhle ad h. 1. argumentum, -p. 512. - -[158] Diog. Laërt. II. 113, 115, 119. - -[159] Plutarch, advers. Coloten. c. 22, 23, pp. 1119, 1120, ed. Xyl. -pp. 174-176, Vol. XIV. ed. Hutten. - -[160] Diog. Laërt. II. 65; Tennemann, Vol. II. p. 103: Bruck. Hist. -Crit. Philos. T. I. p. 584, seq. - -[161] Diog. Laërt. II. 66, 67, 72, 77 (Horat. Serm. II. 3, v. 101), -79-81. - -[162] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 191, 199, 200. - -[163] Diog. Laërt. II. 97, 98 (101, 102). - -[164] Diog. Laërt. II. 93-95. - -[165] Cic. Tusc. Quest. I. 34; Val. Max. VIII. 9. - -[166] Diog. Laërt. II. 96, 97. - -[167] Diog. Laërt. VI. 13, 1, 2, 15-18. - -[168] Diog. Laërt. VI. 11, 12 (104). - -[169] Diog. Laërt. VI. 13, 6, 22, 37; Tennemann, Vol. II. p. 89. - -[170] Diog. Laërt. VI. 8; II. 36. - -[171] Diog. Laërt. VI. 74, 61, 37, 105, 22. - -[172] Diog. Laërt. VI. 29, 30 (74); II. 68; VI. 26, 41, 33, 45, 46, 50, -76, 77 (34). - -[173] Diog. Laërt. VI. 85, 96, 97. - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: - -—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hegel's Lectures on the History of -Philosophy: Volume One (of 3), by Georg Wilhelm Hegel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEGEL'S LECTURES--HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 51635-0.txt or 51635-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/6/3/51635/ - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, Fritz Ohrenschall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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